#there were some parts of the post that I didn't really like

[sunvylovebug]

A bath together

↬Warnings: There are mentions of nudity but this is NOT NSFW, Y/N is a killer, mentions of murdering …⁠ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ

↬ Gender Neutral!Reader, they/them pronouns and third person narration (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

↬Author Note: He's such a green flag, such a sweet boy, I want to give Me. Crawling a big hug. Btw finally posting something that has warnings lmao.

↬Summary: Y/N teaching Mr. Crawling about something basic in the daily routine; a warm bath.

↬ Word Count: 1,435 Words

Masterlist

"Mr. Crawling please. I promise you it'll be fun! Fun? You like fun?"

Y/N's question was answered with a vigorous shake of the head. "No... Me no like. No like there. Not going."

"Please? Would you do it for me?" Of course they were gonna try to convince him that way, Mr. Crawling couldn't say no to that look after all.

It's been some days since they left that mysterious world. They went back to their usual activities like going to school and killing people, just the usual stuff for a human their age, right? They have been teaching Mr. Crawling about the human world and the routines that generally develop over time, a very important part of the daily routine is cleaning the body but Mr. Crawling was so hesitant to enter the tub, it was filled with warm water and soap, of course it looked comfy but then why was he acting that way?

Mr. Crawling stood firm in his decision. "Not going."

They sighed. "Would you enter if we did it together? Would you agree that way? You, me, together?"

He smiled and nodded, so he was throwing that whole tantrum so he could be with them. They weren't surprised really, he was a clingy being.

They took off their clothes with some hesitation, how would Mr. Crawling react? Would it be a good reaction? Now they were the one hesitating. And he noticed. "You okay?"

"I'm okay, it's just..." They shook their head. "Nothing."

Once the two were without clothes they shivered a little. "I already took a shower today, taking a bath is not necessary for me..." Y/N said to themselves as they stepped into the tub. "Your turn. Come here"

This time Mr. Crawling stepped into the tub without protest, a happy smile on his face. After feeling the temperature, he giggled, he looked happy. "Fun fun." He said, splashing a little of water.

"See? Told you it was fun... But you usually take a shower first, then get in the tub to relax, you know? The problem is that my shower is too small for someone so tall like you... I mean, this tub is also pretty small but I guess it works, not that bad hopefully. I hope you'll enjoy it." Indeed, it wasn't that big of a bathtub so they were pretty close, his cold back pressing against their chest.

He was happily listening to their yapping, not understanding a lot of course, but Mr. Crawling just liked the way they voice sounds when they're speaking to him, it was a sound that made him feel nice and warm inside.

"I'm gonna wash your hair, okay?" Y/N grabbed the bottle of shampoo, Mr. Crawling didn't understand what they meant with that but he was happy to let them take care of him. It made him feel special.

They started to gently massage his scalp, Mr. Crawling tried to eat the foam and bubbles that the shampoo produced but after they told him it wasn't food he felt somewhat disappointed, it smelled so good, how is it not something he cannot eat? "No food?"

"No, it's not food. It doesn't taste as good as it smells."

Mr. Crawling didn't get what Y/N said but he understood that he can't eat that and he was a well behaved boy so he didn't try to eat it again.

They spent a lot of time just washing his hair, making sure the tips and roots were clean, his hair got dirty when he crawled around and they wanted to take care of it for him. "Your hair is so pretty." They whisper softly.

He giggles. "Me pretty?"

"Your hair. Your hair pretty. But you're right Mr. Crawling, you pretty too."

He smiled and giggled, wanting to hug and headpat them but not being able cause of their position, Instead, he just rubbed his head happily against her neck. They took care of cleaning his body as much as possible while teaching him the basics of how to do it himself as well. He was very cheerful, as usual, always giggling and smiling, enjoying the experience, the attention he received and the gentle touches, the nice words and all the spoiling and pampering they gave him. They made him happy.

They started talking after starting to scrub his legs. "Next time I'll try to kill someone with money... Maybe we could put soft carpet on the floors or something... Your knees get bruised cause of your crawling and... I'm sure you don't feel it that much and you heal pretty fast... but I don't like seeing you like that." They gently kisses his temple, Mr. Crawling smiled and giggled happily.

Mr. Crawling He was having the best day of his life, the warmth of the water, Y/N's body heat, the pleasant aromas of the soaps and shampoo, listening to them humming while they took care of him... It was perfect.

But eventually the water turned cold and soon they got out of the tub, they wrapped a towel around their body to help Mr. Crawling dry himself with another towel. He liked that, it was soft and it smelled good. Everything in that room smelled good, it was different from what he was used to in his world.

"So? Did you liked it?" Y/N asked.

"Yes. Me like this." He nodded his head, smiled happily. "Me like you."

"Thank you. I like you too"

It was time for a new lesson; getting dressed. Mr. Crawling wasn't used to clothes and how humans dress, so they got him a new robe and some underwear. He protested a little at first, something so restrictive felt weird at first but once he got used to it he even liked it. His new robe looked a lot like the old one he had, that made him happy cause he really liked that robe.

"Me pretty, me pretty." He repeated over and over again when he saw himself in the mirror.

"Yes, you're pretty. Very very pretty."

He loved their praises, now that they were dressed and out of the tub he could hug them and give them the headpats he wanted. That made them happy too. He was so clingy. It was new to have someone so in awe of even the smallest detail about them, Mr. Crawling was a faithful devotee and Y/N a deity that he would worship for life.

"Let's dry your hair okay? We're done here."

They went back to the room, having Mr. Crawling sitting down on the edge of the bed, they were behind him, dryer in hand ready to take care of that beautiful and silky hair that Mr. Crawling had.

"This is a little loud but it's okay. It won't hurt." They wanted to make sure Mr. Crawling wouldn't freak out cause of the noise the air dryer made. He nodded and Y/N started doing their thing. The hot air felt nice, it took a good amount of time to dry all of his hair but they did it happily, Mr. Crawling felt excited and that was enough of a reason to do it.

"I'm done, what do you think?"

Mr. Crawling grabbed the air dryer and held it in front of his face, the air was moving his hair back, making him giggle. "Fun fun! Me like fun!"

"I know you like fun." They looked at him tenderly, Mr. Crawling was easy to impress, even the smallest detail could make him very excited, it was refreshing to have him by their side. "You know, I wanna braid your hair... Want me to show you something? You'll look pretty, I promise."

He tilted his head to the side but nodded gently, giving them the hair dryer back. They braided his hair gently, once it was done they made him look at the mirror.

They smiled, he was so excited. "You look pretty."

"Me pretty!" He looks at them with a big smile. "Me pretty... Thank you..."

They looked at the clock, it was almost midnight. "I should sleep now, it's getting late."

Mr. Crawling nodded, understanding their need of rest. They lay down together in bed after turning off the lights. He was hugging Y/N as if they were a delicate piece of art made of glass, something he had to protect. "You pretty... Thank you." He said against their neck.

"This could be a part of our routine... I like it, I wanna do it again."

"Again?" He asks happily.

"Yes. Not now! But tomorrow... Again"

He giggles. "Again! Again! Tomorrow again!"

They kiss his forehead. "It's time to sleep for now, okay? Goodnight Mr. Crawling."

"Night night... Pretty."

[imerian]

Vr46 academy keychains

Set of five charms that all match in different ways

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 . ✦　　˚　

Open for detailed pictures of each one

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

˖⁺‧₊˚⭒✮⭒˚₊‧⁺˖

. ݁₊ ✶. ݁ ˖ˎˊ˗

I ran out of tags so I'll say it here but i would greatly appreciate a reblog, especially if you share your thoughts on these pieces in tags (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

(Also i forgot that bez have matching part with luca so I didn’t add that to tags sorry

[dykedvonte]

I saw your earlier post and you mentioned how people say things like "Curly is a grown ass man", "Curly is bigger than Jimmy", "Curly is Jimmy's boss", "He just needed a backbone" and you're so right cuz it drives me insane the way people want to hate Curly as much as Jimmy so they start saying really concerning stuff. Like is that not just victim blaming? Is saying "Curly is a grown ass man" not just rephrasing "why didn't she fight back?" It feels like the fandom think they can just say vile shit because his abuse wasn't physical (at first, and don't even get me started on anyone saying he deserved to be abused as if any kind of abuse can be justified) and he's a guy. Makes me wonder if people would bother seeing Curly as another victim if he was a woman or if discussion would be equally as insufferable because he's still not the "perfect victim" compared to Anya

It's crazy the way people say "I would've fixed everything unlike Curly" and then continue brushing off a victim and saying they deserved it. Even Curly acknowledged Anya's suffering even if he failed to help her in the end, and yet the fandom acts like this without any self-awareness (sorry for ranting like this but I'm just very tired of the fandom recently)

What worse about those comments and the sentiments is it’s often used when people are discussing him as a victim. Like acknowledging the abuse he also faced with Jimmy and that it shouldn’t matter or have an effect because he needed to “man up” and deal with it due to his position.

He needed to deal with it more effectively yes, but it is really victim blamey in the sense he should’ve just been able to. I talked about if Curly was a girl people would probably still judge her on the basis of being more experienced and accomplished and also needing to know better. The problem is that every is trying to treat what Anya and Curly went through on a comparative level. The game does not try to do that but instead tries to have their abuse parallel each other and be metaphorical, along with show the subtle and explicit ways abusers treat their victims.

People see how Jimmy and Curly parallel each other and create the idea “they deserved each other” in some weird ironic penance stance on both their parts. It’s just so odd because the game clearly shows that not a single person was deserving of their situation and especially the treatment under Jimmy at any point for any reason. The game centers around everyone paying for callous actions he commits and refuses to take responsibility for and yet the conversation center around one of his most tormented victims being questioned on how deserving he was of it/how it shouldn’t have effected him that badly.

I know you can be mad at Curly but making it out that if he was a real good man than he just would’ve had the balls to stand up to what was likely years of emotional and mental degradation still perpetuates the idea if a victim really didn’t like the treatment they would’ve just fought back harder or not put themselves into that position in the first place.

It goes back to the idea that there’s always a way to stop it and it’s on you if it happens. It’s again taking focus off the perpetrator and putting it on other aspects than the ever present source. Idk man but it’s like people are trying to make so many slightly different think pieces on MW that some just loop back to harmful rhetoric we were just moving away from.

[simmerianne93]

[Simmerianne93]Portrait_poses_16

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Hello everyone!! How are you today???

I wasn't able to post anything this week 'cause we are having a lot of blackouts lately... there's currently a problem in the country with some electric things and it seems we are being afected even when the problem is in another town... So I haven't been able to be in my pc that much and haven't been able to finish packing the posepacks that were going to be released this week.

But today it's friday and I didn't mistake this time haha... So it's time for a new family posepack for the Family member's collab, a collab hosted by @theserenadeofshadows that is taking place between november and december.

This pack was a commission I made for the lovely fallincloversims but as it is centered on family, I decided to added it as part of the family member's collab, so let's enjoy some more portrait poses, this time with little infant twins 🥰 And thank you so much Lou, for the beautiful cover and preview pics!! Your pixel family is stunning!!!

I hope you like them and enjoy them!!!

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What is on it?

6 Groupal pose for 4 sims (Made with a female rig, a modified male rig and two infant rigs)

--- What do you need?

Andrew poses player.

Teleport any sim by Scumbumbo or Mccc by deaderpool.

Invisible infant mat replacement  by mcrudd  (OPTIONAL FOR INFANTS WHO HAVEN'T LEARN HOW TO SIT YET)

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Instructions on the original post.

——

TOU

Do not claim my creations as your own.

Do not re-upload or modify my creations.

Do not make money of my creations.

Do not include my creations in Mods folders to download.

Please follow my Term Of Use.

——

⬇⬇⬇

Download it now here — ALL MY POSES ON THIS COLLAB ARE FREE TO DOWNLOAD WITH NO EARLY ACCESS.

⬆⬆⬆

——————

If you want to support me:  Patreon | Ko-fi

For more poses: Pinterest |  Wix

My socials: Twitter | Instagram | BlueSky

——————

I really hope you like them and I will say on advance: Thank you so much for use them.

@ts4-poses

[veronicaphoenix]

zutto — chapter thirteen | wc: 6k | series masterpost | prev. chapter

Chapter summary: Noah and Lia spend the day in Tokyo and visit a certain exhibition that leads to steamy things once they're back in their room.

Reading time: 25mins. aprox.

Tags and trigger warnings:  talks/depictions of rope play and mentions of war and torture (related to historical events), wet dreams, explicit sexual content including teasing, dirty talk, Lia wearing a choker, Lia on her knees, oral sex (Noah receiving), p in v (protected and unprotected), praise kink, “good girl”, Noah restraining Lia’s wrists, slight dom/sub dynamics if you squint, fluff. Let me know if I missed sth. 

Say thank you @bluestdai because the wet dream scene was inspired by her fanart of Lia and Noah. 💞

I wanted to post this before I leave on a roadtrip, so I didn't have much time to really revise it. Sorry for any typos or mistakes you might find.

General trigger warnings: this work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction, abuse, & violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

“Will you stop looking at me like that?” Lia demanded, her cheeks tinged with a rosy hue as she struggled to speak around a mouthful of her fourth tamagoyaki of that morning. Her hand hovered in front of her mouth.

Noah’s grin widened.  “No.”

A crease formed between Lia’s brows as she swallowed. She licked her lips before retorting, “It’s making me uncomfortable.”

“Is it?” Noah asked, his tone playful as he arched an eyebrow. “I love watching you eat. You look adorable. I can’t help it.”

Her face grew even warmer. 

“It makes me self-conscious,” she mumbled, glancing at the empty plate in front of her. “That was my fourth tamagoyaki...” 

Noah, who had finished his breakfast minutes earlier, continued to watch her, his elbows resting on the countertop of the kitchen isle. Grandma, ever busy, had flitted off to another part of the house barely five minutes ago. 

“Want another one?” Noah asked.

Lia’s eyes widened in alarm. Before she could reply, he raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. 

“I’m not teasing! I’m serious! I love the way you enjoy food. That’s all.”

Lia hesitated, her eyes darting to the tray where the remaining tamagoyakis were arranged in two perfect rows. Temptation gnawed at her, but her stomach was already satisfyingly full.

“I’m good,” she said, brushing her fingers on a napkin. She made a mental note to ask Grandma for the recipe before returning to the States. No Japanese restaurant back home could replicate the unique taste of Grandma’s cooking, and she was sure neither could she—nor Noah, for that matter. But she was willing to try. 

Just then, Hana bustled back into the kitchen, her white hair neatly gathered into a bun. She carried a pile of freshly washed kitchen rags that she quickly stored in a drawer. 

“Why don’t you take the rest with you?” she suggested, gestuing toward the food tray and already pulling a plastic container from the cupboard. “You’re spending the day out, right?” she asked, glancing between them.

“Yep,” Noah confirmed.

“Better to have something on hand,” Grandma insisted. “Just in case.”

“We’re planning to eat out,” Lia pointed out, standing from the stool.

“For later,” Grandma said with a knowing smile. Without waiting for further protests, she began packing the tamagoyaki along with a couple of small juice bottles.

Lia shrugged, catching Noah’s amused expression. Despite herself, she couldn’t hold back a grin.

As Grandma finished packing their food, Noah and Lia headed upstairs to change out of their pajamas. Today, they were planning to explore Tokyo on their own after spending most of their stay so far indulging in Grandma’s company and taking her to places. 

They made the bed together and Lia opened the balcony doors to let some fresh air in. While Noah was checking his hair in the bathroom, Lia stepped out and leaned against the railing of the bedroom balcony, dressed in black leggings, a white shirt, and a soft denim jacket that would later pair with her boots. She took a few deep breaths and admired the beauty of the scenery before her before plucking her phone out of a pocket and moving her fingers deftly over the display, the cold morning air tinging her nose pink as her eyes scanned the information. 

“Lia, you ready?” Noah’s voice called from behind.

“Yeah.” Lia turned to face him, hesitating for a moment before adding, “Noah?”

“Hm?”

“I found this exhibition...” She waved her phone slightly, her expression both eager and uncertain. “I thought we could go.”

“What kind of exhibition?” Noah asked, crossing the room to get a closer look at her phone screen.

“It’s a... Shibari exhibition,” Lia explained with a casual tone. But her gaze was watchful, eyeing Noah and unsure of what his reply would be. 

Noah’s eyebrows lifted.

Before he could say anything, she quickly added, “I’d like to see it.”

For a moment, Noah simply studied her. Then, with a shrug and an easy smile, he spread his arms. “If you want to go, I’m in. Where is it?”

“Not far from Tokyo’s center,” Lia added, relief evident in her voice.

“Then let’s do it,” Noah said. He extended his hand toward her. “Shall we?”

No matter how full they still felt after the hearty breakfast at Grandma’s, the bustling energy of Tokyo’s center and the amount of cafés was enough to draw them in for another warm drink—and Lia’s fifth tamagoyaki of the day—. After stepping out of the cab and strolling through narrow streets lined with shops and neon signs, they stopped at a cozy café. They talked idly as the indulged in steaming sencha tea and they watched the city’s rhythm outside the window. Lia connected her phone to the café’s free Wi-Fi and googled their way to the exhibition venue. The map showed it was only a fifteen-minute walk, so they set off and managed to make it there without stopping in too many stores. 

The venue was tucked away on a quieter street north of the city center, its sleek modern exterior standing out against the older buildings nearby. The gallery’s enormous windows offered glimpses of the artwork inside, making Lia and Noah pause by the first window, leaning close to peer in.

The gallery was expansive. The walls they could see were adorned by vintage, A4-sized photographs. Beneath each image, a foam block appeared to hold neat inscriptions in Japanese and English, perhaps with details about the photos. Deeper inside the venue, Noah and Lia caught flashes of different lights, red ropes and abstract installations.

Lia turned to Noah, biting her lip briefly but eyes sparking. She grabbed his hand and tugged.

“Let’s go.”

Noah smirked, charmed by her enthusiasm, and let her take the lead.

At the entrance, they were surprised to learn there was no fee. The receptionist, a woman in her forties with kind eyes and a nice smile, welcomed them. She handed each of them a brochure and explained the exhibition’s layout: the first section showcased historical photographs from the Edo period. The following ones contained suspended rope installations, live demonstrations, and at the end they would find a workshop space for learning basic knotting techniques, and even a literary and philosophical corner for quiet reflection. Souvenirs, books, and rope could be purchased at the store located at the very end of the exhibition. 

“Feel free to explore at your own pace,” the woman added. “There’s a live demonstration that will start in about thirty minutes, near the back.”

Lia clutched her brochure, her eyes already scanning the gallery, while Noah gave the receptionist a polite nod before following Lia inside.

Initially, the vastness of the gallery and the weight of the artwork’s themes made Lia hesitate. She lingered near the first exhibit, a collection of photographs depicting the use of rope in Edo-period hojojutsu, a martial art once used for restraining prisoners. The photographs were stark and evocative, showing the artistry that elevated the utilitarian knots into something symbolic.

Lia felt Noah stiffen slightly beside her, adjusting his black cap, his posture reserved. She glanced up to see his brows furrowed in concentration, perhaps grappling with the unfamiliar context and maybe wondering the repercussions of someone spotting him there. Wanting to reassure him, she reached for his hand, intertwining her fingers with his.

Their eyes roamed over the photographs, analyzing the intricate interplay of shadow and light that emphasized the delicacy of the knots. One picture captured a prisoner kneeling with a calm expression, their arms bound behind them in an arrangement so precise it resembled a lattice of branches. Another photograph showed a ceremonial display of knots, the prisoner’s posture one of poised dignity despite their restrained state. Each knot seemed to convey a story of its own, involving control, power, but also elegance and care. It was strange and yet, fascinating.

“Look at this one,” Lia murmured, pointing to an image of a woman dressed in a kimono, her hands tied with a flourish that mirrored the folds of her garment. “It’s beautiful.”

Noah nodded, his brow still furrowed. “It is,” he admitted, his voice low, almost reluctant. “But looks complicated.”

They moved into the next section, where the gallery shifted from history to abstract art. Ropes hung suspended from the ceiling, looping and twisting in gravity-defying arcs. Some installations were simple, resembling waves or vines, while others were chaotic tangles that seemed to pulse with energy.

Lia stopped in front of one particularly piece—a massive web of crimson rope that seemed to expand and contract with the airflow in the room. At its center was a suspended a gold ornament, bound so intricately that it seemed to hover like a captured treasure.

“How the hell did they do this,” Noah muttered to himself, his curiosity breaking through his earlier reserve. He stepped closer, crouching slightly to observe the knots securing the installation to the floor and ceiling. “It’s flawless. If you pull at one knot, the whole thing would collapse.”

“Kind of like trust,” Lia said thoughtfully.

He glanced up at her, caught off guard by her comment.

“Yeah,” he said after a pause. “Like trust.”

They lingered for a few moments before following the signs toward the live demonstration. The corridor opened into a large space with seating arranged in a semicircle around a low platform. A few people were already gathered, chatting quietly or flipping through their brochures.

On the platform, a man and a woman prepared for the demonstration. The woman was standing in the center, barefoot and wearing a beige tight bodysuit. The man was dressed in simple black clothes. He was arranging coils of rope on a low table beside him.

Noah and Lia found a spot where to stand on the side, close enough to see the details but not so close as to feel conspicuous. Lia noticed Noah’s posture relax slightly as he leaned forward, his cap shielding his face from view momentarily as his arm rubbed at Lia’s shoulder.

Moments later, the room quieted and the demonstrator stepped forward, bowing slightly before addressing the audience. 

“Thank you for joining us today. What you are about to see is a traditional art form that blends discipline and creativity. It requires trust, communication, and respect between the participants.”

A mix of curiosity and reverence settled over the room.

As the demonstration began, the audience watched. The demonstrator moved with a calm, rhythmic precision, guiding the rope around his partner’s arms and torso in fluid motions. Each knot was a statement, each loop a deliberate choice.

The demonstrator began with a length of smooth, red rope, holding it as though it were a living thing. He stepped behind his partner and guided her hands together at the small of her back. With a single motion, he looped the rope around her wrists, his fingers dancing as he secured the first knot. 

The room had grown so quiet that the soft rustle of the rope against the woman’s skin was audible, every sound amplified in the stillness. The demonstrator wrapped the rope twice more, forming clean, parallel lines that looked as though they had been measured with a ruler. He paused briefly to check her posture, a silent exchange passing between them before he resumed his work, the ends of the rope weaving into a decorative knot that held the arrangement in place.

Lia felt her breath catch as she watched. The movements were hypnotic. She could feel Noah’s steady breathing behind her, as well as the way his chest rose and fell a little more deeply than before. 

As the man finished securing the final knot, the woman flexed her fingers, the subtle movement testing the hold. The demonstrator stepped back, bowing slightly to acknowledge the completion of the first step. The woman returned the bow, her restrained hands adding an unexpected grace to the gesture.

The audience remained silent. The room felt charged, as though everyone was holding their breath in unison.

Lia shifted slightly, and that was when she noticed how close Noah had leaned in. She could feel the faint warmth of his breath near her ear, each exhale brushing softly against her skin. His heartbeat was steady but insistent, a subtle rhythm she could sense through the proximity of his body.

For a moment, the gallery and the audience faded away. All she could focus on was the quiet intensity of the scene before them, mirrored by Noah’s quiet intensity beside her. The blend of concentration and restraint in his posture made her wonder what he was thinking—if he was thinking the same things she was. 

Lia felt her own pulse quicken, her fingers tightening on the edges of her brochure. She didn’t say a word, afraid that even the softest whisper might shatter the spellbinding stillness of the room. Instead, she turned her attention back to the platform, where the demonstrator was already preparing for the next sequence. But the sensation of Noah’s presence intensified.

“Do you find that interesting?” he murmured, his voice low and velvety so that only she would catch his words.

Lia, so absorbed in the intricate process before her, missed the subtle suggestion in his tone. She nodded earnestly, her eyes never leaving the scene. Behind her, Noah smiled, a sly curl of amusement tugging at his lips.

The rigger moved smoothly, his hands working with practiced ease to loop the red rope over the woman’s shoulders and around her chest, framing her torso in a symmetrical pattern. The interplay of rope against skin, the way it both restricted and enhanced her form, was mesmerizing to watch.

Noah, however, had shifted his focus to Lia.

His fingers slid down her arm, brushing her wrist lightly before curling around it. With deliberate slowness, he brought her hand behind her back. Lia hardly noticed, her attention still on the stage, until she felt him take her other wrist and guide it to meet the first.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The brochure dropped to the floor silently. 

Noah’s chest pressed closer, his body shielding hers from the view of the other spectators. His hand, large and strong, held both of her wrists in a resistant grip. The grip wasn’t painful—just firm enough to keep her still, to make her heart skip a beat.

She tried to look back at him, but her cheek met his.

“Imagine we’re in the bedroom,” he whispered, his voice dipping into a husky timbre that sent heat pooling low in her belly. “And your hands are tied at your back. Like this.”

To emphasize his point, he tightened his grip just enough to make her gasp softly. The edge of sweet discomfort prickled through her awareness, and she was acutely conscious of how exposed they were.

“Can you picture it?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Noah’s grin deepened, his teeth grazing the shell of her ear. 

“Good. Would you be willing to do anything I say? While you’re tied up? Like her?”

“Yes.” Her answer was quick and breathless, her heart hammering in her chest as his words wove a spell around her.

His lips brushed the corner of her jaw, his breath hot against her skin. 

“Can I be honest? I can picture it, too” his tone was so seductive that Lia had to press her thighs together. “I’ve pictured it so many times already. I’d make you get on your knees...” With his thumb he traced circles on the inside of her wrist. “And after that, I’d do whatever I want to you, with the only intention of pleasuring you. How does that sound?”

Lia’s pulse quickened, her lips parting.

Before she could speak, the rigger on stage gave a gentle tug to the ropes, shifting the model’s position. The sudden movement pulled Lia’s attention back to the demonstration, her cheeks flushed with both excitement and awareness of the people around her—and at the hard thing pressing against her back. 

Back to her senses, she muttered, “you’re getting a boner, Noah.”

She was not facing him, but she could tell he had looked down at his own pants. 

“Yes, I am. Shit.” He released her fast and adjusted his trousers, taking a single step away from her and looking around coyly.

Lia looked at him over her shoulder and nearly snorted. Noah send her a playful glare. 

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “We’ll have time to finish this.”

As he stepped back slightly, giving her space, Lia felt the loss of his warmth but couldn’t quite shake the lingering heat of his words. She tried to get her attention back to the stage, trying to refocus, but her mind was already far away, spinning with possibilities Noah had just whispered into existence.

The demonstration ended and everyone clapped. A couple of minutes later, Noah and Lia walked hand in hand to the workshop section, where they tried to learn the basic of knots and ended up cracking up at clumsiness they both showed at it. Lia had stayed frozen for a full ten minutes trying to understand where the teacher had instructed to pull the rope through, and Noah had at least tried, only to get his own hands tangled in the mess of rope. Lia teased him about not having learnt anything from the book he had at home. He was quick to retaliate, stepping closer to nibble playfully at her ear, whispering that he hadn’t had anyone to practice with before. 

“Now I have you,” he said, “and I plan on getting really good at it.”

At the souvenir shop afterward, they made a donation to support the various artists who had contributed to the exhibition. Lia bought a history book, paying for it along with a set of black-and-red cotton ropes that Noah dropped onto the counter. 

“They might not let us take a katana home, but I’m sure there’s no problem with a few ropes,” he stated.

The day in Tokyo was eventful. They walked a lot, saw a lot, laughed a lot and shared plenty of kisses in hidden corners of the big city. They returned home with their hands full of bags and their feet aching, though the discomfort was soon forgotten when they sat down in Hana’s tea room. They enjoyed a quiet conversation with Grandma, recounting the things they’d done and seen—leaving out a few details, of course—as they sipped lukewarm tea before heading to bed.  

Upstairs, with most of the lights in the house off and their shopping bags piled on the desk, Noah changed into his sleep shirt and sweats and waited for Lia to finish brushing her teeth in the bathroom. 

He was about to flop on the bed when she called out to him. 

“Noah, could you grab my sleeping shirt?” Lia’s voice came from the bathroom.

“You mean my shirt,” he replied with a hint of amusement, moving to her suitcase and rummaging around to retrieve it.

“It’s been mine for years now. You lost your chance to reclaim it long ago—” Her words trailed off as she entered the bedroom, only to freeze in place. She stood there in her bra and panties, and Noah, instead of holding her shirt, had something else entirely in his hands: the pair of kitty ears and the choker she’d impulsively bought in Osaka. 

One in each hand, he lifted them slowly, inspecting them with raised brows.

“What... is this?” he asked, looking up at her, intrigued.

Lia’s shoulders slumped, her cheeks flushing. 

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Oh? And why not? What exactly are you planning to do with it?” He cocked an eyebrow, studying her reaction with growing interest.

She stepped forward, reaching to snatch them from his hands, but he quickly tucked them behind his back, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Did you buy these for me?”

She huffed, barely hiding a reluctant smile. “Can you just forget you ever saw them and put them back, please?”

“No chance.”

“Noah!” she exclaimed, her tone halfway between a scold and a plea.

“I think I need to see you wearing these,” he murmured, lifting the kitty ears in one hand, his eyes then drifting to the choker in the other, as though savoring the thought.

Lia gave him a pointed look, her lips pressed together to hide her amusement. “You will. One day. But not here. Now, please—put it back?”

“Put it on.”

“Noah…”

He paused, then added with a gentler tone, “Alright. Then, let me put it on you.” His voice softened, but his eyes held a playful gleam that made it impossible to deny him.

She took a slow breath, biting her lower lip as she debated. Part of her wanted to let him have his way, but they were at Grandma’s house, of all places. However, she couldn’t deny how his expression—the mix of pleading and challenge—made her pulse quicken.

“You’re trouble,” she finally said, her tone half-resigned, half-amused.

Noah smirked, tempted to raise his fist.

“Turn around,” he commanded, his voice dipping into a more serious tone that sent a shiver down her spine.

Obediently, Lia turned. She started to lift her hair, but he was quicker, his fingers brushing along her nape in a deliberate, lingering caress. Her breath hitched as he fastened the choker, slipping it around her neck. His arms grazed her shoulders as he clasped it, and he gently tugged her hair free to let it cascade down her back.

When she turned to face him, her heartbeat thudding, she saw him struggling to maintain his composure. He handed her the kitty ears with a quiet intensity in his eyes. She took them, placing them on her head, pushing her long hair back with a shy smile.

As she stood there, arms falling to her sides, he took a step back to take her in fully. His gaze fell on the choker, and she saw the way his playful smirk vanished, replaced by something deeper, something raw.

“Fuck.” 

There was a beat of silence. Lia blinked as she read his expression, then her eyes dropped to the bulge that had appeared down his front, and she felt a surge of power curse through her. 

Yes, she thought. Fuck it.

Her hands went to the laces of his joggers, and the sudden motion snapped Noah out of his trance. 

He caught her wrists. “No.” 

She froze. She waited, her breath catching. Then he continued, his tone dropping lower, dripping with command. 

“Get on your knees.”

Her stomach flipped. Oh, God.

Slowly, she sank to her knees, the soft carpet on the wooder floor brushing her legs as she looked up at him with brown doe eyes. Maybe it was a risk, but she took her hands back to his laces, and this time, he didn’t stop her. He let her undo them and pull his sweats down as he peeled his t-shirt off quickly, discarding it onto the floor. Lia pushed his underwear down, his cock springing free, thick and hard. 

“You’re gonna suck me, right?” he asked with strain. “I need you to s—”

Lia cut him off by wrapping her fingers around the base of his length and lifting it slightly to drag her tongue along the underside. She started at the base, tracing the thick vein that pulsed beneath her touch, all the way to the head. 

“Lia… Fuck.” 

She took her time, savoring the weight of him in her hand, her tongue exploring every inch. When she finally began to bob her head, his sharp inhale was all the encouragement she needed. Everything that came out from his mouth after were moans and praise.

“That’s it. God,” he murmured, “the mouth you have…”

The pride that filled her was electric, and it must have shown in her eyes because Noah’s lips quirked into a grin even as he struggled to maintain his composure. 

“You like that, Lia? You like sucking my cock?”

She couldn’t say yes—not with her mouth full—, so she doubled her efforts, hollowing her cheeks and taking him deeper. His features contorted as though caught between pleasure and pain, and she felt his fingers move to her head, his hands tangling in her hair as he helped guide her movements. 

“Keep going, baby.” His words were choked, punctuated by grunts. “Just like that. Yes.”

He looked down at her again, thinking he must have done something extraordinary in his life to deserve this—to have such a beautiful girl on her knees with her mouth full of him. On top of that, her desire and enjoyment were palpable in every moment. Knowing he was making her happy by having her at his mercy ignited a possessive thrill that rushed through him.  

His hands caressed her scalp, guiding her motions. Lia closed her eyes, her tongue working with deliberate twists and touches. She tried to take him deeper, twisting her tongue to draw more sounds from him, her confidence soaring with each groan that escaped his lips.  

Then, with that voice of his, that low, deep tone that never failed to leave her weak, his hands tightened in her hair as she murmured, “You’re such a good girl.” The praise was so raw it almost undid her. Heat flooded her body as she thought she might come just from his words alone. “You look so pretty on your knees, baby.” 

One hand slid from her hair to her chin, his touch gentle despite the fire in his eyes. He tilted her face upward, and as her lips released him, his cock slipped out of her mouth, a string of saliva connecting them. Her tongue darted out to lick it away before she bit her lip, wanting more. 

“You’re driving me crazy,” he admitted, his voice rough as his dark gaze trailed to her neck and the baby pink collar still snug there. “I’m never letting you take that choker off.”

Lia thought he would let her finish him, that she’s have him falling apart in her hands—and mouths—but Noah had other plans. Taking himself in his hand, he helped her rise to her feet. His hands cupped her cheeks, pulling her into a kiss that stole her breath. He didn’t give a fuck about tasting himself on her lips. 

The kiss was all-consuming, leaving her dizzy as he walked her backward toward the low bed. 

Once her knees hit the mattress, he guided her down, his hands slipping to the waistband of her panties. 

“Take off your bra.”

She obeyed without hesitation—she was Noah’s good girl—, unhooking the clasp and discarding the thin bra next to her. Noah tugged her panties down, tossing them aside before covering her body with his.  He trailed a path of kisses from her lower belly to her chest, kissing and licking her nipples and then sucking at her neck at the same time his cock made its way inside of her, making her gasp and grab onto his shoulders.  

With the friction of the bodies moving, the movements sent the kitty headband on her head slipping back. With a quick hand, Noah removed it, letting it rest on the pillow next to Lia’s head. 

“The choker stays,” his voice declared against her ear. His voice was low, possessive, and his words were followed by another murmuring that sounded very much like a “you’re mine”. He buried his face in her neck and thrust into her again and again. 

“Open your legs wider, Lia,” he urged. “That’s it. Good girl.”

She moaned in response. 

“Say my name.” Noah instructed. It was a command, a desperate one. There was something raw in the way he said it—a need he couldn’t suppress. He needed to hear his name on her lips. Over and over and over. 

“Noah, please.”

“Yes, Lia,” he groaned, his pace quickening. “Say it again. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything you need.”

“More, Noah. Please.”

He would give her more. He would give her everything. 

“Lia.” His voice was a mantra as his lips found hers again. 

“Noah,” she moaned, her eyes fluttering shut as her body surrendered.  

“Lia,” he repeated.

“Yes,” she breathed. She was barely present, her words more a reflex than conscious thought. 

“Lia, open your eyes,” he said, his voice softer now. 

Her eyes fluttered open, and the world shifted. 

Darkness enveloped the room, and her breath caught in her throat. Noah wasn’t on top of her anymore. He wasn’t naked—and neither was she.

He was lying on his side of the bed, propped on one elbow, his expression etched with concern as he patted her cheek. 

“Lia,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”

Oh, Jesus…

“Were you having a nightmare?” He asked. 

Lia’s hands shot to her neck, only to find there was no choker clasped around it. Her movement didn’t escape Noah’s notice, and his gaze narrowed suspiciously. 

“Was someone hurting you?”

“N—no, nothing like that,” she stammered, shaking her head. 

“That’s what I thought,” he added, his voice turning into something more of a tease, “because you were moaning my name.”

Lia froze. Uh, oh.

So… She had been having a wet dream.

And Noah knew. 

“Wanna tell me what you were dreaming about?”

Before she could respond, his hand slipped under the covers and under the waistband of her pajama pants and panties. His fingers grazed her, and he cursed in surprise as they came away with slick. 

“What the hell was I doing to you that got you this wet?” he asked, his voice rough now, desire flooding his tone. 

Lia could only close her eyes, her lips curling into a satisfied smile as his fingers began to circle her clit.

“You’re not going to tell me?” He pressed. 

She shook her head, biting her lip to suppress a moan. 

“Maybe I won’t let you come, then,” he threatened, his tone playful but edged with real intent. 

Her eyes flew open, shocked, and her hands moved instinctively to his wrist to keep his hand in place. 

“It’s a surprise,” she said, her voice breathy as his fingers circled her clit again. She moved her hand to his crotch, then, where she was met with his obvious erection, cock straining against the fabric of his sweats.

“A surprise?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I promise to tell you once we’re back home.” 

“And why can’t you tell me now?” His voice dropped, his curiosity turning almost predatory. 

“Because if I tell you, I don’t think you’ll be able to keep it together. And Grandma is a few doors down.”

That obviously only heightened his interest, his eyes darkening with frustration and amusement in equal measure. But he trusted her.  She was smart, and her reasoning—even if infuriating—was probably sound. He could still have her anyway, and he’d be content by just being inside of her and barely moving. 

“Fine,” he relented, but a low escaped him as he added. “You’re lucky I’m a patient man and you’re adorable when you’re having wet dreams.”

That only made Lia blush harder as she playfully pushed at him. 

His hands moved quickly from then, tugging at her waistband as she helped him out of his clothes. Pajamas and underwear were discarded with a shared urgency, their hands brushings and lips touching as they worked together. 

When the last clothing barrier was gone, Noah retrieved a condom from nearby and rolled it on with ease. He settled himself between her thighs and under the quilt. His weight against her was always comforting, grounding.

The way he looked at her, like she was his entire world, made her pulse race. 

“I’ll take this,” he murmured, “but you’re telling me everything as soon as we’re back in the States.”

And with that, he surged forward, capturing her lips in a kiss that silenced any response she might have given, the night stretching out before them in whispered sighs and muffled moans.

At the first stretch, Lia gasped. The first thrust never failed to make her brace herself against Noah’s shoulders, her fingers clutching for stability as she adjusted to the feeling of fullness. She had learned in their short time together as a couple that Noah always watched her intently in this moment. His expression conveyed so many emotions. His jaw was tight. There was a small wrinkle between his brows, and a dark unrelenting hunger in his eyes that contrasted with the careful gentleness of his love for her. 

As he began to move, her body relaxed. It was a dance, a symphony of shared breaths and whispered sighs, their connection running deeper than just physical pleasure. 

One of Noah’s hands slid to cradle the side of her head, his thumb brushing her forehead tenderly. With the other, he gripped her wrist and pinned her arm above her head. Lia let out a soft exhale and moved her free hand to rest beside the one he held captive, silently asking him to hold her completely.

Understanding, a cheeky smile curved Noah’s mouth. He pressed closer to her, meeting her yearning expression with one of his own before he dived to kiss her, teeth and tongue and all. 

It was slow, but it spoke louder than words. The eye contact making both weak in each other’s arms. Not even five minutes into it, Lia wriggled her wrist and Noah released her hands. Her finger found Noah’s face, and she dragged a finger along his lips, wet from her kisses. He caught it between his teeth with a teasing bite before letting it go, his features contorting with rising pleasure. 

“I’m not far,” he whispered, his voice tight. 

“Me neither,” she managed. “Can you…?”

“Yeah.”

He knew exactly what she needed. 

His fingers found her clit, rubbing as he increased his pace. He was tempted to cover Lia’s mouth with his other hand, but instead, he let it be, allowing the tension between them to coil tighter and tighter, their breathing growing ragged.

When Lia’s orgasm took hold of her, Noah thrust one last time, making her back arch even more. A loud sob escaped her lips, and that’s when Noah did cover her mouth, muffling the sound as his face buried itself in the curve of her neck. His body trembled with his release, spasms overtaking him as he spilled into the condom. 

Lia’s body shuddered beneath him, her legs locking around his waist as she bucked against him, riding out the last ripples of her pleasure. 

In the stillness that followed, Noah’s weight pressed her into the mattress, and she kept hugging him tightly, not ever letting go. For a long while, neither of them spoke. 

Noah’s mind wandered, and in the quiet of the night, with Lia’s heart beating against his own, he reflected on their past and every step, every scratch and heartbreak that had led them inevitably to this moment. 

Feeling more settled and thankful than ever, he whispered against her skin, “All my life, I was waiting for you without knowing it.”

Lia blinked, adjusting to the darkness in the room to find his eyes. Her fingers traced his face, her touch reverent as she admired the man he had become. “All those years,” she replied softly, “you deserved a better version of me.”

“It doesn’t matter what version I deserved,” he replied, his voice filled with conviction as he touched her pink cheek with the bend of his index finger. “I had you. I have you now, and I’ve loved every version of you.” 

Her eyes welled with emotion as she leaned up, brushing her lips against his as she promised, “You’re mine, Noah.”

— prev. chapter | chapter fourteen

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[vanoodle]

Imagine you are a child and draw something with your crayons. Drawing it makes you really happy and at the end you get up and proudly show your drawing to your parents but you get no reaction.

Now imagine you're working on a project. You've made progress on it and you're so proud of it that you post it in the group chat you have with your friends. Again you get no reaction.

Then later you find out that one of your friends showed your project to another group chat you aren't in and said "Look at this, isn't it cool?" But for some reason, they didn't tell you they thought that. Wouldn't that hurt?

That, essentially, is what posting fanfic is. Or literally any kind of fanfwork that you post for the fandom to find.

Of course not all of these people who can see your fanwork are your friends, they're strangers a lot of the time but you're in the same fandom, the same community, so if feels similar. And so, when you post something to this "large friend group" called fandom, and you get no reaction, it feels like your friends (as in: fans of the same thing) not acknowledging the thing you made and wanted to share with them.

As for the writing vs posting part, I feel like many people mean "posting" when they say "writing" or a mix of the two. I have written quite a lot of fic that I have never posted. It sits on my hard drive and only I will ever get to see it. To other people however it will seem like I haven't written anything at all because they have no way of knowing that I made something.

Another part is whether or not I actually continue my fanfics. Many fanfics I have written for myself stop somewhere in the middle because I lose the drive to finish the story. If I were to post it and someone gives me a comment, this might give me the motivation to actually keep going with it.

Writing only for myself also makes me sloppy. I will no longer care about spelling or grammar or writing in a cohesive way. I'm only getting the thoughts out of my head and I can understand my own writing just fine, so why would I edit it? Why would I polish it?

The "write for yourself" argument has been made so so many times and while I understand that being guilt tripped into commenting doesn't feel nice and shouldn't be done, I also don't think that telling others to just "write for yourself" every time they express their desire for attention is that great of a move, either, and it bothers me each time I see it.

I DO write for myself, I LIKE writing for myself but I don't write for myself the way I will when I plan on posting something on AO3 to share it with others.

There's a genre of post that I see pretty frequently, which can overall be summed up as, "Modern fandom has a culture problem where fanfic authors are treated as content producers instead of community members and their fanfic is treated as a commodity to be consumed instead of a high-effort labor of love that deserves attention and compliments given directly to the author". I agree with 3/4ths of that. I find the part I disagree with very interesting, the same way I find a lot of writeblr interesting, because it's a perspective that I had to work very hard to actually understand.

Because the posts have such a warped view of what writing is and why we post our writing! They say that fanfic fights against the commodified internet we live in, but all they're doing is changing the currency of payment in this attention economy. Another way you can summarize about 70% of these posts is, "My payment for writing and posting my fanfiction is compliments, and if you do not give me those compliments you are not paying. If you give those compliments behind my back, or talk about them privately without giving them to me as well, then you are stealing from me." I don't want to put it like that, but a lot of these posts use words like 'deprive', as if the reader who enjoys the fic without commenting is withholding something from them that they deserve. They use the word engagement, and they do talk about how part of that engagement is just the joy of talking about AUs and ships with other people, but when people say that comments are their motivation to keep writing, what they mean is that validation is their motivation to keep writing. Which is compliments.

I understand that, because I understand that fanfic writers are not immune to the attention economy. But I don't understand how almost every one of these posts talk about how this lack of attention makes them stop writing - that this act of theft is killing their desire to write. I could understand this if they meant 'desire to POST fic' (I don't post fic I think zero people would read.), but they talk about how lack of payment stops them from writing at all.

IMHO, that is what creates a commodity from fic. People want to treat fic as art, but an artist makes art for themself. Art is made because we want to hold parts of skills and ourselves in our hands. If you won't make art if you get no payment, then you have devalued the art completely.

We think of AO3 as this unique site that's born entirely from passion and is filled with fics written for love of the game. But guilt-tripping posts that shame people for not commenting on a fic they enjoy, and that describe how there's no point in writing fic if it's not getting attention, are directly contributing towards the culture of treating fic like a commodity.

I also really want a fandom culture where the relationship between artist and reader is reciprocal, where it feels like a community, and where I get to talk about my fanfic with people. My favorite part of posting fanfic is rambling about it on my blog, because I can talk about my art all day and I love it when people stop and listen. But I love that because I love my own art. If you love your own art, then it'll always have value.

Also Google your username, just trust me, that's how you find The Secret Discussions. Someone made a TikTok fansong of me once. WHAT?

[dark-raven-666]

saw your post.....

Mr Silvair x male!reader cuddles :3??

Mr Silvair x GN! Reader

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.

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A/N: I wrote this super fast because I was excited to get back to writing especially for this new fandom! I made the reader gender neutral because it really doesn't come into action, you can imagine the reader as whatever gender you like.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

Walking into the odd room where you had first met the love of your life, you notice a bloody body on the table. Probably one of his new subject of research.

You sit at the chair and think about how you two first met.

Mr. Chopped had asked you to carry him and as you descended the ladder with him you met the silver haired man you had grown to love.

The more you traveled in this odd world the more you saw of him. You could never pinpoint the moment you actually fell for him.

A loud crash is heard, snapping you out of your fantasy. As you rush to see what's happening you find him, speak of the devil.

He was picking up tools from the ground which looked rusty, unsanitary and some didn't even look surgical... But who were you to question him.

"Here let me help you" you spoke as you bent down and picked up the tools.

He responded with a measly nod and picked up the rest.

Your eyes wander to his hair, beautiful silver/white like shimmering snow on a cold winter night. Despite the bandages on his face, you found him handsome. You're cut off by a striking pain in your finger.

"Ouch! " you yell and drop the scalpel. In you daydreaming you had grabbed the sharp part. Seeing this Me Silvair immediately holds your hand.

Was he always this cold to touch?

"Painful? " he asks in that odd language that you have begun to decipher.

"It's just a tiny cut.. I'll be fine" you say just to be met with a confused head tilt. Ah of course.. He doesn't understand such words.

"Pain.. Little.. Not... Hurt" you spoke again and this time earned a nod from him.

Grabbing the first aid kit he sits you in the couch and wraps your finger. Despite the cold touch of his skin, he made you feel warm.

As he begun to walk away you grab his sleeve.

"Stay." Is the only word that comes out of your mouth.

Your lover was a busy man... Seeing him everyday yet not being able to hold him for long periods of time makes you yearn for him even more than if he had not been here at all.

He sits down as he reads your expression, there was sadness, loneliness and yearning.

After a while of sitting in silence you lean against him, you don't expect a response but you still get one. He wraps his arms around you holding you tightly.

Your head lays on his chest now as you sort of cuddle.

The two of you lay down on the couch, his hand in your hair as he gently caresses it. You remain on top of him hugging him. This was so odd to him. Your face went from sad to happy just from his touch? How fascinating. He made a mental note to research that later and closed his eyes. A tiny nap won't hurt right?

[the-music-maniac]

This is one that ended up way longer than I would've liked but the brainrot has reached concerning levels.

Brief mentions of sephgen, sephgeal, sephzack, multishipping, spoilers for crisis core, rebirth etc. etc.

I've begun realizing the longer I traverse the various pages of FF7 fanworks that when I say I ship Sefikura, the romantic/sexual aspects of it don't matter as much to me as the emotional catharsis of it. And I say this because I feel like sefikura is often used to explore one specific type of fantasy/smut/kink etc. There's a portion of people who like the ship because they like exploring how fucked up it is for post-nibelheim Seph to try to make Cloud into a puppet - this is usually (not always) accompanied by size difference kink, sub Cloud dom Seph, etc. And while I personally despise that characterization common in that interpretation of the ship, it's still valid, cause y'all should be able to explore your own fanfics however you want. An "Ew. Oh well, none of my business." kind of deal.

I would like to make it known though, that as a Sephiroth fan I kind of hate domroth. Block me if you must, we can just agree to disagree lol.

My interest in Sefikura stems mostly from Sephiroth. I'm gonna shamelessly admit here that while I love Cloud as a character, he doesn't intrigue me as much as Sephiroth does. And I know I'm biased cause he's my favourite, but I get easily stuck on characters who were abuse victims that became villains because they gave into their demons, characters who managed to stay kind, up until they were so beaten down they snapped, characters who I think have redemption potential, even if it wouldn't be easy to do. Which can be the case with Seph both pre- and post- Nibelheim.

Post-nibelheim is a LOT harder to write convincingly, seeing as how he actually did fuck up like. Everything. And his victims don't have to forgive him. Not Cloud either, even though I am writing a post about sefikura. The redemption is more about personal improvement, rather than forgiveness. But it's really interesting because a Sephiroth that even has a chance at redemption post insanity, is one who is a mix of before and after. He still has all that rage inside him from how he was treated by humanity, still has visions of annihilation and delusions of grandeur in his head, but he also remembers that he used to love, that he used to have companionship, scarce as it was, and cared for the well being of the soldiers he lead, etc. How does he get to that point in the first place, and how does he deal with it after? With the warring that is likely occurring from those two sides, the festering resentment of knowing he was given so much less than he should've been, knowing that he had a human mother, but since he IS closer in capability to a god than a human, does he think he's a monster because of his heritage still or because he gave in? Does it even matter at this point, what he is? And what will he do, now that he has a portion of his humanity back (however that occurred) and isn't just purely Jenova? How does he deal with knowing that even in the depths of insanity, he still just didn't want to be alone? And of course the turmoil on Cloud and Co's side, usually some flavour of, okay so repeatedly killing him isn't working, I'm tired of fighting him every couple of years, I still have the responsibility of making sure he doesn't fuck everything up again, and of course the hatred they understandably feel for the shit Sephiroth has done. And as Sephiroth kind of fights to recover some semblance of identity and understanding of himself (without destroying anything), watching that occur and knowing objectively that your enemy didn't deserve what he got when he was a child, that a part of what occurred was after he was pushed to that degree - even if you subjectively can't make yourself feel it at the beginning. And then as the story progresses and characters undergo development, Cloud likely wrestling with the fact that he actually is starting to understand Sephiroth's predicament, realizing Seph can be so very human at times. And dealing with the worst sin/betrayal of all, enjoying his company for his company's sake. A Sephiroth that gets through that and finds some semblance of contentment is meaningful because it would take a mind-boggling amount of hardship and work to get there. And tbh here's where the bias comes in - it's what I would say is a happy ending for everyone. I know people would disagree, a lot would say Cloud and Co getting rid of Seph is good riddance, why should he get a chance, why should they have to deal with him, etc. hence why I acknowledge this is biased - but a happy ending to me is one where everyone else gets to stop fighting Seph and move on with their lives and Sephiroth actually gets to live the life he wanted when he was a child. I won't ever be entirely satisfied with FF7 canon for this reason (true of any tragedy). Nothing that happened to him pre-insanity was fair. So. Catharsis.

As for "redemption" of pre-nibelheim Seph, I read time travel fix-its when it comes to sefikura cause I find it more interesting. For anything pre-insanity that involves canon divergence without time travel, sephgeal, sephgen, sephzack, shipping, platonic or poly makes more sense to me, cause those three are positioned better to help Sephiroth in a meaningful way. Also I personally do think Cloud is a little too young for that then (even if I'm also convinced he 100% had a celeb crush on Seph. Which is also not what Sephiroth needs at that point).

So, for sefikura, pre-nibelheim redemption usually involves Cloud getting yeeted back in time, either by the planet or by choice, to stop things before any of it happens. Cloud usually believes he has to kill Sephiroth, so he'd likely be in close proximity. So how would he deal with seeing, first hand, all the ways that Sephiroth was isolated and dehumanized in Shinra? Cloud still hates him at this point, for good reason. So he's here, witnessing not only Sephiroth being a kind/decent (awkward) human being, but also the lab visits, Hojo being Hojo, being paraded around for propaganda, the effect the "betrayal" of the other firsts likely had, Sephiroth being straight up depressed and malnourished and overworked, hearing whatever lies were fed to control him when he knows the truth. How does he deal with the moral repercussions of killing a technically innocent man? Especially when he realizes that a little support and compassion could've changed the outcome entirely? And Sephiroth on the other hand, now stuck with this persistent stranger that doesn't treat him like either an emotionless weapon or a legend, but some secret third thing (is he trying to kill him???? Can't tell, mixed signals are happening). Cloud would also likely help take Sephiroth's mind off things by virtue of existing - not because Sephiroth particularly cares about Cloud at the beginning (why would he, they're strangers) but because Cloud is fucking weird. Not a soldier, still mako enhanced, angry/aggressive at him in particular and seemingly frustrated about it, history that doesn't match up to current behaviours, etc. Hell, Shinra would likely even order Seph to keep an eye on Cloud. Meanwhile Cloud is desperately fucking with the timeline to ensure everything ends up differently, and accidentally becomes some sort of support for Sephiroth in the process. Because while everyone else was so fooled by the propaganda surrounding their hero, leaving him alone to his own devices (despair and depression), Cloud knows that his attention should be on Seph right now. And I don't think he's the type to just leave things alone out of spite if Seph where to, for example, stumble out of the lab, half delirious from Mako, because of one of Hojo's whims. There's also the question of whether Cloud would know to help with Angeal or Genesis' degradation, which could help either clear up some misunderstandings between Seph and his friends, or just ensure that Seph doesn't lose them at all in the first place.

And if Sephiroth were to find out/be told the truth, about his mother, or about the future, HOW is he gonna react to that???? Knowing that okay, so my heritage isn't actually that of a monster, I have human DNA, but ended up snapping and trying to destroy the world anyways - once again, what does it mean to be a monster, and is he one already, if he hasn't even done all of it yet, technically? In this timeline he's likely closer to Zack, maybe close to Cloud, potentially has met Aerith, maybe Genesis and Angeal are still alive, so he's more tethered by a support system, so how would that change his viewpoints? Would he feel guilty? Does that send him into a worse depression?

Sefikura just tends to give me emotional catharsis when it's written like that, because it gives Sephiroth the opportunity to mourn what he should've had, and gives him a fighting chance to change it. It's someone else being shown the decades of neglect, how deep the hypocrisy of Shinra actually went, the systemic abuse, acknowledging all of the bullshit Sephiroth went through before Nibelheim. It's him breaking out of other's expectations of him, Jenova, or Hojo or whoever else, and getting his childhood wish to just be normal. Like Angeal said (quoted loveless I think) "and what do angels dream of?" "Angels dream of becoming human."

This is also why I find very little enjoyment in reading domroth sefikura. Sephiroth isn't someone who reminds me of that type of personality, before he went crazy. He seems like a very awkward, calm and even sometimes soft dude in his downtime. He's literally just some guy. We don't see a lot of his personality because he was trained (tortured) into believing anything other than perfect control is weakness and failure. I don't think he would have any sexual experience. I think he's depressed, and exhausted and alone and is just very good at hiding it. I don't think he even wants or needs sexual intimacy necessarily, so much as he needs someone to feel safe around.

Anyways. This is. Way too long now. Goodbye.

[skepticalarrie]

hey! i've always believed in early Larry but recently have fallen down a rabbit hole about babygate and am convinced. i'm just stuck on a few points and was wondering if there are any theories.

1) what happened on the day of the 'birth'? if he is brett's child born from surrogacy, how did they get briana's name on the birth certificate and either get the baby into the hospital without alerting staff there that briana was not pregnant OR have had a non-pregnant briana stay in hospital for days. what are the theories on how they orchestrated the hospital stay logistically? surely it would've been easier to claim she wanted a home birth. also not sure if they rented a room in the hospital and just kind of camped out there?

2) is there any evidence of Louis being a present father to Freddie? the main reason i started to question the media narrative was that it seems like Louis rarely sees him and in AOTV it almost seemed awkward, like the child didn't really know him. adjacent to that, is there any evidence that Eleanor, who was supposedly with him for FIVE years post-babygate, ever met his son? after all the fuss about danielle vs briana and danielle mentioning her by name in interviews, not even a fluff article about step mum life and loving him? it seems like they forgot to account for parts of the narrative - on the surface, it seems fine but it falls apart on inspection.

thanks from a reborn larry :)

Aww, a reborn Larrie, how cute! Hahah welcome back!

1- I have two tags you might want to check out to see if they answer your questions: BIRTH CERTIFICATE and SURROGATE. But to sum it up, I don’t think it's as complicated as it seems. We don’t actually know what’s on the official birth certificate, no one does. What we saw was a copy of it, and it had a lot of inconsistencies. Personally, my guess is that the birth certificate was never even filed at the state level, and the names of the legal parents (Brett and Tammi) are likely on it. If Louis and Briana’s names are there officially, it would follow the typical process for surrogacy pregnancies, and I fully believe Freddie is unrelated to the surrogate. So the intended parents would be listed on the birth certificate regardless, so there were no special logistics involved at the hospital or anything like that.

2- Louis’ involvement in Freddie’s life started around 2021, and that's undeniable, even if you believe he's Freddie’s biological father. It’s interesting how some people claim we can’t know whether Louis was present for Freddie or how often they saw each other, but then they use it as proof when they are together later on. There’s definitely been a noticeable shift in Louis’ behaviour... he completely ignored Freddie’s existence for years. He never spoke about him. And then, all of a sudden, they're all over the place together, and Louis can't stop mentioning him. So, there’s at least something odd about it. As for Eleanor, the only time we saw them in the same place was at Louis’ LA show, which was being recorded for AOV. They were kind of in the same booth but on different sides, so there was some overlap, but that’s the closest interaction we’ve seen. Babygate became more consistent after Louis and Eleanor broke up and before they got back together in 2017. During all their time together, there was no babygate, basically!

[dresshistorynerd]

His family owned the arsenic mine and he divested his interest in it eventually, though of course profiting off of it was certainly a hypocrisy he engaged in for several years even after becoming a socialist. I can't really ask much more than he should have done it sooner, since he could hardly decide how his father had made his fortune. I agree that his continued denial of arsenic poisoning was insane, but his factory did stop using arsenic in 1879, 6 years before he send that letter. And he didn't use the other poisonous dyes that were used frequently at the time. I'm sure his position on arsenic specifically was influenced by his family's fortune coming from arsenic mine and the need to be defensive about it. My point was rather that there has been no debate at all past many years weather viscose method is dangerous to workers or not and still it is used, even though the owners know and believe it's dangerous, which clearly he wouldn't have approved of. Overall his factory was reported to have good working conditions, much better than what was typical at the time.

I know he was a Victorian man and while I fully admit I very much enjoy his writing and work, I'm not hero worshiping him. I do have many criticisms for him, but surviving under capitalism in a way where he tries to make some positive impact is not one of them. I know every write up on him loves to paint him doing business as a hypocrisy and a point of criticism, but I find that very silly. He never became rich with his business, though it did most of the time bring him enough money to live a comfortable life (though there were times during which the business was not as great and he lived a less middle class life), because he despised commerce and did it enough in order to do arts in his own terms and survive. This whole criticism feels so much like that meme "you criticize society yet you live in society, curious, I'm very smart".

I would much rather criticize him for his racist attitudes. Even though he was anti-colonialist and opposed the British Empire and he didn't believe in inherent biological racial qualities, he did accept the premise that there were distinctions between races, he just thought those were caused by the living conditions of different peoples both environmental and the material conditions forced upon them. It's still racist. He was also clearly ignorant about many different cultures, especially non-white ones, and did sometimes engage in cultural supremacy. He also was part of feminist causes, but he very much did uphold very binary gender roles evident in the way he wrote about men and women, even as in some ways he tried to oppose them.

Edit: I took this comment in a way it wasn't intended, understanding now better the point, I can agree that it would have been better if I had brought up some of those valid criticisms too in the original post. For context, here's the additional exchange we had!

The Morrisian case against fast fashion

Today I discovered that H&M made a William Morris collection some years ago. The heath death of the universe can't come quickly enough. We can stop now. Satire is dead and we killed her.

It's not just the whole concept of H&M using William Morris' designs for their fast fashion which is insanity inducing, but also the critical response it garnered. Like sure, people did realize this is insane and there was a lot of think pieces about it at the time, but I read several of them and they all seem to still miss the point in spectacular way.

The basic premise of these think pieces go along the lines of: "Would William Morris spin in his grave with a speed of light because of the H&M collection of his designs? A difficult question indeed. William Morris was a complicated man. He wanted art to be affordable to everyone. Isn't H&M affordable? That kinda fits. Though probably he would have some concerns about H&M's practices."

On the surface - yes - but like in reality - fuck no. There's no nuance in this particular issue. He talked about many times what he though of the H&Ms of his time, the retailers selling poor quality industrially produced "fashionable" bullshit. We know exactly what he would have thought of H&M. Here's couple of quotes from his 1884 lecture "Art and Socialism", which makes it very clear.

"It would be an instructive day's work for any one of us who is strong enough to walk through two or three of the principal streets of London on a week-day, and take accurate note of everything in the shop windows which is embarrassing or superfluous to the daily life of a serious man. Nay, the most of these things no one, serious or unserious, wants at all; only a foolish habit makes even the lightest-minded of us suppose that he wants them, and to many people even of those who buy them they are obvious encumbrances to real work, thought and pleasure. But I beg you to think of the enormous mass of men who are occupied with this miserable trumpery, from the engineers who have had to make the machines for making them, down to the hapless clerks who sit day-long year after year in the horrible dens wherein the wholesale exchange of them is transacted, and the shopmen, who not daring to call their souls their own, retail them amidst numberless insults which they must not resent, to the idle public which doesn't want them but buys them to be bored by them and sick to death of them."

He is describing the birth of consumerism, which was taking form during his lifetime in the late Victorian Era, which fast fashion is the extreme logical conclusion of, and he fucking hated it. He specifically railed against endless consumerist products, which H&M is the perfect representation of. It was definitely not the art and beauty he believed everyone required and deserved. He makes the distinction often.

"Now if we are to have popular Art, or indeed Art of any kind, we must at once and for all be done with this luxury; it is the supplanter, the changeling of Art; so much so that by those who know of nothing better it has even been taken for Art, the divine solace of human labour, the romance of each day's hard practice of the difficult art of living."

"And here furthermore is at least a little sign whereby to distinguish between a rag of fashion and a work of Art: whereas the toys of fashion when the first gloss is worn off them do become obviously worthless even to the frivolous—a work of Art, be it ever so humble, is long lived; we never tire of it; as long as a scrap hangs together it is valuable and instructive to each new generation. All works of Art in short have the property of becoming venerable amidst decay: and reason good, for from the first there was a soul in them, the thought of man, which will be visible in them so long as the body exists in which they were implanted."

When he thought of popular Art he thought of the craftsmanship of the common people. The art people have made from useful everyday objects with skillful handicrafts. This is what he means by "divine solace of human labour". It's not reverence of Puritanical work ethic, on the contrary, it's the reverence of creation, of the earnest joy people feel when they get to express themselves through their creative pursuits. He certainly didn't believe in work for work's sake, work needed to be worthwhile and enjoyable. He summarized his own position on what labour should be thusly:

"It is right and necessary that all men should have work to do which shall be worth doing, and be of itself pleasant to do; and which should he done under such conditions as would make it neither over-wearisome nor over-anxious."

He urged his middle class audience to reject consumerism (the lecture was for a very much middle class atheist society):

"For I say again that in buying these things: 'Tis the lives of men you buy! Will you from mere folly and thoughtlessness make yourselves partakers of the guilt of those who compel their fellow men to labour uselessly?"

I think it's glaringly obvious H&M and fast fashion in general is what he would consider luxury. Rags of fashion that are just churned out and discarded without thought and produced by compelling people to labour uselessly. It's not popular art that's made by workers and craftsmen, who are able to express themselves through it. There's no agency for the abused workers in H&M's sweatshops, they are not expressing their joy of creation, they are simply labouring uselessly.

Morris didn't shame workers for buying affortable things even if they weren't Art with big A, because that's the problem he despised the whole economic system for, for taking away the popular Art from people, making it inaccessible, and selling back mass produced products with very little practical or aesthetic value. So I don't think he would have problem with people who can only afford fast fashion today. They are the victims of capitalism too, because Art has been taken away from them. But the idea that some of these think pieces had that perhaps the H&M's Morris collection can be good actually if you squint, that H&M has the capacity to bring the art and beauty Morris advocated for for the people, is level of stupidity that's hard to express in words.

Morris didn't believe anything made with exploited labour could be truly beautiful, truly art. In his 1879 lecture "The Art of the People" he put it like this:

"That thing which I understand by real art is the expression by man of his pleasure in labour."

The way I understand this, is that art is communication. Through it we communicate feelings, ideas and thoughts, that is it's purpose. So for that communication to work, for it to be imbued with message, the person making it needs to feel passion and love for it's creation. How can there be love and passion if the hands making the garment belong to a tired exploited worker who has no egency what so ever in their work and can only think about survival to the next day?

Beyond the fundamental exploitativeness of H&M and fast fashion, this collection would still get zero points on aesthetic values from Morris even with his own designs. Because the work itself was such an important part of art for Morris, good design was nothing without good craftsmanship. Good design in his mind was always relative and dependent on it's purpose.

"For everything made by man’s hands has a form, which must be either beautiful or ugly; beautiful if it is in accord with Nature, and helps her; ugly if it is discordant with Nature, and thwarts her; it cannot be indifferent." (The Lesser Arts, 1877)

Here when he says nature, he means the nature of the thing that is made - basically it's purpose and function - and the nature of the materials it's made from. Basically, the design must always be made to bring out the function of the art and the qualities of the material it's made from, not fight against them. This is because he believed handicrafts were uniquely suitable for expressing the love of creation, therefore superior labour, and to really bring out the qualities of the craftsmanship and enjoy the creative process, the design should be suitable for that craft. The other side, which was the joy of using and experiencing art, required the craft to be selected for the suitable purpose. Using poorly functioning furniture for example is not very enjoyable, nor is using clothing that's made from materials that are not suitable for the climactic conditions it's supposed to be used in.

H&M of course utterly fails in this. They use Morris' designs in fully unsuitable ways. They print patterns made for example for wall papers on poor quality fabrics with synthetics dyes they weren't made for. This line from one blog post I came across really got me: "Therefore, without cheapening the artistic value of Morris’ designs, H&M’s collection offers an unparalleled potential for accessibility to them." No. Fuck no. They do in fact cheapen Morris' designs in every single way possible. Literally this is atrocious.

Despite the popular depiction, Morris wasn't in fact against industrial machinery or industrial art even, or at least he wasn't once his views on art and politics matured. He did think technology was useful, but he thought the people should use industrial methods for the benefit of all, not be enslaved by the industrial machine.

"I have spoken of machinery being used freely for releasing people from the more mechanical and repulsive part of necessary labour; and I know that to some cultivated people, people of the artistic turn of mind, machinery is particularly distasteful, and they will be apt to say you will never get your surroundings pleasant so long as you are surrounded by machinery. I don't quite admit that; it is the allowing machines to be our masters and not our servants that so injures the beauty of life nowadays. In other words, it is the token of the terrible crime we have fallen into of using our control of the powers of Nature for the purpose of enslaving people, we care less meantime of how much happiness we rob their lives of." ("How we live and how we might live", 1887)

However, he thought that the designer should approach it the way they approached any craft, by designing for the strengths of the machine work.

"But if you have to design for machine-work, at least let your design show clearly what it is. Make it mechanical with a vengeance, at the same time as simple at possible. Don't try, for instance, to make a printed plate look like a hand-painted one: make it something which no one would try to do if he were painting by hand..." ("Art and the Beauty of the Earth", 1881)

He did use some machinery for fabric and wall paper printing, but he was very intentional about their use. Still his designs weren't made for the type of methods these modern H&M machinery uses and he did for example use natural dyes. Particularly insulting is that some of the H&M clothes are made from viscose, rayon made with viscose method. Viscose method is extremely toxic and is known to cause long term health consequences for the workers and the people in surrounding areas. This has been well proven knowledge for ages. William Morris' wall paper factory in the beginning used the typical method used at the time which involved arsenic, but once he learned this could pose risks for the workers, he changed the method. Many of the new synthetic dyes were toxic at the time, which is the major reason he so favoured natural dyes, known to not cause health issues for workers or pollute the environment.

The question many of these think pieces about the H&M Morris collection posed was, would Morris disapprove and should we care? The first part of that is very easy to answer. Yes. Of course Morris would disapprove. He is currently powering the whole of British isles with purely the kinetic energy his grave-spinning produces. Should we care though? If you care about Morris' art, if you want to see more of that kind of art in this world, you should care. Morris' art is not about the superficial qualities. Copying his designs and aesthetics and styles, will only lead to hollow imitations, that are exactly what he described the rags of fashion to be; as the shininess of novelty wears off they will reveal themselves to be soulless, useless and utterly empty. This collection is just that. To see more of the kind of art that makes you feel like his art makes you feel, not just something that reminds you of that feeling, you should focus more on the way the art is made and less on the specific aesthetics. If his vision of labour and art was realised, all art produced of course wouldn't be loved by every person, but all of it would be loved by someone, even if that someone was just the maker. And that would be more worthwhile than every single rag of fast fashion.

I will stop William-Morris-posting now and return to my thesis.

[storytowrite]

|You will always be mine ~ Lee Minho series|

PART 15

Paring: Minho x Y/N

Genre: smut, angst, university au

Word count: 2990

Warnings: sex, 18+, Minho is a psycho, dom!Minho, sub!reader, abuse, slight BDSM, kidnapping, violence, age gap, Minho is an university professor, Y/N can be hurt physically (and mentally too I guess).

Synopsis: Who knew that accidental fuck in the club bathroom with a handsome man will bring you to a lot of unexpected events.

Author's note: I kept this series for a really long time not sure if I want to post it or not, but I decided to do it anyway, so I hope you'll like it.

——————————

The trip lasted about two hours. Throughout this time, you were strapped down and immobilized in the passenger seat, while Minho was focused on the road. Although your body felt excitement, you began to have some concerns. You weren't sure what to expect from the man who had actually kidnapped you. And he did it with your consent, after all, you got into his car yourself.

“We've arrived, kitten.” Minho's voice suddenly broke the silence that had prevailed the entire way. 

“Where are we?” You asked, rubbing your wrists as the man untied your hands. You sat up slowly and looked out the window. 

Minho had stopped the car in a nice courtyard right in front of a fairly large wooden house. There was nothing around except the forest that surrounded the whole area. You trembled slightly. You liked it less and less. 

“You'll be safe here.” Minho said and got out of the car, then opened the passenger door and shook your hand.” Come in, I'll show you your new home.” He smiled broadly at you. 

“Wh-what? No, Minho don't joke around like that, okay? It's not much fun... I want to go home.” You said, looking around panicked. 

“As I told you, here is your new home, kitten. With me. Come on. Get out and do what I say before I run out of patience.” He said firmly. 

You obediently got out of the vehicle, trembling slightly in fear. You looked at him uncertainly not knowing what to expect. Minho turned around and started toward the house. You sighed heavily and moved after him. You knew that until you figured out some way to get away from him, you would have to play along as he told you to. 

As you crossed the threshold of the house, you swallowed your saliva loudly. The interior of the house was upholstered in light wood, contrasted by black furniture with gold accessories. It definitely did not look like an ordinary cabin in the woods. Until you were stunned. You stopped in the middle of the spacious living room looking around the room.

“Do you like it?” Minho asked, but didn't expect an answer. “Hungry? I'll make dinner.” 

“Minho... where do you get the money for all this? It's like you're an ordinary lecturer...” You started but he interrupted you in mid-sentence. 

“I invited you to my house, and all you think about is money, kitten?” He asked disapprovingly and stammered. “You shouldn't ask such questions. It's not nice to ask how much or where someone has money, you know?”

“Sorry.” You replied, quickly lowering your head and sticking your gaze into your shoes. 

“But...” He walked over to you and with his index finger lifted your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye. “I wouldn't know how to be angry with you, kitten, you know? I'll answer your question. In addition to teaching at the university, I'm involved in, um... how shall I say it? Ah yes! You could say I'm a collector of sorts.” He smiled at you and leaned gently over you. “And I collect not only beautiful objects.” He whispered in your ear, and ran your lips gently over his petal, at which you quietly sighed. “I collect many things. And you, you are my most important trophy.”

“I am not an object.” You said, and your voice trembled softly. You stepped back slightly while watching him. You took a few steps back, but Minho walked slowly toward you, smiling nonchalantly.

Your back encountered an obstacle - a glass door leading to the garden. You felt their coldness on your body and immediately winced. You wanted to take half a step forward, but Minho was already leaning over you. His hands were on both sides of your head. Even though the height difference between you was small, you felt really small.

Minho smiled at you slightly. He knew exactly what you must be feeling. He was enjoying this moment. He liked the emotions he was causing in you. He saw a mixture of excitement and fear in your eyes. And even if you denied it, he was definitely aware of the effect he was having on you.

"What are you going to do with me now?" You asked quietly. You knew there was no chance of escape. You looked into his eyes, which cost you a lot. Fear slowly began to take over your body.

"I'll rape you and kill you." He whispered in your ear and kissed you gently on the cheek, then pulled away with a quiet laugh. “I already told you, kitten, I won’t hurt you. You’re important to me.”

“Important people don’t get taken out into the middle of the forest against their will!” You suddenly shouted in a surge of adrenaline, and your voice was full of conflicting emotions.

“You can scream as much as you want, kitten. No one will hear you here anyway.” Minho shrugged. “You’re safe here… And only with me. Just as it should be. I already told you, you don’t need anyone but me.”

“I’m not your fucking property!” Anger began to take hold of you. “I want to go home! You’re fucked up!”

“Hm…” Minho tilted his head slightly, looking at you. “No.” He replied shortly. “Although you’re right, you’re not a thing. But you belong to me and nothing will change that, kitten. We’ll always be together, you know?” He pushed the unruly locks behind your ear. “And you can resist as much as you want, but it won’t change anything.”

“I want. To. Go. Home.” You insisted, your anger growing weaker and weaker.

“And I want a star from the sky! We all want something Y/N. I already told you, this is your home. Why aren't you even listening to me, huh? You’re mine now. My most important trophy that I have to protect!” His voice was getting more and more nervous.

“Protect? What the fuck are you trying to protect me from, huh? The only person I need protection from is you! You fucking kidnapped me! And you took me to god knows where!” You growled.

“I didn't force you to do anything, kitten. You got in my car of your own free will. I said I'd take you home. I didn't say whose. You didn't ask anyway." He replied calmly and shrugged.

"I didn't even think you wouldn't take me to my apartment Minho! You're some kind of a fucking psychopath!"

"Call me whatever you want kitten, after all you didn't specify what you wanted, not me." He replied nonchalantly. "You're probably hungry, huh? If you weren't you wouldn't be screaming like that. Eh... Sit down in the living room or explore the house. You won't get very far anyway. Oh and one more thing..." He pulled your phone out of your pants pocket. "You won't need this anymore." He winked at you, then broke the device in half, threw it on the floor and stomped on it.

You looked at the remains of your phone. Tears welled up in your eyes. You knelt on the floor and started to pick up what was left of the device. You felt bad. Lee Minho, the man you met a few months ago in the club turned out to be a completely different person than you imagined. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye as he bustled around the kitchen. You were afraid of him and at the same time you felt the hopelessness of the whole situation. Alone with HIM in the forest. Without a phone. Without the possibility of contact with anyone close to you. You didn't know what to do with yourself, or what awaited you. Only Minho knew what he would do to you. And that was what you feared the most.

Minho, on the other hand, was pleased with himself. He knew that you were afraid of him and he understood you to some extent. In your place, he would probably be distrustful too. However, he didn't care that much about what you felt. The only thing that mattered was that you were with him. He wanted to keep you as close to him as possible and forever, and he knew that he would do everything to fulfill that desire.

"Dinner's ready." He said, placing a warm meal on the table. He glanced at you, still kneeling on the floor over the broken phone. “Y/N, come on, it's getting cold.”

But you didn't react to his call. You stared at the shattered device and tried to think of a way to escape.

“Hello, earth to Y/N!” Minho approached you. “I said dinner's ready. Come on in. Before I start getting nasty.”

“I'm not hungry.” You mumbled. “I want to go home, please.”

“I already told you this kitten, why don't you listen to me? You're home. Your home is where I am. Now I invite you politely to the table.” He said in a tone that didn't tolerate any argument, staring at you. You swallowed hard but followed his command. You sat down at the table and took a fork in your hand. “Enjoy.”

You started eating. Although you had no appetite, you ate what Minho gave you because you were afraid of his reaction if you accidentally disobeyed him.

“I'll show you around the house after dinner.” Minho suddenly spoke, breaking the silence.

“Okay…” You nodded. You knew that for now you had no choice and had to do what Minho told you. Otherwise it could end badly for you. You quickly ate your meal. Minho put the dirty dishes in the sink and walked over to you.

“Come on.” He said shortly and headed towards the stairs.

The house you were in had two floors. Downstairs there was a huge kitchen in a modern design, connected to the living room and dining room, all in an open space. In the living room there was a huge, black, leather couch, similar to the one Minho had in his apartment in the city center. There was a large TV hanging on the wall, and right next to it was a door leading to the garden.

The upper floor was decorated in a similar way to the living room. Upstairs there were four bedrooms and a study, which Minho immediately forbade you from entering. Each bedroom had a bathroom with a shower. In the master bedroom, apart from a huge bed with black satin sheets, there was a spacious wardrobe. In the bathroom, apart from the glass shower, there was a deep bathtub in the middle. On the counter against one of the walls were two sinks and a lot of cosmetics.

You hadn't noticed before that both the wardrobe and the bathroom were fully equipped. It looked as if Minho had been planning your move to this house for a long time. However, you didn't dare to ask him about it. You were afraid of what kind of answer you might get.

When you had already walked around the entire apartment, you went back down to the living room, Minho sat down on the leather couch and looked at you. His attitude was extremely nonchalant. Two buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned from the top. Even though you were afraid of Minho, you had to admit that his attitude and appearance impressed you.

“Okay, kitten.” He began, looking at you standing in front of him. “We need to establish some rules in this house. First, you have to listen to me. You are not allowed to go into the study upstairs and you are not allowed to leave the house. Besides, even if you tried, you will not succeed. There is nothing around, there is only the forest. Second, you can of course walk around the house and garden, but the garage is off limits to you. And third and most importantly, from today you belong to me. If I decide that you are a good enough girl, I will get you a phone… maybe you will get a computer in some time.”

“And what am I supposed to do here?” You asked, annoyed. “Wait for you like a faithful dog? You are psychotic! I want to go back to my apartment!”

“Kitten, apart from me you have nothing. This is your apartment now, whether you like it or not.” He replied calmly.

“You can't keep me here for the rest of my life. What about my studies? What about my family? And friends? They'll be looking for me!"

"And they'll find a dead body. It will be so massacred that they won't even think it could be anyone else." He replied unfazed, making you shiver. “Kitten, I've already arranged everything. You don't have to worry about anything. Your loved ones, well... they'll forget about you quickly. And as for your studies. What do you need them for when I'm your professor anyway? You're homeschooled."

"That's not how it works, Minho. I need to have contact with others. I can't sit around and do nothing all my life because that's what you want. And what if you get bored with me? Will you get rid of me like you did with Rheena?"

"Rheena, ah yes... Well, luckily you're not Rheena. Your luck, of course." He winked at you. "Rheena deserved what happened to her. But you don't have to worry, kitty, I won't hurt you, which I think I've already mentioned. You have a really bad memory and you don't listen to what I say... I think I'll have to teach you some lessons."

"I don't think I need your lessons. I don't know what sick game you're playing, but that's not right, Minho. Please, let me out and let's forget about this, okay? I won't tell anyone, I promise you." You didn't give up.

"Hm... no. I won't believe any of your promises, kitten. Besides, you already gave me up to the police once, right? I don't want it to happen again. Now, come to me."

You swallowed hard, but approached the man. For now, you decided to follow his orders and in the meantime figure out a way to escape. Minho looked you in the eye and pulled you onto him. You landed on his lap.

"Perfect." He smiled slightly. "Like I said... I have to teach you a lesson." He added and suddenly put you on his lap.

"Minho, what are you doing?" You asked, surprised.

“I’m teaching you how not to behave. Any disobedience will be punished.” His hand landed with a force on your right buttock. You let out a surprised cry. You didn’t have time to say anything when you were hit in the other buttock.

Minho gave five hard slaps on both of your buttocks. With each subsequent one you let out louder and louder cries. You didn't want to admit it, but the man's slaps caused a slight arousal.

Lee Know knew it perfectly well. He knew your body better than his own. He knew what he had to do to arouse you, without too much effort. And that was what he wanted. He gently massaged your buttocks, then moved his hand between your thighs, at which you let out a quiet sigh.

He began to rub your sensitive spot through the material of your shorts. Your breathing quickened, the more pressure he put on. You began to moan quietly. Minho took his time. He relished your voice. He began to gently make circles, then pressed lightly on your shell, making you moan even louder.

He felt the material of your pants getting wetter and wetter. He smiled slightly to himself. He laid you down on the couch and stood over you. He took off your pants and panties, and then looking you straight in the eye, he inserted a finger into you, which he began to gently move. All flushed, you began to writhe under him and sigh louder and louder. Minho watched your reaction carefully. After a moment, he added another finger, and pressed his thumb on your button. In response to the sudden stimulation, you moaned loudly. Minho didn't take his eyes off you.

Your lips were parted and your eyes were half-closed. You were all flushed and you were letting out louder and louder moans of pleasure. Minho was proud of himself, he almost brought you to the peak. However, as soon as he noticed that your orgasm was approaching with great strides, he stopped all movements. He pulled his fingers out of you and licked them, watching with a slightly mocking smile as irritation appeared on your face.

"You're cute, you know that?" He asked, slightly amused.

"Why?" You asked, surprised and irritated. “Minho, I was close.”

“I know, kitty.” He smiled. “But you haven’t been a good kitten lately.”

“But I was close… I can handle it myself.” You were already reaching out to finish what Minho didn’t want.

“Oh, you’re not allowed.” He grabbed your wrist tightly. “You’re not allowed to touch yourself without my permission, is that clear? Be good and you’ll get what you want, okay?” Saying that, he pierced you with his cold gaze that always made goosebumps rise on your body.

“Y-yes…” You agreed and looked away.

“Great, kitten.” Minho smiled widely. “Now, go take a shower. It’s been a long day, don’t you think?”

“O-okay.” You listened to the man and went to the shower, where you were lost in thought.

Maybe it won’t be so bad? You thought, standing under the stream of warm water. You didn't want to admit it to yourself, but you missed his touch, but the thought of it made you very uneasy. Your mind was saying one thing, and your heart was telling you something else. You weren't sure if you really wanted to run away from him. And that was what you feared the most.

——————————

<- Part 14 | Part 16->

-> Series Masterlist

Taglist: @yaorzu-blog, @iovecb97, @hpnsfwaddict, @syedazarintasnim, @palindrome969, @biujulia @inlovewithstraykids

[itsa-me-lily]

This was yet again, not what I was intending to write. I was going to try to do the fic for the spa day hint but I got too caught up in my head on logistics. Remember kids, don't let logic or canon stop you from writing the fiction you want to.

This is a pallet cleanser for me after posting 'It's a Quarter after One'.

Here is the rest of the Military Program Spouse list.

Warnings;

Nothing really. Just tension.

Movie nights, were supposed to be peaceful. A way to unwind from the day and maybe, possibly, in the realm of, spend some time with a person who's existence didn't drive you crazy. So how this turned into you using Simon like a living barbie doll you weren't sure, but you couldn't complain.

That was a lie, you knew exactly how it turned into you belting Simon's pillows around his waist. You had a fucking point to prove.

Simon had been willing to watch a new documentary from the Smithsonian with you, a piece about historical fashion and the myths that spiral out of it. You hadn't thought that Simon would want to watch it, but he had shrugged when you'd ask and well, gifted horses and mouths and all that.

You had made veggie snacks for the boys, and popcorn for you and Simon, queued up the film and the night was off. For the most part it was alright, some stuff you already knew, others you didn't. Simon was pretty silent the entire time, until they got to the corsetry and the discussion of tight lacing.

Simon wouldn't believe the idea that it was mostly an illusion trick. Said that men were obviously smarter than that. You called bullshit. He called your bullshit bullshit. So belting his pillows to his ass.

And no, you weren't going to think about how thick his waist was, or how solid he felt as you tightened the cord around said waist. And you especially weren't going to look up at him because you were positive he was doing that thing where he was staring down at you with his dark eyes that made you feel like you were being sucked in via your soul and did not make your heart skip. Not thinking about it at all.

Giving the improvised belt a tug, and not thinking about his...everything, you nodded, pleased with how the pillows bulked around his waist. Now just for the final piece. You grabbed a throw blanket from the couch, wrapping it around the front of your husband.

(How dare that man be a fucking brick wall of muscles. Seriously what the fuck.)

Once you were ready you grabbed your phone, snapping a photo and disregarding the unimpressed look on Simon's face, already talking over his silence to prove your point.

"Look your shoulders are already broad enough," (Not thinking about it) "So we just had to balance out the width of your hips. Now instead of looking like a Dorito, it's like an hourglass, and your brain gets tricked into thinking your waist tinier."

You're zooming in to show him what you meant when there's a knock on your door, making the both of you freeze to stare at each other. You weren't expecting anyone, and given how tight his shoulders drew in, neither was Simon.

It was tense as you waited to see what would happen. And it only got tenser as there was another knock, whoever was at the door insistent.

"Oi LT, ye in for the pub? Never answered me earlier."

Oh. It was Johnny. At the door. To see if Simon wanted to go out. Because Simon hadn't clarified with him earlier? You almost felt like your strings got cut as you relaxed, looking at the door as you answered for Simon before the Scot could start knocking again, or break down your door.

"Just a second Johnny."

You looked back at Simon and felt your breath catch. He was so...intense sometimes. For a moment all there was, was you and him, the TV lighting half his face and showcasing the curve of his brow that lead to the bridge of his nose, the rest of his face hidden by his surgical mask.

"We should get the door."

"He can wait."

Simon's voice couldn't possibly be that deep most of the time. You'd have noticed it before right?

You had to swallow, your mouth turning dry as you tried to think of something to say.

Thankfully a certain impatient Scot saved the day by knocking yet again, though sounding uncertain this time.

"Are ye alright in there? Am I interrupting-"

"We're fine MacTavish."

You had to make a break for the door then, or else you were all going to be stuck in some loop of talking through a door or not talking while the oxygen apparently left the room. You made an effort to try to ignore whatever Simon was doing behind you as you made the few steps to the door to open it, unaware of the flush that was painting your cheeks.

"Sorry about that, come in."

Oh. Kyle was with him too. You waved over Johnny's shoulder giving the young man a happy greeting, but both of them were too busy staring over your shoulder into your living room. You hadn't really give Simon time to unpillow his ass...oops.

"I was trying to show Simon how proportions with creating visual illusions..."

"Ye look thinner Lt."

You shot Simon an 'I told you so' look, which you were pretty sure he did not appreciate. Instead of trying to get himself out of his pillows he just crossed his arms over his chest, leveling his sergeants with a look.

"Not going out tonight."

"I don't think you have a matching handbag there Ghost."

You couldn't help but grin at Kyle's joke, though you tried to bite your lower lip to hide it. You had done this to the poor man after all. Neither Kyle nor Johnny gave the same consideration as they snickered. Simon didn't seemed impressed with any of you though as he came over, thankfully not tripping over his improvised skirt. With a curt good night he just shut the door in the boys face, though it didn't shut out their laughter as they walked away.

You two didn't say anything as you listened to the laughs fade into the evening. Once it was clear that your guests had left you looked up at Simon, noticing how the tips of his ears looked just a little redder.

"You could have gone out with them if you wanted. I wouldn't have minded."

Simon didn't seem to hear you at first, instead turning to head back to the couch, the blanket making a soft swish noise against the floor. When you didn't follow him he simply turned to sit on the couch, making it clear that there was space next to him on the couch.

"You proved your point. Now get over here so we can finish this."

Edit;

Simon does not care about if tight lacing was a common practice or not. He simply argued to a) argue with you and b) because a part of him was a 'little' hopeful that you'd pull a corset out of somewhere to model or something. Play stupid games get stupid prizes.

Edit edit;

Soap bribes reader to send him the photo of pretty princess Ghost and he hoards it for just in case black mail.

[lovingbini]

the warmest human pillow

pairing: changbin x reader | idiots to lovers, light angst, pretty fluffy overall | warnings: stress from studying | a/n: gotta hide because my bestie didn't want me to post this in bullet style BUT that's all i got for now. love you, baby!!! promise the next will be written properly!!

ok, so you and changbin work together at a hostel in exchange for a room

changbin is the owner's nephew, but he's kind of an assistant manager around the place

you work part-time at the front desk

for the rest of the day you lock yourself in your room to study for a big project you're going to apply soon

your dynamic with changbin is kind of random since you don't give him much attention

yet he’s always acting silly around you

well, that changed since he caught you paying a girl to answer a test for you

since then he wouldn't stop coming through the reception with a knowing smirk plastered on his beautiful face

one day you got tired of it, "got something to tell me?"

he goes, "oh no, i'm alright. i guess you have something to tell that company"

and as soon as you got up from your chair, his aunt called him outside

he walked through and winked

two days later, when you thought you were left alone by him

he calls you after the staff meeting

"i need a favor"

"why would i do anything for you?"

"well, i've got proof of someone cheating on a super important test for a project application..."

"okay, alright. just tell me what you want."

you noticed how his smirk turned into a hesitating expression

"you remember my brother, right? he left for uni last week."

"yeah, he's a nice guy. i knew he could do it."

"me too. the thing is, our room has a lot of space. auntie stated that if i don't find anyone to share, she's going to make it available to rent."

you nodded, "but i'm okay with my room, i don't need more space."

"the second thing is that i'm having trouble sleeping alone. i used to have my brother as a safe place for personal reasons..."

"wait, you want to share the bed with me?!"

he started to nervously play with his hands

"yes, but just at night... you can have the room to yourself the rest of the day, i promise it's much more comfortable than the one you rent right now."

"if you start with some creepy behavior i'm going to ruin your life."

then you agree

in the first night, changbin watched you getting comfortable with your body pillow

he suggested, "you can cling on me, i don't mind"

"yeah thanks, just stay where you are"

but in the middle of the night, you feel him restless near you

“is this what your brother had to put up with? i thought company would help you”

you don’t see changbin awkward smile in the dark

“well, he actually cuddled me, so…”

“what? are you serious?” with his silence, you question, “changbin, please don’t tell me this is the only way you’re able to sleep”

silence again, then a mumble, “i’m really sorry, it’s something i’m working on therapy”

now you’re the quiet one, biting your lips in deep thought

“alright, i won’t pressure you about it, just know i’m the big spoon and that won’t change”

you take the body pillow that separated your bodies and pull him closer

changbin shudders when he feels your arm around his waist, his back against your chest

“is this okay?”

“it’s nice”

“great, now let me sleep, tomorrow’s going to be a long day”

changbin tries to hold the biggest smile on his face, although he didn’t have to

the alarm goes off in the morning, you find yourself with a leg thrown over changbin’s, who’s now on his back

he’s basically your realistic body pillow, but much more comfortable and warm

you feel his soft skin where his clothes don’t reach

you almost feel like not leaving the bed at all, but the alarm goes off one more time

(strategy to make sure you wake up)

unfortunately, the noise woke up the fluffy human pillow under you as well

“morning, sorry for waking you up like this”

“it’s okay, i overslept, to be honest”

he doesn’t tell you it’s been a while since he slept so well

the two of you exchange glances, somehow waiting who’s getting up first

even you are surprise to not be the one sprinting away from him

not wanting to cause any more bother, changbin moves away

you convince yourself that the cold air that hits you it’s because of the blanket that slipped a little, not because of the lack of his warmness

the days go by with the usual stress

both of you take care of the hostel by day, then find comfort in each other by night

none of this is weird at all, since you’re always too tired to argue

changbin’s not that bad as well

his silly antics decrease when he realizes how quiet and serious you get when focusing on the project

one fine afternoon he catches you crying in front of your laptop screen

the exam for this stage of the project is even more difficult, and yet you can’t go through that freaking subject

the one you pay the girl to do for you

but she wasn’t available that week, so you ended up in a crisis, wondering why on earth you couldn’t get that through your brain

“listen, breathe for me, okay? let’s get yourself together first,” he guides you patiently

when you feel able to focus on him again, he puts one hand over your cheek

the warm feeling is familiar, working like some kind of anchor

“i can’t do the test for you, but we can study together. how long do we have?”

“two weeks only”

“two weeks are enough, let’s just work hard, alright?”

you just stare at him, trying to process how you got to this point of intimacy

the point of making you feel like hugging and kissing him till you both are out of breath

“okay, let’s do it”

changbin nods, scanning your face with a small smile

“i find this mole under your eye the cutest thing, you know?”

you put a hand over his – the one still on your cheek

“you’re not subtle with your pretty words and pretty eyes, okay?”

“oh? i mean, it’s all part of a plan, to be honest”

“talk to me”

“a study break, our bed, some cuddles, some kisses, if you’re interested. then more cuddles, maybe more kisses…”

“okay! i’m in! no more convincing!”

you get up and run straight to the bed, hearing his giggles echo through the room

your hearts now heavy only with one knows by love and joy

[90stvqueen]

Before I read any reviews and let what other, smarter people have to say about Wicked (part 1) cloud my thoughts, I will get some of them down:

It was better than I thought it would be in a lot of ways, and exactly what I expected in others.

The biggest issue is that the movie fundamentally does not trust its audience to be able to think for themselves and put the pieces together. All the jokes are explained. All the important plot beats are drawn out to the point where they lose momentum in their effort to make sure everyone is on the same page. Every emotional beat is its own movie, and it was to the production's detriment in almost every case.

An example of this (and a spoiler) - toward the end of "Defying Gravity," the song fully STOPS so that Elphaba can start to fall, continue to fall, oh no, she's falling, now time slows, and she catches her reflection in a window, and it's the reflection of her child self, and now she's emboldened to act on her own behalf and save herself and in doing so, save the helpless, unloved child she once was, but we didn't NEED any of that, and in my opinion it didn't ADD anything of real substance. I thought it was corny, tbh, and I say this as a lover of corniness, cheesiness, kitsch, and camp.

The sets were beautiful. When the first trailers dropped, I was very afraid that it would all be CGI. But the sets were real and they looked real and I loved them. EXCEPT FOR the random stone Jeff Goldblum Elphaba finds in a cave during "The Wizard and I." Speaking of...

It felt like Elphaba's solo songs, rather than being a driving force, slowed the movie to a halt. During the ensemble numbers, duets, and Galinda's songs, there's movement. Choreo, montage, a sense of direction. Both "The Wizard and I" and "I'm Not That Girl" spent long periods of time just sitting in one place. Maybe that's not a fair assessment; INTG is a contained music-box kind of song, and TWAI had some movement - we see Elphaba hopping over stones with some CGI frogs and eventually breaking out of the Wizard cave and running through a field to look over all of Oz at a cliff's edge. But why make a movie if you're not going to play around a little bit? She has a vision midway through the song, and we don't see it. We see a different vision of hers later, but her "vision almost like a prophecy" in TWAI is just some rippling colorful lights on a giant stone carving of Jeff Goldblum's head. Maybe there was an image in there, actually. I was too distracted by the giant Jeff Goldblum tbh. Someone had to sculpt that. Wild

All of the performances were fantastic. I went in ready to be a hater, but credit where credit is due: Ariana Grande was great as Galinda. Cynthia Erivo knocked it out of the park, too, but I was less worried about her

I have so many more thoughts but it's way past my bedtime and this post is already so long, so I'll say one last critical thing:

In the Broadway production, the costume design progresses through the play as Ozians wear more feathers and furs, as a way to show how attitudes toward Animals are shifting. I felt this was really missing in the movie. The designs were beautiful, but they were missing that additional thoughtful layer.

[theamityelf]

I just saw Wicked. Good news: Enjoyed it a lot. Want to see it again. My critiques are fairly small (and I'll probably post them some other time), but right now my main thoughts are:

They didn't Rum Tum Tugger it. By which I mean, they didn't remove the gay subtext. I felt it. Fiyero gazing after Elphaba and Galinda as they left the ball just had me thinking, "Here's how the polycule can still win." And I love that they placed the lyrics "Your life could end up changing" over that.

I'm glad I never check the soundtrack before seeing movie musicals, because the tension in me when I genuinely thought they were skipping Dancing Through Life was incredible. It felt like they were doing what Into the Woods did with "No More," where they played an instrumental version while letting the general content of the song play out in brief spoken dialogue. Thankfully, wasn't the case.

I really enjoyed the choreography. The heightened/unfamiliar reality of Oz really came out in the wardrobe, choreo, language, etc. They kept the wacky words.

Cameos were exciting but slightly outstayed their welcome.

The little details and lines that are going to be called back to in Part 2 were all present, but I don't think the average moviegoer will remember/appreciate that, by the time Part 2 arrives.

They made good use of the format. They did a good amount of visual flourishes that wouldn't be possible onstage, which I consider essential for a movie musical.

Great cast, great chemistry.

[shaanks]

Would you want to pull that Shanks has separation anxiety hc back out from under the bed and maybe perhaps share it with the rest of us? Tbh I LIVE for the head canons you share!!

You are so sweet!!!! 😭😭😭 I'm sorry I've been sitting on this one for several days now, I wanted to be at least sort of clear-headed to answer it properly. Some of this is going under a readmore because I'm incapable of answering things concisely lmfao.

Edit: for anyone watching out there this post is riddled with spoilers so read at your own risk.

**

I think about Shanks and all of his sublimated feelings and fears and dreams so much it makes me so crazy and sad lmfao. Focusing in on the fears part though like...abandonment and loss have been really central themes in his life.

He was found in a locked treasure chest - seemingly abandoned by his biological family (which in the end, good, because if they are who we think they are they suck anyway).

He spends his childhood aboard the LITERAL ship of dreams, two of the most prolific men of that era are his father figures, he has this incredibly close relationship with Buggy, he is soaring on the wings of this burgeoning era, where the only limits he has are what his imagination and talent allow him to be capable of...and then it all just stops.

The family that he knows sails away to the end of their journey without him because he opts to stay behind with Buggy when he gets sick, and nothing is ever the same or right again. Roger sickens, Rayleigh's mind begins to fray. The crew disbands. Everyone disappears.

Roger allows himself to go to the gallows, and on the way there he lays the future of their world on the shoulders of a grieving 14 year old boy, who has to now learn what it means to be utterly alone in a world that has not only branded him enemy, but whose governing structures are fully aware of his power and the danger his talent and proximity to Roger entail.

The only person he had there with him, Buggy, runs out on him - for reasons that were understandable, but could have been avoided by words neither of them had the emotional maturity to express, especially not in the moment of such anguish and grief.

He eventually finds people, good people, new friends and comrades, people he can trust, but even then he is having separation and its cost modeled for him in the form of Yasopp and his son, and eventually in the form of a tenacious, lovable little boy named Luffy, who loves so fiercely and is very clearly terrified of the prospect of being left, of being alone. A fear Shanks resonates with deeply. A pain he knows he will eventually have to inflict on this little boy.

There's a lot of meta around that Shanks had no faith or interest in Luffy until he ate the gum-gum fruit and didn't think he had any potential to be a pirate, but I think that's a really shallow, kind of willfully ignorant take on it. Shanks himself found a home at sea as a boisterous naive child, and the RHP more than have the capability of looking after a child with a penchant for trouble...but that's how he lost his world, too.

Leaving Luffy behind hurt him, but he left him with connection, an emotionally valuable memento, and to Shanks' awareness he was leaving him with a stable support system firmly in place. There are no guarantees in this life, but he's learned through personal experience that not even the Pirate King can grant you assurance that your family at sea will survive.

ALL that to be said that I think one of Shanks' deepest, most untended hurts is loss, the loss of family, of friends, of love, and because that wound has gone unaddressed--and because he went from lost 14 year old boy to Captain to Yonko in such quick succession, and there doesn't tend to be a lot of emotional support for mythic figures of authority--it manifests as separation anxiety.

Individual members of the RHP are rarely seen off on their own, with the exception of Benn going off to rescue Luffy that one time. They all move around together.

When people leave, Shanks keeps tabs on them, when danger arises, he does his best to be two steps ahead of it. I genuinely think there's a part of him that whispers "you'll never see them again" any time someone he cares about walks out of a room, or leaves the ship a little before him. There's a reason, I think, that he's always shown to be the last person to board the ship, why he's always ushering people on ahead of him 50 times before he goes up.

With a lover, I think it would manifest tenfold, I think that's partially why he's so clingy and touchy-feely and cuddly (aside from just being literally the sweetest man alive), because to have that sort of connection means he reached out of the imposed avoidance of his own desires to really bring someone in close, and I think that kind of loss, or the perception of the possibility of that kind of loss, would devastate him in a way he wouldn't recover from.

So he holds your hand everywhere you go, shadows you through rooms, presses you close to his side when you're out at bars, and worries, just a little bit, every time you get up to go to the galley or have to take night watch without him.

Because what if it all falls apart again. What if you disappear. What if the crew disappears. Just like what happened before.

I hope this makes sense and was coherent, I just have a feeling or two about him, ya know?