#but apparently i can’t even get that anymore

[crimsonhoney]

I know that one writing prompt blog that got canceled to hell and back for rightfully exposing the gaza scam ring for being scammers is giggling saying I told y’all so right now because they were ahead of their time—fast forward to a year later, most people now realize that writing prompt blog was right all along (it only took these people’s mentions, dms and inbox being filled with hundreds of these bots begging them for their money and saying they’d kill themselves and their families if they didn’t donate to them for these people to realize they were scammers) and calling out gaza scam for being what they are, a damn scam ring, doesn’t get you cancelled to hell and back anymore. It now gets you thousands of notes of people agreeing with you.

I mean not to be like I told you so but I knew the writing prompt blog was right ever since y’all were cancelling them for it. I just didn’t say anything back then because people lost their critical thinking skills as soon as a scammer used the Gaza card to make people dumb and naive. Because oh no they say they’re from Gaza. They say they’re vetted by this shady organization I’ve never heard of outside of tumblr before. We must not question how porn bots miraculously disappeared as soon as these “Palestinians” began popping in our inbox 100 times a day with their messages formatted in the exact same way, same script and all. We must not question how sus every is and we must forget everything we’ve learned about internet safety and how obviously a scam it is when a stranger begs us for our money with some sob story.

Like at this point if you still genuinely believe these bots, please open your eyes. Real Palestinian people are going through a genocide. It’s safe to assume they don’t have access to the internet when they have no home or food. They’re fearing for their lives every minute of every day, they’re not gonna spend their time on Tumblr going to each people’s dms and inbox individually to beg for money. They’re not gonna tell you they’d kill themselves and their kids if you, specifically you, didn’t post their asks and donate to them. They’re not gonna use the same copy and paste script. Not to mention how real Palestinians can’t even use money there when there’s nothing for them to buy since everything is debris and ashes. Just use your brain.

For real organizations, your donation money will be used to help deliver them food or build them shelters or anything to help. But I strongly believe people in Gaza individually don’t need money currently when they can’t buy anything directly. (They need food, shelter, clean water and clothes, and a real organization could provide them these with your donation money.)

So if you want to donate, donate directly to organizations you know that’s not some shady blog pretending to vet other blogs on tumblr under the pretense of a sketchy organization that apparently does not exist outside of this site.

Don’t let the word Gaza cloud your common sense.

If it’s obviously a scam when they were porn bots, Nigerian prince, or someone pretending to be a famous person on a secret account, it’s just as obliviously a scam when they wear the pretense of Palestinians.

[pinkpurplesunrises]

Milo, Grogu, and the Bump - the short story - Alexia Putellas x GroguObsessed!Reader - thank you for 100 followers

It started with Grogu falling off the shelf. Again.

“Milo!” you shouted from the couch, belly taking up more and more of your lap each day. “Drop him!”

Milo, tiny criminal disguised as a dog, bolted across the living room with Grogu’s floppy green ear in his mouth like a victory flag.

Alexia stepped out of the kitchen mid-bite, holding a spoon of yogurt. “Is he stealing Grogu again?”

“Third time today,” you said. attempting to stand but groaning halfway up. “I can’t chase him anymore. My centre of gravity is gone. I’m basically a snowman.”

“I got it.” Alexia sighed, setting her yogurt down and launching into what had become a regular household game: Operation Save Grogu from the Goblin Dog.

Milo dove under the dining table. Alexia followed with the focus of a woman who'd once scored in a Champions League final and now, apparently, spent her off-seasons wrestling plush toys from a nine-kilo dog.

“Give it, Milo,” she grunted. “This is not the Jedi way.”

He growled, tail wagging.

“I swear if he pulls the ear off again, I’m going to...”

“He’s just expressing himself,” you called feeling all of a sudden guilty for Milo. “He’s emotionally bonded to Grogu!”

“I emotionally bonded to Grogu first even if I didn't want it!” Alexia shouted, triumphantly reclaiming the plush. “I won it!”

“And now you have to share. That’s parenting, babe.”

Alexia tossed Grogu onto the couch beside you. He landed belly-up, right against your bump.

Your baby immediately kicked him in the face.

“Oh my God,” you gasped. “She just rejected him.”

Alexia’s eyes widened. “She’s on Milo’s side.”

“That or she’s mad he keeps falling on her.”

Grogu flopped slightly to the side, defeated.

You picked him up gently and placed him over your belly like a tiny, squishy shield.

“Diplomatic mission,” you explained.

Alexia came to sit beside you, Milo now proudly chewing a sock under the coffee table.

“Honestly,” she said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “this house is going to be chaos when the baby’s actually here.”

“It’s already chaos.”

“You’re already tired.”

“I cried this morning because I dropped toast butter-side down.”

Alexia kissed your cheek. “I cried when I realized we still have to baby-proof everything. Including Milo.”

“He’s un-proofable.”

“No, he’s just smart,” she said, looking at the dog. “Chaotic-smart.”

“Like someone else I know,” you muttered.

“Hey.”

You smiled and leaned into her. Grogu slipped down your bump again, landing face-first in your lap.

You looked down at him.

“Sorry, little guy. She’s kicking for two now.”

Alexia grinned. “She’s already fighting for space in this house.”

“She better be ready for a roommate who steals socks and has no personal boundaries.”

“I thought that was me,” Alexia teased.

You laughed, grabbing her hand and placing it gently on your belly. The baby kicked again, softer this time. Like a nudge.

“She likes you today,” you whispered.

“I’ll take what I can get,” she said, brushing her thumb over your skin.

Grogu, crumpled between you both like a proud mascot, stared silently into the ceiling.

Milo sneezed.

The baby kicked happily.

Life is really good for the four of you.

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° consumed with what's just transpired

( reo mikage x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — part 4 to my series: The Garden of You ( masterlist )

♡ word count — 1.1k

♡ content — all characters are 18+ (prob like 22-25ish), Reo is a pro soccer player, business woman! reader, enemies to lovers, workplace banter, nepo baby! reo lowkey, explicit themes mentioned (nothing described though), she falls first, he falls harder

♡ synopsis — reo mikage has never had anything outside of soccer that he couldn't buy, and he hasn't really wanted to. until he meets you.

── .❀ the kiddie like play has people watching

The worst thing about working at Mikage Corporation wasn't the suffocating suits or the 6 a.m. calls. 

It wasn’t the boardroom full of overpaid executives or the exhausting scramble to appear competent in a room full of sharks.

No.

It was Reo Mikage.

Golden boy. 

Soccer star. 

Heir to the empire.

And your new direct counterpart.

You weren’t just some intern fumbling files—no, you’d climbed here on merit. 

Worked your way through the ranks with sleepless nights and smart decisions. 

And then Reo walked in—straight from the field, sun-kissed and smug, all dazzling smile and signature violet hair—and decided he was going to “help out” around the company. 

His father’s idea, apparently. A grooming period before he eventually took over the Mikage legacy.

He wasn’t even in a tie. Just sauntered into your meeting, three buttons undone, skin still glowing from training, and plopped down beside you like he owned the seat.

“Didn’t know this was bring-your-prodigal-son-to-work day,” you had muttered under your breath.

He smirked. “Nice to see you too, sweetheart.”

You should’ve known right then that this was war.

Meetings were the worst.

You swore he lived to disagree with you. 

No matter what you said—numbers, projections, marketing ideas—Reo would have something to add. Something better. 

And the worst part? Sometimes, it actually was.

But it didn’t make you like him more. In fact, it made you want to throw your pen across the table.

Today was no different.

“This entire campaign is built around data that’s nearly six months old,” you snapped, flipping the file shut. “It’s irrelevant now.”

Reo leaned back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. “And yet, it’s outperforming every other campaign in its bracket. Weird how that works.”

You could feel your pulse in your jaw. Across the table, three other executives stayed deathly silent, watching the two of you go at it for the fourth time this week.

“I’m saying we can do better.”

“And I’m saying we are doing better. Just not your version of it.” The man that you swore was the human embodiment of a fly kicked his feet up on the table, leaning back. 

You shot him a glare sharp enough to kill a man.

He smiled like it tasted sweet.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” you hissed as the meeting ended, gathering your things.

“Doing what?” He followed you out of the room like a damn shadow.

“Undermining me. You only argue to get under my skin.”

He raised a brow. “Maybe I just like the way you look when you're mad.”

You whirled around. “Do you even care about this company?”

His mouth opened, but the hallway was too quiet, too narrow, too full of something that wasn’t hate. 

And Reo? He suddenly wasn’t smirking anymore.

“I care,” he said, softer than expected. “Just not the way you think.”

The breaking point came one Friday night.

You were both stuck working late—again—finalizing investor materials. 

It was nearly 11 p.m., the office long since emptied, and you were dangerously close to chucking the company laptop out the window.

“You can’t just rewrite my entire proposal, Mikage!”

He stood up. “And you can’t keep acting like you’re the only one who gives a crap how our stocks look!”

“You think you’re the only one under pressure? You think just because you play soccer and have a trust fund that this��this company—is yours to coast through?!”

You were close now. Too close.

And Reo wasn’t laughing anymore.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” he said, voice low. “The company, the name. But I’m here. I show up. And maybe I didn’t come in the same way you did, but I’m not trying to take it from you.”

You stared at him, breath caught.

And then something snapped.

Your mouth opened—maybe to yell, maybe to push back—but instead, Reo kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative.

It was a mess of pent-up frustration and late nights, of power plays and quickened pulses and too many stolen glances across boardroom tables. 

You grabbed his tie—not out of affection, but because you needed something to hold on to.

And Reo? He held you like he'd been dying to.

The days after were a blur of confusion and avoidance.

You didn’t know what to say, and Reo—he didn’t know how to stop wanting to do it again.

What scared him most wasn’t that he liked you.

It was that he didn’t know when he started.

All he knew was that now, he noticed everything.

The way your nose scrunched when you disagreed with a figure. 

The coffee order you always messed up. 

The tired look in your eyes when no one else noticed how hard you worked.

He noticed the way his chest hurt when he made you laugh.

He noticed the way your chair creaked just before you spoke up in meetings.

He noticed you, and he couldn’t un-notice it anymore.

Then one night, it boiled over again.

You were in the elevator, alone together.

“You’ve been weird,” you said, not even looking at him.

“Says the girl who kissed me.”

Your head snapped toward him. “You kissed me.” You shoved your finger into his chest.

Reo ran a hand through his hair—God, why did he do that so much? It made him look almost nervous. Vulnerable.

“Look,” he said, “I don’t care if this is stupid. Or if we fight again tomorrow. But I’ve never wanted something I can’t just buy before.”

He paused.

“And I want you.”

You blinked, finger falling from his chest as you took a step away from him.

He let out a breath like he’d been holding it for days.

“When I saw you sit across from me… it made me want to earn something for the first time in my life. On my own.”

Yes, he had soccer. Yes, he had built himself up from nobody to a world renowned player, but that wasn’t enough.

You win with a team in soccer, for once in his life, Reo wanted to win something by himself.

Silence stretched between you like an exhale.

And you took one step closer.

“You’re still annoying,” you muttered.

He grinned. “You love it.”

You kissed him this time.

It didn’t feel like tension anymore. 

It felt like fire. 

Like you were both finally letting go of the control and diving into the burn.

Later, as you lay tangled together on the couch in the Mikage penthouse—documents scattered, wine forgotten, Reo’s head on your shoulder—he whispered, almost without thinking:

“You remind me of sunflowers.”

You snorted. “What?”

“Always facing the light. Wanting to go up. Even when you hate everything around you.”

You turned to him, eyes searching. “You’ve got a weird way of complimenting someone.”

He smirked, lazy and soft. “And I adore you.”

And for the first time in years, Reo Mikage felt like this—this messy, brilliant, chaotic you—was something he could never put a price on.

And he didn’t want to.

first post back and i don't think this is my best work but oh well!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

❀ tags: ❀ @kenyuukissme ❀ @irethepotato ❀ @kiyy0mei ❀ @x3nafix ❀ @sugacor3 ❀ @ohagiyoo ❀ @reigensuperstar ❀ @nevvynevnev ❀ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[jude457]

about your recent Hwang brothers angst post 🥹 okay so firstly I’d like to say that oh my god they actually make me cry 😭 like when Junho cries, I think that’s precisely when my tears begin. you always write them so heartbreakingly yet so so breathtakingly beautifully!

okay from your post, Junho’s at Inho’s place. which makes this little angsty idea pop up in my head: what if Inho comes home and finds Junho there, crying, holding onto his medal and an old sweater?

Inho never actually returns to his old dorm, too much memories he tries to forget and bury (plus, Inho believes he’s not that man anymore, a good person, that man is dead), but today he happens to have to come get something from the place, maybe he forgets some paperwork, having left it at his dorm and he’s not comfortable with it just lying around there in case there ever is an investigation, it’s not that urgent or that big of a deal, but Inho just likes to be safe — the point is that he returns to his dorm for the first time in so. long.

and he finds Junho there, crying, holding onto his medal and an old sweater.

at first Inho’s… shocked. Junho still hasn’t even noticed him, apparently Junho didn’t even hear him open the door. unusual for a police officer, yes, but right now Junho is too busy weeping, too overwhelmed by the grief, pain, betrayal, love, to even be aware of what’s going on around him.

Inho can still quietly leave without Junho ever noticing or knowing at all. and at first Inho plans to do just that, leave and come back later after Junho’s gone.

but as he watches his baby brother weep, Inho realizes he can’t do that; can’t turn his back on Junho and abandon him again.

when he touches Junho’s shoulder, it’s gentle. almost like he’s not sure if he even is allowed to place a hand on his brother’s shoulder after what he’s done. and gentleness becomes foreign to him now. after his years as the Front Man, all Inho’s hands know is violence.

but right now he’s being ever so gentle.

and then Junho lifts up his head and that’s when their eyes meet.

and Junho’s just… shocked. at first it looks like Junho thinks he’s hallucinating. Inho is here. his hyung is here.

and Inho says something about “it���s me, I’m here, Junho”

and Junho starts crying more. he starts sobbing and hitting Inho and Inho just lets him. obviously Junho’s not actually harming Inho. Junho’s just overwhelmed, confused, hurt. relieved. and then — once Junho tires himself out — he just collapses in Inho’s arms, sobbing onto Inho’s chest, clinging onto Inho so tightly and Inho just holds and comforts him.

“don’t leave me again,” Junho says.

and before Inho knows it, he hears himself promise he won’t, he won’t leave Junho again. and he finds himself meaning every word he says.

Inho doesn’t know what happens next, but he knows he won’t — he can’t — abandon his baby brother again.

OMG YES YES YES. (i love your ideas!!!!)

what if junho follows inho to the island? after the tears dry and the silence thickens, that’s when junho says it. soft. exhausted. “take me with you.”

and that’s where inho panics. because he’s already promised not to leave again, but he didn’t know what that meant. didn’t know junho would ask this. to go with him. to return to the island. and he wants to say no. it’s dangerous, it’s no place for his dongsaeng, it’s—

but then he looks down and his brother’s still in his arms. curled against him like he belongs there. (he does). and inho can’t say no. he just can’t.

so yeah—junho goes to the island, and it’s a whole covert operation like some spy thriller, except way messier and with more whisper-fighting. inho’s heart is in his throat the whole time, palms sweating like he’s seventeen sneaking someone in past curfew. except this time it’s his baby brother and the stakes are literal death.

junho’s taking a mental health break, technically. the one his old superior kept begging him to take. and instead of Bali or therapy or yoga or whatever the hell normal people do, he chose this: hiding in a glorified bunker with his emotionally constipated crime-committing hyung.

and it’s not like inho hasn’t lied before. he lives in lies. but this? this is different. this is undoing whole systems. rewriting access points. rerouting patrol paths so no one ever wanders too close to his quarters. cutting cameras. falsifying logs.

sacrificing control.

and for a man like inho, that’s the same as peeling his skin off. every day, every night—it’s walking a razor’s edge. and all it would take is one mistake. one curious guard. one door left unlocked. one stupid moment of softness caught on the wrong feed. he loses sleep. skips meals. starts looking over his shoulder like there’s something permanently shadowing him now.

and junho doesn’t see it at first. not all of it. he’s still in recovery mode. sleeping like a rock. eyes too wide. voice too soft. he treads lightly, like he knows he’s not supposed to be here but can’t make himself leave. but slowly—he starts making himself at home.

first it’s junho brushing his teeth with inho’s toothbrush because he forgot to bring one. “don’t look at me like that, hyung, it’s not the worst thing we’ve shared.” then it’s him borrowing a hoodie. then not giving it back. then hanging it over the back of the only armchair like it belongs there.

eventually he stops asking.

he starts padding around barefoot. rummaging through drawers. opening cabinets like they’re his. and inho watches it happen with this weird ache in his chest. not annoyed. just undone.

he doesn’t sleep in a separate bed. not once. he refuses. curls right up beside inho like he did in that tiny dorm room, like that’s just how they breathe now—side by side, back to chest, brother shaped comfort after years of absence.

but god, it’s not easy.

because every second inho spends making sure junho’s unseen is a second he’s not reinforcing his own cover. not running ops. not keeping the gears turning. he’s stepping back from the game board. leaving fingerprints where he used to leave none.

he’s losing his edge.

he starts giving up things—small at first. important calls. patrol rounds. a meeting he ghosts because junho had a nightmare and wouldn’t let go of his shirt.

then bigger

inho wipes a whole surveillance drive. erases a record that pings his quarters more than once in a week. fakes a transmission log and risks it not holding up if someone checks it closely. he deletes footage. reroutes guards. lies through his teeth when someone questions a gap in rotation.

and it wears on him. the cracks show. in the way he flinches when there’s a knock on the door. in the way his hands hover too long over the keyboard like he’s running out of tricks. but then—inho comes back to his quarters.

and finds junho curled up under a blanket with tea cooling on the nightstand. peaceful.

and it’s worth it.

he comes back and junho’s humming some awful tune from their childhood, sitting at his desk and hacking into his reports, smirking like he belongs here.

and it’s worth it.

even when it costs. even when he’s burning bridges behind them in silence, even when he knows there’s no coming back from this if it all goes wrong. because every time he sees junho laugh, or sleep through the night, or just exist without fear, he thinks—

this is the only thing he’s ever done right.

and if the island swallows him for it?

so be it.

(now because i have to i’ll make it worse: here comes the angst. the VIP-verse is canon in my head at this point) i present inho constantly disappearing to ‘meetings’ and junho not understanding why he always returns looking wrecked.

inho will announce he’s got a meeting. that’s it. that’s all he says. and it’s always too quiet, like he’s already halfway gone. doesn’t say what kind of meeting, doesn’t say with who—just pulls on that coat like it weighs something. fastens on the mask like it’s choking him a little more every time he puts it on.

and he leaves. and junho watches him go. watches the door close, watches the silence seal behind him. and hours pass. and when inho comes back—

inho returns walking in like he’s been scraped thin. limping. not dramatically. just… wrong. hips off. one shoulder lower than the other. steps too slow, too careful. like he’s trying not to feel something he definitely feels. coat all wrinkled, half off his shoulder. lips raw. hands shaking when he drops the mask, like he doesn’t know how to hold onto anything anymore.

and his face—blank. like he’s been hollowed out with something dull. like he left whatever version of himself he had behind in that room and only the shell came home. he doesn’t speak. doesn’t even glance at junho.

goes straight to the shower. locks the door. the water goes on and it’s hot, you can hear it hissing through the pipes, and it doesn’t stop. doesn’t stop for thirty minutes, sometimes longer. steam spills out under the door like a warning. like smoke from something burned too far.

junho stays sitting there. on the bed, on the floor, wherever he landed when the door clicked shut. just waiting. he wants to ask. wants to go knock and say what happened, or are you okay, or even tell me who I need to kill.

but he doesn’t.

because the silence coming from that bathroom is a silence you don’t touch. it’s the kind that holds teeth.

and when inho finally comes out—he looks… not clean. not new. just scrubbed raw. skin red at the neck, at the wrists. hair wet. eyes vacant more empty than before. he walks like he’s hurt. not visibly. but it’s there. in the way he lowers himself onto the edge of the bed like his joints don’t trust him. in the wince he doesn’t show. in the way he breathes through his mouth like his chest can’t take it otherwise.

sometimes he lies down without saying goodnight. sometimes he stays sitting up like sleep might do more harm than good. sometimes he curls in, arms over his head, like someone still flinching from hands that aren’t there anymore.

and junho sees all of it. feels all of it.

but he doesn’t know.

doesn’t know what those “meetings” really are. doesn’t know about the VIPs and the way they take without asking. about the way inho’s body is bartered off and betted on like currency.

doesn’t know that the only reason he’s still safe—still hidden, still untouched—is because inho keeps going. keeps offering himself up. keeps letting it happen so that junho doesn’t have to.

he just knows his brother comes back empty. and that something is wrong. deeply wrong. so junho does what he can. sits beside him. wraps a blanket around both of them. touches him gently, on the back, the shoulder, the wrist, always soft, always slow. lies close but not too close. waits for his hyung to breathe again.

doesn’t ask questions. because maybe he’s scared to know.

inho never says anything. never explains. just lets himself be held. and that’s it. that’s the pattern.

leave.

come back wrecked.

shower until the pain peels off.

lie down like he’s afraid of being real.

and let junho hold whatever’s left.

(I’m sorry I can write forever. New fic prompt? Maybe)

[farawaydoe]

"I never quite believed that Spike dies at the end of the series. It is left open to interpretation and even Watanabe never committed to it either way. In an interview, he stated that he himself was not sure if Spike is dead or alive and wanted fans to draw their own interpretations. Then in another interview with Red Carpet News TV he mentions that fans who saw the scene and thought he was sleeping were probably right…”Just sleeping” he reinforces in English after the translator finishes translating what he has said. The first time I saw RFB 2 I was broken-hearted by the last scene but I desperately wanted to believe he survived and kept trying to find clues in the show to support or negate this definitively…and maybe what I write here is just me imagining things out of wishful thinking…don’t know. But I do feel that the last couple of episodes are set up in such a way that if you watch them in a flow, without looking deep, you get one story while the moment you look deeper, you realize it actually could be indicating toward the exact opposite as well. All of this may be a big stretch but meh…I want to believe it.

Ok, so the most commonly quoted and obvious factor supporting Spike’s survival post the big battle in RFB 2, for anyone familiar with the anime, would be that he has experienced injuries which are way worse than what he receives at the Syndicate HQ and survived many times before. In fact, this is a recurring theme in the series and something they really go out of their way to establish. But let’s go deeper. The counter argument to this is that he kept coming back only because the idea of Julia gave him a reason to live. But I do believe that, by the time the Real Folk Blues rolls around, he seems a bit distant and jaded with his idea of her and of his past in general. I go deeper into that in the ‘Goodnight Julia’ post but to me, by that point, his survival force seems to have moved beyond just living for Julia to being there for his found family. Even when he receives news she is in danger, he ensures Jet is ok and the Bebop will be safe before going in search of her. It seems like he wants to deal with his past and put it behind him rather than return to it or throw his life away over it. If Julia follows him in this well and good but he knows what he needs to do. He returns to his past with reluctance and due to a sense of accountability but it’s something he wanted to be free of for a while so clearly its loss doesn’t have as strong a hold on him anymore. The scene with the eggs in the previous episode establishes that he is as impacted as Jet by the apparent “breaking up” of their new crew and this new life has come to hold meaning for him. The contrast between Spike’s heavy past and the light and carefree present, where he seems to feel more at home, is one of the most poignant factors which make the story of Bebop so compelling after all.The episode ‘Boogie Woogie Feng Shui’ further establishes this aspect of the Bebop folk being Spike’s acquired ‘family.’ Jet goes into an explanation of why Meifa’s father disappears to protect her. He was involved with the Syndicate and went into hiding to protect her since you can’t leave the Syndicate just like that once you are deep enough. They will come after you and your family. I feel this is put as a clue within the series to Spike’s situation, foreshadowing what’s coming up, and establishing subtly that the Bebop crew are his ‘family’ who end up getting targeted when the Syndicate attacks later. Similar to Meifa’s father, Spike then comes out of hiding to confront them in order to protect these people who matter to him.

What is usually used to support the idea of Spike losing his will to survive because Julia is dead, is the story of the two cats which he tells Jet. This story prima facie seems to indicate that once the white cat (presumably Julia) is dead, the tiger-striped cat (presumably Spike) will not come back to life again the way he had so many times before. But, when you look deeper, the story doesn’t really support his death in the near future. He mentions meeting the female cat after he becomes a stray while Julia was someone he met before he became “free” and hence she does not fit that description. In fact, he lost her when he became a “stray.” The idea of a long togetherness and the white cat dying of old age indicates at a much more wholesome relationship than what he had with Julia, which involved a three year game of chase ending in a few moments of strained togetherness and her sudden death.

Rather, it seems to indicate that he will stop coming back to life only once he dies after encountering this wholesome relationship and a fulfilling life, not as a result of something stunted and unfulfilling. Spike also says himself that he hates the story and cats and then laughs it off. To me, this seems more a way of acknowledging and then negating/dispelling a fear which by now is there in most of the audience’s minds (especially if this is not their first time watching the show and they are yet to decide whether he is dead or not at the end)…the thought that he will lose his will to survive against insane odds, now that Julia is gone. The story, taken at basic face value in that moment, exacerbates this fear for the audience and confirms that he will indeed die for good this time. But nothing is as straightforward here anyway. He then goes on to state that he hates that story, hates the idea and then laughs at it…to me, this feels like he fears the story fits him to an extent but he wants to reject that fate. Something in him is leaning strongly toward survival rather than death, surprising even him.It seems like he acknowledges that this story loosely applies to him, drawing out the fear which is building in our minds and Jet’s, and then plays it off as something he does not consider a good way to go about things. He is very much planning on coming back this time as well if he can. He tells Faye as well that he is not going there to die but to see if he is truly alive. This is the fight which he actually may not come back from but, if he does, he knows for sure he is alive this time around.

To me, this idea of checking if he is “alive” comes from Vicious’ dialogue “I am the only one who can keep you alive and I am the only one who can kill you.” Spike has always lived in the shadow of the Syndicate and his life was not his own at that time. It could be taken at any moment if he stepped out of line…he wasn’t truly ‘alive.’ When he gets out, Vicious still claims he is alive because Vicious has chosen to keep him alive. His life is therefore not his own still if that is true. By Vicious’ logic, Spike is living on borrowed time because Vicious has chosen not to end him yet. This means that he is already a dead man on death row with the date of execution pending basis the executioner’s discretion. For him to go to the Syndicate, face Vicious at the peak of his power, give him the full opportunity to finally kill him, actually kill him, and still survive would mean that he truly is alive and has been all along since he left the Syndicate. It means he has not survived on Vicious’ terms…the ability to kill Vicious was in him all along and the life he lived after leaving the Syndicate was his own, on his own terms, not something given through cruel mercy. It means he has not been a dead man with a death sentence because he has been strong enough to kill his would-be executioner at the peak of his power all along. He is free, ‘alive’ and has been all along, on his own terms. In fact, with this perspective, Vicious becomes the dead man since he has been alive only because Spike has let him live. This logic works only if he survives Vicious and emerges with his life…it doesn’t work in any other way.

It’s also the only way he can ensure the life he has built while ‘being alive’ stays untouched and he has something to come back to. If he doesn’t go back to face his past, confront it and annihilate it, it will spill back and destroy what he has found now. Another key aspect which is mentioned in this context usually is what Laughing Bull says about Spike’s star in the last episode. When Gren dies, his star “falls” quite perceptibly. It seems to be his spaceship plummeting through the sky but appears to us as a shooting star. When Laughing Bull is talking to Jet, he says that once a person dies their star falls. He says that “His star is about to fall” but doesn’t specify whose it is. Considering the level of layering and metaphors which exist in the show, LB saying it right out that Spike is about to die seems fairly counter-intuitive and way too simple. We are also shown with the example of the Van that mystic predictions in this universe have their limitations. They are told by their astrologer that Vicious will attack on the red moon but the astrologer is not able to predict that he will also recover from the setback of being discovered and will kill them all.In Spike’s case, as Blue is playing at the end of Session 26 and the screen pans up during the credits, we do see a star eventually but it doesn’t fall. It twinkles and fades. It is not clear whose star it is or why it fades instead of falling. For all we know, it could be Vicious’s star. We see several stars brighter than the others in the sky but only one of them fades. There is one just a little below and to the left of the one that fades which is also equally prominent but doesn’t get disturbed. The indication here could be that of the two men, Vicious’ star has faded.

Even if we are to assume this is Spike’s star, the fact that it does not fall indicates, to me, that whatever has happened to Spike involves anything but dying. The fading of the star may also mean renewal-an end to his old life and the beginning of a new one. Maybe this star fades and is renewed again in a fresh avatar. With Vicious, the Van, and Julia dying, he is pretty much free of all of that and may actually get to start a new life for real without being constantly hunted…a life in which he can even meet the female white cat (or may already have met her), have a long wholesome life together, and die of old age. A free life, purged finally of all the burden he has carried for so long. So his star fades off from the sky and perhaps reappears as the star of a new life and self.

It could also be that the star we see is not even a star since in Gren’s case his “star” was his ship. There is also the presence of doves. Doves during a character’s death or during action sequences are a classic John Woo device. We generally see an analogy that the presence of doves at Julia’s death and during the last scene indicate Spike died as well but actually both spots had people die so they don’t necessarily have to be for Spike. For Woo these represent the soul of an individual. When asked to explain about it he has said “Also, these guys have done some bad things in their lives but their souls got saved in the end, which I also wanted to express through this image.”Another reason why I believe he is still alive is the Toys in the Attic metaphor…which is covered in detail in another post. In that episode, the crew members are impacted by the metamorphosed lobster, and we feel like they are all toast but they don’t actually die. There is also the parallel of the ‘Bang’ which resonates back to ‘Sympathy for the Devil.’ In that case, he has just killed Wen and in this case he has just killed Vicious. Wen was immortal and could not be killed unless the ‘stone’ was used. Vicious seemed immortal, untouchable, and could only be killed by Spike. I have come across this argument that Spike is dying in that moment and hence says the second ‘Bang’ because he finally understands what Wen meant by being at peace when dying. While this is very poetic, I actually feel it means the exact opposite. In the scene from SFTD, Spike has killed someone who could not be killed but did not understand what he meant by the peace of dying since Spike is a perennial survivor. He comes close to death again and again but does not die. I feel the second ‘Bang’ indicates that he has once again killed someone who could not be killed and still does not understand what Wen meant because somehow he has managed to survive again. It also ties into the end card of ‘You’re gonna carry that weight.’

An alternate interpretation could be that he believes he is dying, feels light now because all that he has been carrying is gone. He doesn’t know if he will make it or not so he assumes he won’t. But the metaphorical death of his past also means the death of his past self. Wen felt light because he was finally free of his prison of immortality and Spike feels light because he is free of his past now. So he does finally understand and hence the ‘Bang.’

The final one for me is the above screenshot. This is again one which is used to prop up the idea that Spike is dead because Vicious slices him with a Katana….which is the weapon of a Samurai. Now if I pick up a spatula that doesn’t automatically make me a chef. The line says “true Samurai” which means someone who embodies Bushido, the samurai code. One casual look at Vicious’ character will tell you he’s the opposite. Bushido runs on honor, compassion, righteousness, none of which are qualities he’s had even a remote brush with. Just because he is toting a Katana doesn’t mean he is a Samurai…forget a true one. And this is kind of a definitive clue in my mind that we are supposed to take away that Vicious indeed cannot kill Spike."

If you don’t agree please don’t attack me. Let’s just agree to disagree. It’s just a take.

[liebgirl]

life going so nothingly my biggest dream right now is to rewatch a movie i like. you cannot fathom how much i want to be able to do that. alas!

[kavehayati]

Chappel Roan saying she’s sad she’s demisexual and then there’s me being aroace as a whole like don’t you think I’m even more sad 😭

[chibishortdeath]

Great googley moogley it’s all going to shit! Every day becomes exponentially more terrifying!

And all perfectly timed to just right at the start of what’s supposed to be my adult life where I get my shit together and be useful and productive!

[ssruis]

Going through a straight up comical amount of irritating situations to get the stupid 4* guaranteed ticket from the welcome to sekai campaign. It Will Be Mine.

[jamandjazz]

Hmmm something’s telling me I’m not right in the head

[void-tiger]

…wHY do y’all feel the need to mention where someone’s at when they’re not around! Sure I have a crush on that idiot but I’m never going to admit to it, and actively avoid bringing them up myself ‘cause it’d feel like a freudian slip and it’s not my business anyway.

How often do I even come up in y’all’s home conversation. Is it out of pity? Or is this idiot just as insufferable as I am to my friends who are WELL AWAY from this and therefore Safe to repeatedly try spring-cleaning my demiromantic acengst with.

Are y’all pressuring them about me, too, or has that FINALLY, finally eased off.

(And what value can I possibly have, anyway. I’m unemployed and just shy of a shutin from severe anxiety/moderate depression and cptsd, adhd, and a smorgasbord of muscular-skeletal issues that just keep creeping up and staying and moving the goalpost to even TRY getting a job. The idiot has other friends when they have time to spend on them. All I am is stubborn enough to stick around and wait if I’m not actively being chased off IF the other party seems to really want that connection.)

[seilon]

just wrote like three paragraphs ranting about my living situation and deleted it just know I am going insane and i hate it here and I need to live by my fucking self or I am going to absolutely fucking lose it

[kavehayati]

I’m going insane I actually can’t believe them !!!!

[jackkin-memories]

killing myself fifty million times

[iteh3xael]

Apparently we’ve reached an age where vagueposting is coming back en vogue hmmm

[coffee-and-geto]

satoru is the kind of husband who’s often absent. between missions, meetings, jujutsu high, and let’s not forget his clan, he spends his time running around instead of spending time with you — his wife.

it’s a routine. though sometimes, not seeing him can get really frustrating (not to mention the number of tears you’ve shed because of his absence). he’s well aware of it. poor guy feels guilty every second he’s away from you.

one evening, after spending the whole time of it crying over his absence, curled up like a caterpillar in the soft, cottony white duvet, you finally found sleep. a deep sleep, to be precise.

but apparently not deep enough, because in the middle of the night, the moonlight filtering through the windows wakes you up. you quickly realize something heavy is resting on your body. a warm, steady breath brushes against the skin of your neck, sending shivers across your whole body.

you squirm slightly under your husband, who’s lying on top of you as if you were his mattress. “satoru, get off me…”

“hmmm,” he hums, pouting and furrowing his brows. instead of freeing you, he shifts lazily on top of you, trapping you further in his arms. and you’re still wrapped in your duvet, too.

“satoru, i can’t move anymore.” but that doesn’t seem to matter. he clings to you like a koala to a tree. you sigh.

“i missed you.” he plants a soft kiss on your cheek, instantly melting your heart. “i love you.” he chuckles softly, eyes still closed, because he knows you don’t really hold it against him. “i’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” a promise he kept, to your delight.