#hatred is rife

[astralnymphh]

madhouse murdercide | masterlist

— a tense saga wrung between two tenderhooks of carnality and carnage ♡

♯┆ enemies to lovers | ellie x reader.ᐟ ★

warning; this novel oversees the elements of bloodshed, paranoia, intent to murder, sense of no escape, gory scenes, disembodied presences, grudge-fed hatred, thick tensions one may choke on, and unearthing how rife with roses the path bridging you and ellie truthfully is. reader discretion is heavily advised. ꪆৎ

MASTERLIST . DAILY CLICK . READ THIS . PALESTINE MP

chapters; to be estimated!

fanart and teasers are being made! (pls lmk who the photographer of the ellie photo is in the header!)

please comment/reblog this post to be a part of the taglist! if you are on my perm taglist you will be tagged anyways! bright blessings ⊹₊⋆

[masonsleclerc]

ok anyway….. real to win the champs league xxxxx

[gradientsys]

thinking about how important rose asking roxy if she liked wizards was, and how important her answer was. by roxy saying she actually does love wizards it kinda forces rose to recontextualise every action mom took with the new lens that she actually DID like wizards and it wasn't nearly the passive aggressive gesture rose thought. it's 100% clear that interests were transferred between each kid's alpha and beta counterpart, that much is obvious, so with rose now knowing that roxy actually did like wizards, its possible for her and us to assume that for the most part, everything mom lalonde did was out of genuine care for rose, but saddled with the pressure of the end of the world and a susceptibility to alcoholism, she just had no idea how to show it, and still wanted to give rose what she saw as a normal, feminine childhood (one that she never had if u want to get transgender.) and shit like this makes me LOVE homestuck to DEATH because you can glean and interpret literally so much about rose, roxy, and mom lalonde from these lines

and sure rose does explicitly say that it puts a lot of things into perspective about roxy and mom but the same thing applies here. rose says that its her fault pretty lightly, but there's so much more to it. rose has gone from holding so much bitter contempt for her mother to idolising roxy (and obviously mom posthumously) as her perfect mother who little rose just couldn't understand. this journey of blaming herself started with her drinking on the meteor and meeting roxy is the next milestone in it. it's just the perfect encapsulation of roses own loathing, either she projects her hatred onto her surroundings, or inward. she projects her hatred for being caged and her need to be seen by blowing up sburb gates and aggressively rejecting sburbs quests. she then projects it outward against kanaya and jade in small amounts, and then onto jack resulting in her death. (obviously there was other motivations for how rose acted with kanaya and jack - a crush and jack murdering her mother - but rose chronically needs to be seen and needs attention, which she got from kanaya meddling into her problems like a concerned mother would #mommyissues and jack killing mom was a highly extreme tipping point in her turn towards the horrorterrors.) the same pattern happens with mom. rose sees mom as a passive aggressive hag who simply didn't understand rose and sought to make her life difficult, but now she's a loving mother who rose just couldn't appreciate as a child. both of her viewpoints are based around something that a singular party couldn't do, rather than a more holistic approach. again she projects outwards and then inwards, and it's so important how she does this. and there is some truth to her view of mom post-meeting roxy! we can interpret that mom lalonde was a kind hearted, well intentioned mother who really loved rose and played roses games to feel closer to her daughter, but she was 100% an unfit mother, and rose is unable to accept the nuanced outlook - mom lalonde was by all means a caring person who really did love rose and care about her interests, but rose was still absolutely neglected/abused by mom lalonde. and personally, i think it is SO important that rose thinks this. the fact that the characters in homestuck are kids is obviously imperative, and I think roses evolution in thinking about her mother is such a raw microcosm in a child not being able to accept that they genuinely were abused, even with evidence to the contrary. it's also a testament to just how thematically rich and rife with content to analyse homestuck is, and just how amazingly subtle it can be. hussie absolutely glosses over serious subjects like this in a kind of slapdash way sometimes, roses alcoholism is a pretty big example, but forgetting the author entirely, it's an incredibly compelling way to show a scared, traumatised child trying desperately to understand her upbringing and her parent. i think rose would still be pretty stubborn about it into earth c days, but I feel like she would definitely accept it in time. she'd probably have a similar arc to jade honestly, because she too has so much to accept in regards to her childhood being Bad, Actually. dave would also provide insight on this and living with kanaya, the person she projected her desperate, gnawing need for motherly care on when she was 13, would definitely give her an environment and perspective to reconcile with her having a bad childhood. with a decent support network and Actually facing her internal hatred and biases, probably kicking and screaming because that's just how rose is, rose would be able to accept that mom lalonde neglected her

[5ummit]

HTP Fic Recs: Hidden Gems

Have you, like me, devoured everything in the Hydra Trash Party AO3 tag and are desperate for more? Well you may be in luck.

In honor of CATWS's 10th anniversary I’ve decided, yet again, to make a new rec list so that these gems don't get buried in my overwhelmingly extensive original rec list. This list features HTP and HTP-adjacent fics that are NOT tagged as HTP (either because the author didn't know the label existed or didn't believe it applied to their fic), making them particularly hard to find, and I think, deserving of more attention.

Many of these fics don’t have much, if any, explicit noncon, but noncon is often implied or referenced and they’re all rife with other types of dehumanization and abuse so the usual HTP warnings still apply. Read tags carefully etc.

The Making of the Winter Soldier [series] by CluckU & Mumble_Bee Relationship: Hydra Agents/WS, Zola/WS Words: 13,700

There are a small, precious collection of things he knows for certain each time he wakes in his chair: He is a weapon. A soldier. An asset. He is being molded into the Fist of Hydra. He must prove himself. Failure is not an option.

Muscle Memory by sparklingbinjuice Relationship: Rumlow & Bucky Words: 4500

It had taken five minutes of fumbling but he had eventually picked the lock. The soldier wouldn’t be back for hours. Coordinates provided by the remaining, somewhat rudimentary, tracking device installed in the titanium arm indicated that he wandered the streets on weekends – watching people, visiting libraries and museums, feeding the birds. It was all so horribly human.

Reconquer, regain, recover by werebird Relationship: Hydra Agents/WS (past) Words: 2300

Hydra had known his body better than he himself ever could. They had taken it, reshaped it, reprogrammed it. They had birthed the Winter Soldier although they had never given him life.

Taming Winter by Runlights Relationship: Rumlow & WS, Steve & Bucky Words: 91,000 Notes: terrifying bloodthirsty WS

Regardless of the intravenous set pumping warming fluids into those veins, regardless of the fact that a moment ago, the guy looked on the verge of death, the Winter Soldier was out of the chair and in front of him with two steps that happened so quickly he didn’t even have time to do more than inhale. He froze as he felt the press of his own combat knife against his throat, the bite of the blade causing blood to well and slip down his throat. This was the point where he suspected people felt fear, especially staring into those unfocused cold eyes. He only felt a twisted fascination.

The Soldier’s Kittens by exclamation Relationship: Sam & Bucky, Steve & Bucky Words: 11,300 Notes: animal abuse/death

"Sam's a really good guy," Steve said. "I think you'd like him if you spent more time with him." Bucky said nothing. He would not show any interest in Sam, just as he had not shown any interest when Steve had taken him to the animal shelter to try and get him to interact with the dogs there. He knew this trap and he wouldn't fall into it twice.

Flinching by Exorin Relationship: Steve/Bucky Words: 570

It might finally break what's left of him if Steve knew the way he's had to dig his nails into his palms hard enough to draw blood just to shape his breath into the sound of a moan.

I'm comin' up only to hold you under by anonymous Relationship: Hydra Agents/Bucky, Steve/Bucky (past) Words: 2100

They drag him out of his cell by his hair and toss him into a room full of identical guards. He lands hard on his knees, the force of the impact stuttering up his weak, tired body, and he glares up and them with all the hatred he can gather. He feels off-balance, like he does whenever he tries to carry himself now—the stump of his missing arm has a phantom weight he can't get used to, won't get used to.

Context is Everything by thedevilchicken Relationship: Hannibal/Bucky Words: 2600

"I don't understand," Bucky replied. "Recontextualize?" "Your memories of HYDRA seem…distant," Hannibal said. "The way you speak about them is as if they happened to someone else. In order to process your trauma, you must understand that they happened to you."

Never Letting the Blood Dry by BarrenPines Relationship: Rumlow & WS, Steve & Bucky Words: 2500 Notes: whipping

After the mission, there were pats on the back, expressions of congratulations and thanks, and a dozen other little niceties that made his skin crawl. He’d gotten lucky, that’s all. And he’d also defied orders, departed from his assigned task. Praise wasn’t what he deserved.

[nekropsii]

🔥

Dancestors

[For the Unpopular Opinions Ask Game!!]

Okay, this may come across to some as harsh, but I don’t care. You asked for Unpopular Opinions. This is one of them. It’s heated. It needs to be said.

The way people continuously searched for reasons to get mad at the Alpha Trolls and still to this day continuously search for them to the point of literally fucking making shit up is embarrassing. The fact that people- fans!- use them as their little scapegoat for “everything wrong with Homestuck” is embarrassing.

The way people will make up and pass around straight up lies about the Alpha Trolls just for the sake of Outrage Farming is embarrassing. The fact that these are all taken as truth, more so than the literal text of the Alpha Troll plot lines, simply because people didn’t have anything else to yell at that week, is fucking embarrassing.

I once watched a pretty good Homestuck video essay on YouTube. It was a great time. The premise of it was basically a retrospective on Homestuck and it’s plot in broad strokes, and why the whole thing is good and cool and you should read it. Very nice. The speaker had a lovely voice. And then, for some ungodly fucking reason, right at the end, they started going on some very long winded, incredibly wrong diatribe about the Alpha Trolls and why they’re the worst thing that’s ever happened- parroting, with rage, common lies I’d seen for years and sprinkling in some brand new brain fungus, all like it was fact. The dude called Porrim, Porrim fucking Maryam, an MRA. Porrim fucking Maryam was reduced down to a whiny Men’s Rights Activist who didn’t know shit, and Kankri Vantas was correct about everything, suddenly. Horuss’s main problem was that he was a mockery of Otherkin people. Otherkin people! As if the fact that he’s a mockery of Systems is less important!! The reason for this is clear- that motherfucker, and every god damn other person making essays about how the Alpha Trolls are The Worst in the whole ass 2020s, have not actually read or played through the Alpha Troll segments for shit. They have no go damn clue what they’re talking about, and they don’t care. They don’t care about being right, or making good points and observations, they care about being mad and getting engagement. It is literally completely performative.

It completely ruined the entire essay. And for what? And for fucking what? The Alpha Trolls are, for the most part, wholly irrelevant to the story, sans Aranea and Meenah. You can skip over them and miss nothing. They are not “the worst Homestuck has to offer”, they are a skippable fucking footnote, and everyone needs to get a god damn grip. Holy shit.

At this point, it really feels like most of the anger and hatred is only still parroted around blindly because it’s just tradition at this point. No one knows what they’re talking about, and no one cares. Why would they? This is what gets them the little guaranteed dopamine rush of other idiots just looking to be angry agreeing with them blindly, just for the sake of being really mad at something that doesn’t matter and no one will face check. God damn. Grow some eyes and read the comic you’re criticizing before criticizing it. Grow a damn spine and get your own opinions. This is not hard.

The Alpha Trolls are rife with things worth criticism. No one is talking about any of them, because no one cares to actually read it and gather an insightful, meaningful opinion on them from literal direct observation and analysis. They just care about being mad, and saying something very outrageous confidently enough that they seem right. It’s not that they don’t have anything worth criticizing, it’s that almost everything people are criticizing them for either doesn’t matter, is wrong, or is a lie.

[sgiandubh]

I’m reading the new Clanlands book. I was hoping it would be a fun read like the first one, no narrative. I’ve now read two different passages in the book where Sam talks about running into a woman he finds attractive whether it’s a hotel patron, hotel staff, or shop worker, including this passage about Valentines Day. He hoped to ask the woman making his smoothie on a date and instead ended up alone in his hotel room on Valentine’s Day dreaming about a romantic night in his hotel room with the fantasy date that never came to fruition.

I wish for once we shippers could get a win instead of taking one step forward and two steps back if you know what I mean. It’s hard to hold out hope of Sam and Cait ever coming out publicly when there’s interviews and books filled with the narrative.

Dear Valentine's Day Anon,

You start with a lie. You are not reading that book. You have read someone else's (dutiful Marple, as always, all hands on deck) choice of salacious/commercial/crappy sentimental passages of a 150 to 200 pages book chock-a-block full with other things. You, therefore, have an F- from me for laziness and naïveté. When you speak about a text, any text (and this, Anon, scarcely is literature), please be honest with yourself and wait until the end. The same way you should never judge a book by its cover, do not judge a book by some excerpts someone picked up in order to show you how desperate the author is to sell it.

Reading is a personal affair. Buy the book. Read it all. And then you'll be qualified to have a grounded opinion. I am not in a hurry to read it and I certainly had no hopes he would give us a single ounce of his reality or truth in a commercial companion to a TV show, as this book clearly is.

Then, there's also that: it is a ghostwritten book and not a very good one. Travel books are also always rife with false self-references and I hope, for one, you do not believe there is anything remotely objective in Marco Polo's Book of the Marvels of the World (some say he never got where he told all the Western World he did!). And if Marco Polo himself lied shamelessly, why wouldn't SRH do exactly the same, for the needs of a scantily cobbled show where he is playing the decoratively fit clown along his older, wiser, nerdy companion?

I was shown the reactions to those dutifully poisonous posts. A mob, cackling and the host gleefully throwing gasoline on that fire (but oh, no: she is not a hater - my foot she isn't). The only comment that truly broke my heart, Anon, is this one:

What a terrible person must the woman who wrote that be! What a horrible, empty life she must have! Please, for the name of everything holy, leave Chrissie Heughan out of your putrid pettiness! She raised her boys by herself and with very little. Whoever wrote this comment should really, really be ashamed of herself. She can even say whatever she wants about SRH, but she should leave his family out of her hatred. Not a single woman in that thread corrected or challenged her. Not. A. Single. One.

You also tell me you are tired with the tango. I also think no real shipper could fall, by now, for these tired tricks. And if you do believe the interviews and books more than they should be, you are the perfect fodder for those interviews and books that can and should be questioned, as anything else in this strange story is critically questioned every single day.

So you see, Anon, I will perhaps be interested in your grounded opinion the day you will come back after reading the whole book, not Marple's Reader Digest version. If anything, your uninformed, gluttonous curiosity backfired. Unless you came here to spread the holy shite on this doorknob, too. But that is your problem, Anon. Not mine.

[chapinii]

Many on Quesadilla island believe that Fitmc was very much closeted to himself and the world up until he arrived on the QSMP, but perhaps that closet wasn't quite as locked as some may presume.

With the environment of 2b2t being so rife with hatred and homophobia, a deep and meaningful relationship was always out of the question. But within its depths lay the rub, of Fit, going through the all too familiar queer experience of being very aware of his sexuality against this toxic landscape, and knowing the possibility of others out there being just like him. Others whom he could never risk reaching out to in public, but longed to all the same.

He'd heard and seen his fair share of casual to severe homophobia, as well as witnessing with some amusement how the homoerotic tension some players swear against can tear factions apart. He knows all too well the irony that comes with a land so dominated by toxic masculinity and bigotry. This is a place where a man will stare you in the eyes, caress your cheek so gently, then spit in your face in disgust before insta-killing you. Of course, the price for outing somebody in such a place is a pretty penny for sure. Being a blank slate in the land of anarchy is your strongest asset. The last thing you want to do is throw fuel onto the fire and give people even more of a reason to put your head on a spike.

And so, he kept his feelings repressed- for the most part. He'd hide a blush as he melted internally over a handshake with a particularly muscular allied base leader. He'd allow himself the luxury of a poster, of an old Hollywood western starring a (very) dashing cowboy, that he'd stick crudely on the bedroom wall of wherever he'd end up staying for a while. But perhaps, just a couple times, he'd had a few small but significant experiences: the touch of a hand on his for just a fraction too long, warm eyes from a face he can't quite remember looking him up and down, all but rendering him breathless. Split second opportunities that would make those feelings bubble up to the surface, too strong to ever truly ignore. Being a lone mercenary in a world of anarchy is all well and good, but God does it get lonely.

He and Pac like to take things slow. It's a mutual decision. Neither of them have ever truly felt the need to sit down and discuss why. Fit wouldn't like him to know what he thinks about whenever the subject drifts towards the two of them going any further with their relationship. Every time Pac makes any kind of suggestive advance, heck, even if he looks at the man for too long, his mind can't help but think back to one quiet night on 2b2t, so many years ago. Flashes of encountering a stranger, deep underground, of a clumsy, desperate kiss. Stubble on stubble, the raw smell of dirt and sweat and cigarette smoke. He remembers the thrill, the terrifying electricity of it all, until a clatter was heard in the cave behind them and the moment was gone forever. It meant everything and nothing at the same time, that chance encounter. It was the closest he'd ever came to a real connection with somebody. He didn't know what became of the other man who so urgently whispered 'run', into his ear. He could have killed Fit right there, made a point of it, and yet he didn't. The mere memory of it petrified him, but by God, did he feel alive.

All the same, he didn't dare risk anything like that again. That was until he came to the QSMP, a place where he didn't have to hide himself from others, but still he airs on the side of caution. He's afraid of getting things wrong, of throwing himself into something he can't run away from. This isn't just some random encounter with a player in 2b2t. Pac is different. Fit knows he's got a past of his own, he sees how it torments him sometimes. What if daring to make a move, even kissing him opens up old wounds for the both of them?

Fit's no longer hiding in the dark. Making things 'official' with Pac is not a once in a lifetime chance, but the longer Fit hangs around him he feels like it is. He wants to keep Pac safe just as he kept himself safe for all those years. When he finally lets himself get closer to his roommate, one wrong move and another hypothetical cave noise could sound, followed by the form of something even more terrible that could rip the two apart forever and send Fit straight back to square one.

Slow and steady wins the race. Slow and steady keeps them both safe.

But God, what he'd give to feel that thrill again.

[blow-me-a-kis]

I just think ofmd is a fandom that is gunna have a lengthy legacy, and I feel sorry for you if you are apart of the history of this fandom that is worthy of shame.

It's shameful to treat others poorly because you disagree with how they enjoy a character.

A character that, btw, is well loved among the cast and crew of Our Flag Means Death. Vico loves Izzy. Taika loves Izzy. David Fane loves Izzy. The writers love Izzy. No one on that entire team has suggested they feel anything but respect and appreciation for the effort Con has put into Izzy and Izzy's role as a foil.

If you are seeking an example of how we should treat one another as fans, you need look no further than the love and respect demonstrated among the cast and crew of this beloved show.

This show is rife with queerness and so many layers of the queer experience explored. David J even suggested fans pay attention to the love story happening between Izzy and Ed upon a second watch.

So I feel sorry for you that you choose not to be apart of that, if you choose to reduce your capacity for appreciating queer experience to just Stede and Ed's romance.

I feel sorry for you that your prejudice against Izzy puts you at a distance from enjoying this fandom and the show fully.

I feel sorry for you if your needless hatred of Izzy puts you at a distance from some of the best art and writing in the fandom, and may even undermine your own creativity, as judgmental attitudes often do.

I feel sorry for you if you are a person who has chosen to make other fan's experience harder based on your reduced capacity for the variety of queer experiences, especially when we turn off this show and must face a world that wants us as queer ppl dead.

I know the bad actors agree that their behavior is shameful, because they don't direct their cruelty at the highly visible cast and crew who celebrate Izzy. Just his fans, who, in their logic, do not matter.

It takes emotional maturity to change your mind when you no longer have a valid reason to stick to a belief. None of these characters are real, we don't have to hold them accountable to anything.

If you no longer believe you have a reason to hate Izzy and his fans, you are welcome to stop and move on to something else.

I dont think it makes you happy. I don't agree that ppl "love" to hate Izzy. Most ppl who hate Izzy seem demonstrably unhappy to me, and that feeling of unhappiness is what they tend to spread to others. Especially when their hypocritical bullying tendencies isolate them from one of the most accepting and non judgmental corners of the fandom.

I want you to know, you can always change your mind. You don't have to like Izzy, but you can let go of hating him, free yourself of all that needless anger. Even if you're not ready to let go of hating him, you can set boundaries with yourself about how you will engage with the fandom, to remain respectful and carry yourself with integrity.

You can distance yourself from other bad actors if they put pressure on you to engage in behaviors you know are shameful. If you want to have a different, more peaceful experience, you have the power to create it.

You can change your mind and reject being apart of the shameful side of this fandom's legacy.

Most of us will be happy to have you when you ready to be done.

[bloobluebloo]

So, for some context, this person was arguing that the Gerudo were stealing Hylian men, or forcing themselves on Hylian men for the sake of reproduction, even though in OoT one of the Gossip Stones clearly says that the Gerudo search for boyfriends outside of their territory. A "boyfriend" generally does not involve coercion the last time I checked.

(That is only the tip of the iceberg I am not willing to expand on all the other....drivel) Regardless, that is not my point. My point is how this person laments that Nintendo won't commit to the "dark grittiness" because they fear backlash from certain communities, of course referring to the "Middle Eastern" community which they go on to characterize as cultures that have problems such as "engaging in slavery". Ah, woe is us that Nintendo won't expose exactly *how* barbaric the Ara-I mean the Gerudo are! In any case, the point is that, fictional races based in Orientalism actually continue to reinforce the way people view those races in real life. Considering current events and the disgusting comments people leave under pictures and videos rife with human suffering, it is literally a societal ill. It is completely fine and normal to ask of a game to depict a fictional race as they *really* are, yup.

Anyways posts like this serve to show how normalized Orientalism is in current society that it is seen as completely fine and rational to just say things like this. And, if we want to talk about the LoZ community in general, while they may not say it so directly, it is definitely the way they think. People will write about the Gerudo being ruthless thieves because they *have* to be in order to survive without asking the question "well, why do they have to be thieves in the first place". People will talk about Ganondorf having unbridled hatred for Hylians which is seen as almost canon at this point when canon has shown us that it is Hyrule at large that bore hatred and had overt racist attitudes for the Gerudo and Ganondorf (as he is often characterized as vile, evil, scary). Meanwhile, Ganondorf has never expressed actual hatred for any race in particular, the target of his ire being that he is deprived of the resources others are granted freely. The Gerudo are characterized as women who will steal and force themselves on men for the sake of survival to the point that people think this is canon, that they have prison cells to keep their baby-producing men in there. Meanwhile canon has been clear that the Gerudo are wary of men because outsider men like to be creeps and snoop around, and that the Gerudo punish those men that dare to trespass and violate their laws by imprisoning them as anyone should when an unwanted stranger comes into your house. Canon has also been clear, since the OoT days, that the Gerudo want loving CONSENSUAL relationships because, you know, they want their daughters to have loving parents. Of course Ganondorf is a rapist because he is the villain and that is what villains do BUT ALSO being a man surrounded by beautiful sexy ladies he just takes sexual availability for granted. Meanwhile in canon he hardly shows any interest towards his own people, let alone anyone else. He loves and worships power.

It is just fascinating to me that the Gerudo in popular fanon are always handled with this edge of barbarism and exoticism as if it's just normal, and then they get mad when they're told it's the orientalism that is baked into their brains that's why.

[lnkedmyheart]

When I say that Dazai's relationship with Chuuya and Atsushi are the only ones not rife with core misunderstanding of each other and messy then what?

Like Atsushi is fine with Dazai keeping secrets and whole heartedly trusts Dazai while not idolizing him as a person. Acknowledging that Dazai has a shitty past and still sees the good in him.

Chuuya's major misunderstanding with Dazai happened all the way back in stormbringer and even then it was Chuuya projecting on Dazai and being fully aware that he was projecting on Dazai. And since then he has tried to point out the actual more humane side of Dazai's behaviour (which imo is messy af on Chuuya's part) once again looking towards the more human part of Dazai and his seemingly heartless actions. The only thing left is light banter (which modern purity obsessed fans think is verbal abuse) and the occasional trolling. The most important thing is that they see each other as human beings with flaws and positive traits removing any idolization there.

And from Dazai's end, while he does try to be more sincere towards people now (to some extent) Atsushi is the only one who doesn't need him to be super sincere and understands why he might not be fully open. While Chuuya doesn't need him to be sincere because he has experienced Dazai's sincerity hidden under layers of fake bravado and manipulation. Chuuya gets that Dazai is a little fucked in the head and does things for Chuuya and Oda and the ADA in ways that don't seem moral to a regular person.

None of Dazai's other surviving relationships have that level of clarity and understanding. Yes he gets along with Kunikida but there is major misunderstanding and clash there, way too many secrets and a core inability to fully come to terms with each other because of how far apart their morality is (no Kunikida isn't pure and innocent but still). Dazai and Sigma's entire dynamic is built on the desperation of keeping someone alive for a promise and surviving at all costs and Dazai's only moment of genuine sincerity had been in the elevator. Dazai and Ango have a very bitter relationship because of what happened to Oda where they both blame each other (yes I know Dazai lowkey also holds Ango responsible, rightfully so, but he does hold himself responsible too). Even with Oda there was a core misunderstanding on both ends that while not problematic is a major misunderstanding. Dazai idolized Oda as this perfect being far removed from all things tainted by the mafia when Oda was just a traumatized young adult, barely 22 at that. Like he was so young. And then Oda constantly put the distance of their status between them refusing to ask Dazai for aid when he desperately needed it and constantly flip flopping between calling Dazai a child stuck in a bad place and thinking he was born to be in the mafia. It doesn't help that Dazai misunderstood Oda's final words so badly (then again that poor man was at death's door, he didn't exactly have time to sit him down and explain).

I also think Dazai and Ranpo can have that dynamic where they are on the same level as Atsushi and Chuuya with Dazai but how much of that would be Dazai being sincere with him vs how much Ranpo found out against Dazai's wishes?

And even with just how much Chuuya understands and accepts about Dazai, Chuuya did project on him back in sb. Chuuya's initial hatred for Dazai stemmed from his fear of becoming callous and heartless like him before he realised that Dazai isnt any of that in sb after finding out that Dazai did everything to get his hands on the documents for Chuuya and the offer to change his plan for Chuuya's humanity. But Atsushi never once projected on him.

Atsushi is the best thing that happened to Dazai for his mental state, and imo Atsushi is the one who will ultimately be the reason Dazai's perception of himself changes completely.

[bijoumikhawal]

Bite the Hand that Starves You: Chapter Five

Fic as of this chapter contains: discussion of abortion, references to drug use, intersex and trans characters, torture/graphic violence, colonialism and its aftermath, implied sexual violence, disassociation

Kardasi: peikirvi- would translate to something like "concubine", specifically refers to an individual that socially presents as male, and was assigned such at birth, but can carry children (and often could impregnate someone else), who is legally bound to someone. Usually this is done with a pre-existing couple who has fertility issues.

Cheoche and cheyeda: could be translated as something like "patron" and "vassal". "Che" in Kardasi refers to charity, which is viewed as a duty to society rather than a choice made of good will. More specifically, a cheoche is a wealthy family/clan who takes on the affairs of a poorer or weaker one (the cheyeda), legally binding the two together for several generations. This can be typified in three ways: the cheyeda being a family who was once great and has become destitute, the family of a beloved artist, or a family of the "service class". For the latter, having a cheoche often provides a stable income, food, housing, and better schooling and training. Some cheyeda even have inheritance rights from their cheoche. However, while the relationship is glorified as going above and beyond ones duty, it is a system rife with abuse. The Tain and Garak families are bound this way.

Kisam- a matchmaker

kashmim- Cardassian time unit roughly equal to nine years

---

“I’ll be just a moment.” Garak said, sensing someone enter the shop and hearing the small noise maker he’d attached to the door be set off by the sliding motion of the door.

He finished the slight adjustment of the clothing in front of him, and turned around. “What can I-“

The words died In his throat when he saw just who had walked into his shop. Suddenly he was both full of white hot anger, and felt like a young, easily manipulated schoolboy again. “What are you doing here, Lokar.” He leaned into the anger. There was no time to question why he was alive, or how. The fact that his punishment had initially been execution still was within reason, given this… sight.

“Lokar? Oh, Elim, we were much closer than that, weren’t we?” Barkan leered at him, his voice, once simply gruff, now like sandpaper over the ears. A lesser man wouldn’t have noticed the hatred burning under his gaze. He looked around. “Charming little shop. I expected you to be up your elbows in soil or circuitry the next time I saw you.”

Garak moved so that the display table in the middle of the room was solidly between the two of them, and his way into his backroom was clear.

Not for the first time, he wished there was more than one entrance and exit to his shop. It had after all, been purposely designed so any proprietor within could be easily cornered by the Cardassian soldiers sent to fetch him. Almost all the shops had similar design features. He simply was unfortunate enough to be more intimately acquainted with them than the other merchants. The only other that had been there in those days was Quark, and his establishment had the privilege of at least one exit on every level.

“There isn’t much soil here I’m afraid, and I doubt Starfleet would allow a random civilian to get his hands in their circuitry.” He quashed the temptation to ask after Paladine and Kel. Barkan would only lie, and mock him all the while.

Barkan tilted his head. “A shame. You looked so at home when you were tending orchids on Romulus.”

Something about that made Garak snap. “You’re begging for an assassination, coming here.” Garak snarled. “The Bajorans did not forget who started ore processing here.”

Barkan sighed. “Such a shift in conversation, and here I was being civil.” He started to stalk in front of the table, not leaving Garak with a clear shot out the door. “And frankly, I’m surprised you’d say such a thing. After all, there are Bajorans that certainly remember you, yet look at you- sitting so nicely in your shop.”

Oh yes, they remembered him- that first morning, after the withdrawal, they certainly remembered him. In his low moments, he used to wish Odo hadn't interfered.

“You're being horribly cold to me, you know.” Barkan chided him. “A good Cardassian would be hospitable, even to a stranger.”

“I could hardly afford the hospitality you're used to.”

Loudly, someone cleared their throat. Garak saw Odo filling the doorway now, and had rarely felt such relief in his life. “Garak, is there a problem here?” He eyed Barkan suspiciously.

“No, constable.” He said in a tone that doubtlessly would only convince Odo that there was, in fact, a problem. “Lokar here was simply lost. He was looking for Del Floria’s, I believe.”

Barkan clearly recognized Odo, eyes flicking down to his Bajoran uniform with distaste. “It's nice seeing you again, Odo.”

Odo crossed his arms. “Del Floria’s is on the other side of the Promenade.”

Barkan smiled. “Thank you. Always helpful, aren't you?” He began walking out. “I’ll be on the station for the next few days, Elim.” He clapped Odo on the chest. “I have a great deal of catching up to do with Dukat, now that I’m returning to public life.”

Odo rubbed his chest, staring after him.

---

One could say Barkan Lokar possessed certain characteristics. Among them, unfortunately, was persistence. Going about his day, Barkan kept appearing just on the edge of his vision. Often, Odo was there as well.

Garak acted as though he hadn't noticed either of them. Things were stabilizing, now. He was able to (mostly) focus on work again. The outbreak of kunowaat- which he'd noticed, but hadn't been able to concern himself with- had no new patients, according to the station rumor mill. A Ferengi festival was upcoming.

It had been three days since Dr. Ammshah left.

Garak had a special delivery to pick up. He'd placed it before this whole mess, knowing it would take awhile back then. He'd almost forgotten it until today- when he got a message from the vendor saying it'd be dropped in corridor J, not too far from where it connected to the promenade. Little foot traffic to worry about, but still accessible.

Unfortunately, that made it an excellent tome for Barkan to be direct in his efforts once more. The seeming lack of presence as he entered the hall gave no comfort. Garak often regretted teaching Barkan what he'd learned from the regnar.

He could delay- his delivery wasn't out in the open- but it wasn't just that.

He had no desire to wait for Barkan to act.

He sensed the shift as the lights changed- they were kept dim here, due to the lack of traffic. It saved a bit of power. He kept walking.

With more time to plan, he could have put himself at great advantage. But then… he'd have to explain himself, after. And no matter what, that would go very poorly for him.

Barkan formally announced himself with a hand on Garak’s wrist.

Garak turned, twisting his way out of the grab. “Rather forward, aren't you?”

“Did you hit your head, Elim? I'm rather curious about where this amnesia of yours has come from.”

“I had hoped for your death. I think you'll find a better answer in that than playing doctor.” Garak said. And yes, he had. He’d felt foul and yet he knew that best outcome would be this man’s blood on his hands.

“You did a lot more than hope.” Barkan stepped forward. Perhaps he was goading Garak to run further down the corridor, away from the promenade.

“And was about as effective, it seems.” Garak didn't give in, standing firm.

“Oh, I wouldn't say that.” Barkan lunged forward him. Garak ducked, punching him in the ribs. Barkan wheezed out a laugh, catching himself. “I've learned my lesson about underestimating you.”

Garak waited. Watched. It was almost like the pit- his energy crashed against Barkan's, even as he stayed against the wall, catching his breath from the blow. Then- his foot came out, catching Garak’s weaker leg, and sending him back against the opposite wall.

Barkan turned, lunging again. He seemed more intent on grappling Garak than striking him. Garak dodged him again, this time not bothering to try and hit him.

That changed things. Garak had expected a fight- a most likely deadly one, yes, but something he could get it over with. Barkan was a hitter when angry, and not especially good with self control in private. He normally had no plan, simply seeking a way to satisfy his anger. Going with a grapple meant he had one.

He had to get out of here.

Barkan had kept him with his back facing more corridor- to get to the promenade, Garak had to get past him.

They both stayed locked in stance. Seeing what move the other would make- had Barkan figured out Garak had switched expectations?

Garak moved first, aiming to hit Barkan on his left arm and get past him.

The blow landed, but Barkan pivoted, turning and slamming them both against the wall.

Barkan’s hand moved to his chest, as though to press his comms for the Cardassian ship docked, when an alarmed voice called out.

“Garak!” Julian was quickly making his way towards the two of them.

Barkan startled at the interruption, and Garak took the opportunity to send him down to the floor by elbowing him in the face. He moved quickly, grabbing the doctor by the arm and steering the both of them to the more populated parts of the station.

“Garak, what was that about? Do you want me to call security? God, you’re bleeding!”

Garak touched his neck. It seemed at some point, Barkan had managed to scratch the unprotected skin in the center. “Doctor, in the future I would advise against you walking around near derelict parts of the station by yourself.” He stole a glance behind them, turning his torso. No sign of Barkan. Unfortunately, he knew Garak’s favorite trick, so that couldn’t be assured.

“Me?! Garak, I came looking for you. It was halfway through our usual lunch appointment, you hadn’t shown up, you weren’t in your shop, you hadn’t messaged me to say you had to miss it this week-“ Julian took a breath. “And I either found you being attacked, or…”

“The first option, I assure you.” It wasn't really soothing, Garak could tell, but it gave Julian more time to breathe instead of talking.

“My question stands about security, then.”

By now there were at least a dozen other people milling about, and Garak allowed himself to relax into his usual state of awareness. “No, I do not want to report this to security.” Dimly, he realized that Barkan had seen Julian with him. If Dukat hadn’t told him about the incident with Rugal, then surely now he would be on Barkan’s radar. “I might perhaps discuss it with constable Odo, off the record.”

Julian stopped him. “I doubt you’ll go to the infirmary with me to get your neck seen to.”

“You would be correct.”

Julian sighed. “Will you wait outside while I grab some equipment and let me do it in your shop, then?”

Garak considered it. “Yes, doctor.”

---

Sisko was going over his weekly communique from Starfleet went Odo came in early. He set aside the padd. "Constable. I've been eager for our daily meeting."

"Did something happen?" Odo tilted his head slightly.

"Dr. Bashir made a report today regarding something he hoped we'd coordinate on."

"A report about Garak." Odo harrumphed. "Coincidentally, that's why I'm here early today. One of Dukat's guests is someone you need to be aware of."

"Sounds like this is going to be a long talk. Take a seat, Constable."

Occasionally, Odo would remark that neither made any difference to him and remain standing, but not today. "Barkan Lokar was murdered close to three years ago. Today I saw him on the promenade."

Sisko sat up a little straighter at that.

Odo took a breath, considering. More out of imitation, Sisko guessed. "Lokar was the mastermind of the mining operation on Terok Nor, though he left the day to day to Dukat. His presence on the station, for that reason alone, is a security threat."

"And then there's the reason Dr. Bashir made his report." Sisko tapped his fingers on this desk. "He said he suspected they knew each other."

"He suspected correctly. Garak was Lokar’s… the closest translation would be concubine, peikirvi. His wife stayed on Prime, but Garak traveled with Lokar while he was on duty. Back then I only knew of Garak as “Elim”."

Sisko didn't hide the displeasure on his face at hearing the closest translation of the word. "I see."

"Garak was also supposed to have killed him. At the beginning of peace talks with the Federation, when the military was starting the evacuation of all non-essential personnel, Lokar stayed to help Dukat close out the mines. I was ordered by both to keep Garak confined to quarters, ostensibly for his own safety. A week later, he was found trying to steal a runabout by a patrol. The officer who found him tried to return him to his quarters, where they found Lokar's body, strangled." Odo paused. "No close examination of the body was allowed. Garak was incredibly agitated and bore injuries. I suspect he may have been intoxicated as well, but no testing was carried out. Dukat decided no further investigation was needed- to him, it was obvious there was a fight, and Garak had gone too far. Something about how the two had known each other since military school, and that Garak must have let old grievances get to him."

"I presume he was more biased than that." Garak at military school… now there was an odd picture.

Odo hmphed. "Of course. Lokar was his closest friend that wasn't a subordinate. He'd requested that the Central Command allow him to handle things personally. Garak was sentenced to labor under military detention after execution was denied for whatever reason, and Dukat assigned him to work as a tailor. Then he was intentionally left behind during the final evacuation."

Sisko gave in to the urge and grabbed his baseball. "So. I have a dead man walking, who happens to be one of the most hated men on the station, if not all of Bajor, and he has a personal violent history with one of our primary informants on Cardassia, who he's harassed today already."

"Twice."

"Twice." Sisko repeated, rubbing his temple. "First, keep an eye on Garak, but be subtle about it. Second, look into Lokar's whereabouts between now and then. Third, keep an eye on him, and don't be subtle. Increase security around the meeting tomorrow. Try to leave any investigation of the murder aside until Lokar is off the station. The rest, I leave to you."

Odo nodded. "As for my usual report…"

---

They'd tentatively resumed lunch. A day off from their usual schedule, unfortunately. There was a relieving quality to it- just like how the ones between the incident with the implant and this one had been, though stained with tension.

Three days worth of meetings... then Barkan would be off the station. He'd still be Garak’s problem... but at a distance.

Garak put that out of his mind. He had a young man to castigate. "As usual, it seems you don't understand your own literature. It's incredibly obvious that-" Garak stopped.

"Garak? Cat got your tongue?" Julian asked, amused.

Garak didn't bother chastising him for using idioms that gave the universal translator trouble. His attention had been pulled away by his parasite. Not only was Barkan around- he was walking toward them, which was what bothered Garak enough to stop.

Was he really going to do this in public?

The look in Barkan's eyes was cold, the way it was the first night Garak had navigated out of the wilderness successfully. Barkan’s gaze somehow became more cruel upon seeing Julian. “Ah. And here I had hoped you had some sense of properity within you.”

Julian tensed, recognizing the voice. "I didn't know Dukat had adopted the policy of giving his crew shore leave while a meeting is currently in progress."

Ignoring Julian, Barkan continued. “I never released you, Elim.”

“Never released me? I wasn’t aware I was a game bird.” Garak didn't deny the implication- the kind of person Barkan was, he'd take that as proof. The best thing to do was step around it, distance yourself from it.

"Game birds are better behaved."

The rest of the replimat was unsubtly looking over at them. Was that his game? After all, there are Bajorans that certainly remember you, yet look at you- sitting so nicely in your shop.

Many of the Bajorans previously on the station had left after withdrawal. Most of the people who associated Garak and Lokar that Garak still had to interact with weren't Bajoran- Odo, Quark and his staff, and so on.

It wasn't that Garak had never been publicly accosted by another Cardassian before. Most ignored him, but a few lacked the self control. What was making this differ was that anyone listening- even if they didn't quite get the implications, and many Bajorans did- could tell this was personal.

It was hard to predict how this would impact him down the road.

"Game birds don't follow orders, Lokar. They fly out of instinct. Perhaps you can relate." Garak turned away from him. "Speaking of, do mind your manners, doctor."

Dr. Bashir had been staring at Barkan the whole time. His attention snapped to Garak once called upon, eyes shifted, but still visibly thinking about how to get rid of Barkan. It was charming.

"I'm sorry, Garak. At my age I should know how to focus on a conversation, and not ignore someone."

Garak didn't laugh, but he did smile a bit. "Being aware of your flaws is good, but you need to act against them." He chided. "What would you do if you were at a medical conference, and ended up snubbing someone important because there was a fight at the snack bar you couldn't ignore?"

"How crass, Ten Lubak." Barkan said, sounding genuinely disappointed as he stalked away. He'd gotten what he wanted, after all- no need to linger.

---

Pay me a visit. And do not dress ostentatiously. The message read.

Garak frowned at it. When he was younger, he would have wondered if being ordered to return to his childhood home was a test, given that he was not to do so unless under specific circumstances. At this point, he knew the summons themselves were not the test.

He had a green outfit that would work well enough. It was a nice day- he might as well walk.

His mother was the one to greet him. "They're in the study." she told him. No recognition beyond what she'd give a normal guest- this was not a personal visit on Tain’s end, then. And, he already had a guest.

He nodded to her. “Thank you.”

Garak had not often gone upstairs when he lived here, and even less often to the study. He opened the door himself- he was allowed to, after all. Tain had his guests escorted if he felt guarded about such a thing as them opening doors by themselves.

He'd already had on a smile, and kept it firm even upon seeing the other guest.

He had expected Barkan would check if his “Elim Vronok” story was true, but this seemed a little much. At least he knew the role to play now; Elim Vronok, disgraced Bamarren washout who found out he was a bastard, changed his name, and now was a service class gardening drone. That still left the test…

“Barkan Lokar. I didn't expect to see you again so soon after our last meeting.” He gave it a formal distance, with a little warmth. He turned to Tain and bowed forward. “Patron.” Most likely, Lokar was here because Tain was officially the Garak family’s cheoche (this branch, anyway).

“You're being terribly formal, Elim. Sit, we have kanar.” Tain gave off the appearance of being relaxed, his presence withdrawn. And he did indeed, have a bottle of Kanar out and open. The two of then had each already poured a glass.

Garak did as he was told (it was never a request) and sat in the spare chair, pouring himself some kanar. Owing to the status of Elim Vronok compared to the room, he poured just half of the usual amount. “Might I ask what the occasion is?”

“How long has it been since Bamarren, Elim?” Barkan asked, looking into his drink.

“About two kashmim.”

“Two kashmim.” Barkan repeated. “As you know, Palandine and I were already betrothed back then. We formalized our relationship after completion of our studies at Bamarren. Two kashmim… and we only have one child.”

Garak bowed his head. “My condolences.” It was terror, to have just one child- that was only one opportunity for your hopes, ambitions, continuation of your name, and of course, only one opportunity for Cardassia. It would weigh especially heavy on Barkan, the man who taught Garak the real meaning of the word opportunity.

Deaths had decreased from what they'd been just before Garak was born, with hunger and illness rampant before the state made reforms. But both still hounded children in particular. And war…

Barkan sighed. “I love Kel dearly. The responsibility of being the only Lokar of her generation would crush her. Seeing you on Romulus reminded me… that I have options.”

The artifacts Tain kept on the walls suddenly made the room feel smaller.

So. That was what he'd come for. A slight panic must have appeared somewhere in him- his eyes, his posture. Barkan set down the glass, making a beseeching gesture. “I've been perfectly formal in discussing the matter before you arrived.”

Of course he had. He was wearing his newfound refinement like a shawl. Garak hadn't even been worried about Tain hearing of his school boy liaisons until it was alluded to.

Garak smiled as though relieved. “As fits the occasion.”

How did Barkan know? Had it come up while he was checking his Vronok story or had it been known at Bamarren and kept quiet as future leverage?

“Why me?” Garak asked, cloaking the question in a blend of bashfulness and humility. “Surely your family could find you a peikirvi, or a kisam could look further afield.”

Barkan smiled- the same smile he'd used on Garak at Bamarren. “I already know you, Elim. I came to like you and respect you during our time at school. I know you and Palandine won't destroy the household with petty strife. Those are guarantees I cannot get, no matter how clever my family or a kisam is, if I am marrying a stranger.”

“Well argued. Don't you agree, Elim?” Tain looked to him.

Barkan was friends with Skrain Dukat. Son of Procal Dukat, the would be coup leader. That was Tain’s angle here. Keep close to Barkan to keep aware of the Dukats.

How funny. Procal would despise his son's friend if he could see this now. An aristocratic military man raising a service class bastard to the honor of his peikirvi- what a fit he and every other member of the True Way would have.

“Very well argued.” How fortunate for Tain, that Barkan had thought of this himself and come to Tain as Garak’s cheoche. The latter was no matter of fortune, of course. Just good planning. As was this: positioning Garak this way had the potential to be very good planning.

Who was Garak to deny the will of his father, patron, head of the Order?

---

Julian knocked on the door frame to alert Sisko of his presence. "I have forms for you to sign." This was the last thing he needed to do- then he was off to bed.

"Oh, wonderful." Sisko lowered the padd he was looking at. "Inventory reports?"

"Among other things." Julian replied. He handed the data rod over to Sisko. "There's also requisition forms and a post-hoc form for that medical consult I had to call in." Normally, Julian would have done that before whoever he'd called in arrived, but Dr. Ammshah had caught him off guard.

"Did that go well?" Sisko connected the rod and the padd.

"Confidential." Julian said.

Sisko's brows raised as he skimmed the papers. Julian could pinch himself- normally, he would at least say if something went well. His knee jerk response gave the opposite impression, and he couldn't correct it. Sisko could probably guess who the consult concerned, and of course, had just reported to Odo the other day...

"This... is a long set of requisition forms." Sisko said after a moment. "Even for how many people have been ill."

"That's just how this disease is. It doesn't help that it's one of those where people tend to catch something else while already sick." Julian leaned on the back of the chair across from Sisko.

"How have you and the infirmary staff been holding up? Anyone giving you trouble?"

"No, no trouble- it's about as you'd expect." Julian replied. "We aren't being pushed to our limits yet, but we'll all be very glad when this is done with."

Sisko's eyes lingered on him, not bothering with subtlety as he squinted at Julian's face, then his uniform. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure. I'm very careful to make sure I don't give anyone more work than they can handle, and we managed to borrow a few nurses from the nearest outpost planetside." This was true- and key to this, just as much as the extra nurses, which of course no one else knew, was that Julian could do the work of two people in the infirmary. He was careful about it. No one noticed anything obviously unusual. "It's under con-"

A yawn rudely interrupted him. Julian felt his face warm slightly.

Sisko sighed. "Don't be over eager, doctor. It's better to ask for help early on if you need it, and to overestimate."

Julian laughed. "Thank you, sir, but I know my limits, and the limits of my staff."

"Good. Keep them in mind, and don't be shy to ask when you need something." Sisko nodded at him and raised the padd in Julian's direction. "I'll send these off once I'm done."

Julan inclined his head. "Thank you again."

[ionlydrinkhotwater]

When I think about Simon and Baz and how they handle jealousy from the first two books to the final book the change is kind of radical.

For Baz he flirted with Agatha which was shady to do that to her but his intended victim here was Simon. He wanted Simon's negative attention if he couldn't have his positive attention. We know that for Baz the thing that drives him up the wall is not Simon's hatred, he fetishizes that. It's indifference. When Simon's breaking up with him it's Simon's unaffected air that made him crazy. His scheme was to deflect any suspicion that he liked Simon, while getting Simon's attention it was a good plot all things considered.

For Simon he went after Lamb and thought the worst of the guy and was ready to throw hands. Simon goes feral when jealous. The idea of anyone knowing Baz more than him, or loving Baz more than him drives him nuts. But ultimately both Baz and Simon for all the fuss they kick up still try to convince the other that they will be better off with the other person. Baz tells Simon to get back together with Agatha and Simon says Baz should stay with Lamb.

Both Baz and Simon when they were at the height of their jealousy they were not doing too well mentally either. So I want to talk about their jealousy when they are both a little more stable.

When Baz and Simon talk about exs during the rat hunting date they have a relatively calm talk about it. Baz asks for Simon's dating history and Simon asks about Bazs 'exes' he even says that he thought Baz mightve dated during the summer. Yes Simon has a realization that his relationship with Agatha was rife with hetero trauma but Baz was prepared for Simon to have said he had enjoyed being with Agatha and was legit surprised to learn that he was unhappy. When they talk about Lamb again Simon's grumpy but not enraged. He even tells Baz that he ultimately would have stepped aside if it was what Baz wanted. He also mentions later in the book that Baz is being ogled on the train and seems more smug about it, like yeah my mans so hot everyone wants to look at him, this is my life.

Baz when he watches Simon hang out with Agatha he sulks a bit but let's it go and accepts that yeah Simon and Agatha had this complicated past but it's over. He knows everything about it which for Baz knowledge gathering is his coping mechanism. He even knows that Smith seems attracted to Simon and just says yeah I know my bf is cute when he's all earnest I know, you may look but don't touch. He even jokes with Lady Ruth that Simon only believes Smith cause he thinks he's handsome.

Both of them are still unhinged towards each other like more than any other book. Like Simon wants to EAT Baz. But it feels like the jealousy Baz and Simon demonstrates in AWTWB felt more real and healthy than the weird, aggressive, manipulative jealousy of the past books cause in those books it wasn't JUST jealousy, it was self loathing and depression and insecurity. But in AWTWB they are both more secure and on a better place mentally, emotionally and romantically, so they can look at these things as less of a threat to their relationship and more as a source of exasperation, amusement and even pride.

[marbleboa]

In relation to my prev post I’ve also been thinking and like. Since we basically get nothing concrete about Koyama’s past before Claw, one thing I’ve decided to do when developing hcs for it was to make it in contrast to Sakurai’s.

Sakurai has had an tumultuous life from the get go, rife with isolation. A while back I read up on childcare facilities in Japan, and especially in the time period he would’ve lived in a place like that before certain laws to improve conditions there were out in place…man. It’s rough. It really comes as no surprise the core of his powers is ill intent, hatred towards the world around him thats strong enough to harm, to sharpen a blade. As much as a sad story is no excuse for the harm he had done no matter how he tries to spin it, it’s…kind of understandable Claw was able to get such a strong hold on him. He was vulnerable, always an outside observer to a view of normalcy and safety he used to want but could never reach, only to have someone tap him on the shoulder and say: “it’s okay, you don’t need to join them. You’re special.”

As for Koyama’s home life, well, I like to imagine that for a long while it was fine. He grew up in a fairly stable household, with siblings to keep him company(particularly an older brother he looked up to with equal balance of admiration and jealousy—a surprise tool to help us later). His parents, well, no parent is perfect—but despite their high expectations, their kids did mean the world to them. But as Koyama went into his teenage years he began to take all that peace for granted—the average, monotone pace of life felt stifling, he wanted something more. This brings him into the sphere of school gangs, which are(squints at Big Cleanup Arc) clearly left unchecked, which then ultimately sets off the downward spiral of his obsession with the hierarchy of strength and his place in it. It’s just interesting to me to think about how the kind of care Sakurai would’ve killed for was the very thing Koyama ended up tossing aside.

[raisinchallah]

the way people talk about sports on this websites like soooo funny especially womens sports like womens sports dont just exist cuz men are afraid of women being better than them and their continued existence is not actually the impediment to womens equality you somehow see it framed as like be for real here the options are womens sports or women being further systematically excluded from athletics not inherently because of ability but because structural misogyny and the intense misogyny of athletics culture and the world in general is not gonna disappear into the ether if u just start having mixed gender sports and women still face rampant exclusion from sports without any formal gender segregation like esports and chess and like thats not gonna make those sports safer for trans women either when so much of mens sports culture is based on macho in group belonging thats rife with misogyny homophobia and transphobia like the whole structures gotta change also people are truly living under some severe levels of delusion about how tolerant people are of womens sports like just look up wnba on twitter youtube fucking news sites anywhere and see the sheer level of vitriol and hatred people have for the idea of women simply playing basketball

[spicedrobot]

what was lost, what was gained ch. 4

SO i actually split this chapter into two! so that means another maul POV for the next installment! beta by @withercrown 💕

-

His world was small. Maul knew it hadn’t always been this way. He felt the hardened muscles beneath his skin, his hair trigger instincts—alert, always prepared to strike. 

There were also the dreams. They contained fragments of his past that he was unable to piece together. The glow of ray shields, a looming, pale human with lined, tired eyes. Obi-Wan, bright and smooth with youth, shouting soundlessly. Tall, unyielding droids. Always attacking, always hurting. Even when Maul ripped them to pieces, they returned. Someone was fixing them. Someone who whispered, conspired. Someone who waited in the dark, who could hardly be differentiated from it. Black, crimson. Yellow. It hurt Maul’s head to dwell too long on the last, so he didn’t. There were more pleasant things to occupy his time.

This small world kept him fed. Three meals a day. An astounding amount, he thought, without knowing why. He feasted. He felt stronger, more centered. The aches of his mechanical half were lessened by proper maintenance. Pain he never realized he carried softened, a long held breath released. He couldn’t leave his cell, but he wasn’t harmed. The guards were fearful of him, but they never acted upon their feelings. 

This small world was rife with small mercies. Each felt mollifying, ridiculous, as if he should reel back, snap his teeth from the sentiment alone. He had let that instinct take him, when he had first awoke in the medbay. Still indulged, when the mood struck. Especially in the presence of the commander, who entertained him so wonderfully. Anger in the line of his shoulders, in the terse, crooked frown on his scarred, handsome face. Maul wanted to torment him, so he did.

Giving into instinct, however, was far more complicated with Obi-Wan. When Maul had first seen him, he became awash in emotion. Anger first, blinding in its suddenness and intensity. Fear too, just as potent. He was overwhelmed, and that hatred turned inward, felt so much like weakness, tearing at his nerves.

Then came Obi-Wan’s soft words. His softer touch. Gentleness in thought and Force and hand. Maul’s instinct had not been to yield, but yield he had. Maybe it had been the strangeness of the general in the Force. Twinges of emotions within careful calm. Sorrow, confusion, hurt—aching and deep—smoothed over. Accepted. 

Maul wanted to know why.

But his questions went unanswered. Quieted by clever words or smooth deflections. Even when he raised his voice, it didn’t give him what he wanted. That damned neutral mask would appear, and a silence would descend. A durasteel stubbornness. It was like Obi-Wan would disappear, and a statue would take his place. In that moment, worse than the lack of memory, was the sensation of loneliness. Maul didn’t want to be alone.

No… it was something more than that. There was something about Obi-Wan that connected them. Something the commander or his troops didn’t provide. Not camaraderie, but perhaps… the knowledge that somehow, only Obi-Wan understood him. They were kindred.

It felt secretive, embarrassing. His mind rallied against it, even as he longed to know more. He wanted to discover what they shared, map its outline, test its strength. 

What followed was a keen sense of possessiveness. Outside of whatever connection they had, Obi-Wan was also handsome, powerful. He offered aid to all who asked him of it, even if he suffered for his efforts. He performed for others unquestioningly, as easy and unremarkable as breathing. Perhaps that was why Maul couldn’t help but torment the lovesick commander. If anyone could be a rival for attention, it was him.

But Obi-Wan acted differently with Maul that he did with his soldiers. He felt no qualms about entering his cell. He tended Maul’s wounds personally, even after the worst of them had healed. He even stood alongside the repair droid as Maul’s legs underwent maintenance. Most incriminating, however, was his casual physicality. A touch to the shoulder. His cheek. Adjusting him just so. Innocuous. Gentle. 

Completely unnecessary. 

But it wasn’t just attraction, or pity. There was something more. It was how he looked at Maul’s legs. Or rather, how he didn’t. Whenever he undressed for the repair droid, Obi-Wan kept his eyes trained elsewhere. It wasn’t for his own modesty, either. He had been naked for each of his full body check-ups. 

It made Maul itch. There was something unspoken. Something he needed to know. And their time together was growing shorter by the hour.

The truth would have to be pried from Obi-Wan—but gently. As gently as Maul had been handled.

He peered at Obi-Wan through the ray shields. The man sat cross legged in front of the cell, not in the commander’s seat, but on the floor. He was deep in meditation. Another connection they shared: their need for stillness, for centering the mind. The red, hazy tint softened the lines of Obi-Wan’s face, the sleeplessness beneath his eyes. Maul knew he was the cause of this distress. It saddened him. It pleased him. 

“Obi-Wan,” Maul murmured. The Jedi opened his eyes and looked up, head tilted in question.

Maul needed him closer. The ray shields dulled his own senses. “Would you mediate with me?” He gestured to the inside of the cell. 

The man smiled, tired but true. “Of course.”

As easily as that, they knelt, facing each other. Eyes closed, palms up. Relaxed. They were synchronous in a way that exhilarated and terrified. Though Maul hadn’t planned for it, he did give in to meditation. He was not welcome at Obi-Wan’s side. He knew that, even before he had picked apart Cody’s mind. Their time together was borrowed. But that part of him quieted with each shared breath, in the ebb and flow of manifested calm.

He returned to himself before Obi-Wan did. He watched the man until he could bear it no longer: his light eyelashes, his freckles and scars, his hair threaded through with slivers of gray. Then he stood up and sat on the edge of his cot. The change in position put a hair more space between them. He could look down on Obi-Wan. And when the man would stir—Maul’s legs would be the first thing he saw.

It was like watching the sure stroke of a chrono as Obi-Wan’s eyes opened and focused, then slid away like running water. “Maul…?”

“May we speak candidly, Obi-Wan?” Maul asked. He kept his voice soft and even. Not quite a whisper. “Our time grows short.”

Obi-Wan looked up at him. Maul met that unsteady gaze with certainty. Obi-Wan didn’t move to stand, and Maul didn’t suggest it. The man stayed kneeling, almost bracketed by Maul’s legs. Just enough space for deniability.

Maul felt steady and clear. His words came in a flow.  

“I am your enemy. That much is certain. I have caused you great pain… as you have caused it in me. We are entwined by fate.” He touched his torso, dragged a finger along the minute slice of scar tissue that was visible above his metal half. Obi-Wan’s gaze shot down, caught the gesture, froze. “Do you covet it, Obi-Wan? The body you’ve ruined? The creature you’ve made of me?”

A stillness settled over the cell, a pressure more intense than what they shared in meditation. How Obi-Wan’s blue eyes widened, how they gleamed! Maul had only guessed at the identity of his almost-killer… but Obi-Wan had admitted it without saying a single word.  

There was a sadness in the discovery, a loss of ignorance that kept whatever tentative truce between them alive. But a glee rose from it too, unbidden. A victory had been won here.

Maul leaned forward. He grasped Obi-Wan’s chin. His gloved thumb slid beneath his lower lip, disturbing the bristles of his beard. A mirror of the first gentle touch Maul could remember in this small world. 

“So you won’t deny it. Your crime. Your shame. Your desire.”

There was resistance, however slight, but it was quelled as Maul tightened his grip. The bald shock in Obi-Wan’s expression changed, hardened. This now, was an expression Maul recognized, even if he had never seen it before. Though it was a false anger. He felt Obi-Wan swallow, smelled the prickle of fresh sweat, warm and saline. Not anger. Nervousness.

“You don’t understand. You can’t,” Obi-Wan murmured. The muscles in his jaw jumped in Maul’s hand.

“Do you understand it yourself?” Maul growled back. “You have what I do not. Power. Freedom. I have only this…” He let his eyes travel around his cell before he met Obi-Wan’s gaze once more. “I have only you.” He loosened his grip, though he was loath to do it. Afraid to do it. His own heartbeats quickened when Obi-Wan did not pull away. “And even that is temporary.”

There was a line that Cody would not cross, would not even consider. Obi-Wan toed this line with Maul. The want was there, palpable in the pulse of his heart, the dilation of his eyes, the quickness of his breath. 

It was a line Maul thought little of crossing. He pressed his thumb on Obi-Wan’s lower lip. He was unsure if the pressure itself opened Obi-Wan’s mouth, or if the man had simply done what he was demanding, what was instinctive to him. 

Maul leaned down and brought their lips together.

[lostcauses-noregrets]

I came to the fandom after the manga was already concluded, but how does it feel for people like you who have been in the fandom for a long time to finish the shipping race with your ship ending up as the most plausible one for Levi. Like you must have gone through a lot during the process lol but at the end it must have felt good.

Oh wow.  Did we go through a lot?  Did we ever!  Following the manga realtime was a wild, wild ride, especially after Shiganshina. I’ve already written about the fandom’s reaction to the hell that was the Serum Bowl here. Things did calm down a bit after that, particularly once fans understood that Levi had chosen to save Erwin by allowing him to die, but it was still a turbulent ride. 

Despite Yams hinting that Erwin might appear in flashbacks, there was a real fear that Erwin and his legacy would be completely forgotten and written out of the story.  The fact that Hanji mentioned there would be a funeral for Erwin and the fallen soldiers, and then that funeral never happened and we were straight into the time skip and the Marley Arc, only heightened that fear.  I’m still salty about this tbh. 

One of the things to remember about the Marley Arc is that it ran for 16 chapters and 11 months passed before we saw the Paradis cast again, apart from two blurry panels of Levi in chapter 93. 

There was a lot of anxiety about what was happening in the interim and how Levi would appear when he returned, particularly after the alarming subproduct of Titan science panel in 93.  Personally I was holding out for Levi to return with long hair and Erwin Smith Flame of Hope Tattooed across his chest. (@seitsen-sarvi kindly obliged.)  Isayama himself played on Levi’s absence by drawing pictures on his blog of Levi promoting a hot spring in his home town because he had nothing better to do. 

Once the Paradis cast returned, an even bigger fear was that Levi would forget his vow to Erwin, and speculation was rife about Levi choosing a new liege.  Those theories were blown out of the water in chapter 112 when Levi finally reiterated his vow to Erwin and we had the first of (several) flashbacks to the crate scene. 

Once it was clear that Levi hadn’t forgotten his vow and that his prime goal was still to kill Zeke, some fans felt that his character had stagnated, that he had become petty, vindictive and driven by revenge, that he needed to “get over” his hatred for Zeke, and that he should grow up and move on.  This particular argument used to drive me up the wall and I remember writing some meta pointing out that Levi wasn’t a teenage shounen protag on a voyage of discovery, he entered the manga as a fully formed character, and a grown ass man, and had remained consistent ever since. 

As the denouement of the manga approached, and we had another heartbreaking crate flashback in chapter 136, there was some quite acrimonious debate about whether Levi had sworn his vow to Erwin, or to all the Survey Corps’ fallen soldiers.  Most of this debate focused on points of translation that mostly went right over my head.  Have a look at @tsuki-no-ura's blog where you’ll find a detailed analysis of the translations and many very patient responses to fans.  My take on this particular point was that Levi swore his vow to Erwin, but he swore it on behalf of all the fallen soldiers. 

Another endless point of discourse was whether Levi should live or die.  Some Eruri fans desperately wanted him to die so he could be reunited with Erwin, while other fans were understandably outraged by this suggestion.  Personally I was really torn on this point. Ideally I wanted Levi to survive until the very end of the manga when he would die in a blaze of glory while killing Zeke, and then be reunited with Erwin in the afterlife. I never really thought there was the slightest chance of that happening, so when Hanji got *exactly* the ending that I wished for Levi, I was astonished to say the least.  But I also knew that having done it once, Isayama was unlikely to give the same ending to Levi. 

Ultimately, I think most Eruri shippers were very happy with Levi’s ending; he never forgot Erwin, he remained true to his vow, he killed Zeke, helped to save Humanity (as much as it could be saved), and was rewarded with a final vision of his fallen comrades saluting his sacrifice.  It was beautiful. 

The fact that Levi didn’t join the diplomatic mission to Paradis to negotiate with the Yeagerists, was just the icing on the cake. I love that last image of him living his best life with Gabi, Falco, and the Onyankopon, far away from Pardis and the Yeagerists. 

So yeah, that’s a very, very long winded way of saying, yes, as an Eruri shipper, Levi’s ending did feel good to me.  HOWEVER, I have to add that I’ve never seen shipping as a race to be won or lost. As far as I’m concerned the whole joy of shipping is that you can make your blorbos do whatever the hell you want, regardless of canon.  It really saddens me when some fans seem to spend more time shitting on ships they dislike, rather than creating content for ships that they do like. But at the same time, it also frustrates me when people try to debunk the actual canon story lines.  If you don’t like canon, that’s fine, just ignore it, shipping is all about transformative works after all.

I’m going to give the last word to Isayama, who I think is a lot smarter and more knowing than we sometimes give him credit for.  I know a lot of shippers of all stripes gave a wry smile when they saw this beautiful final panel of Levi with Petra, Hanji and Erwin all front and centre.  

Though I couldn’t help noticing that Erwin is the only one still waiting for their partner in the after life…