#for some reason the last paragraph wanted to be first when I copy/pasted it in from my files

[graychrissy]

🌊Digital Detox + Egyptians lucid dreaming method 🌊

Idk what to put on the title of this post so I wrote digital detox and I have copy pasted the main lines.

In the ancient Egypt the Egyptians use to have lucid dreaming alot and it was extremely easy for for them not just Egyptians but it was also mention ancient Indian scriptures.

You’re probably wondering ‘what’s the secret’? The real problem is often NOT your technique. It’s actually another issue that no amount of techniques, articles, reality checks, supplements or uncomfortable masks is going to fix. It’s your ‘inner game’. Specifically, your subconscious motivation and reward circuits, and ‘dopamine cycle’. Travel in your mind for a second, to ancient Egypt.

There were no smart phones, internet connections, computer animated action movies or virtual reality headsets.

Your brain back then would have produced a healthy amount of dopamine as a reward for pretty basic things like eating, working, exploring, and taking some time to relax or meditate

Now our average attention spans are literally less than 7 SECONDS. It’s probably a lot lower than that, and It’s declining every single year with the rise of new, highly addictive and stimulating social media apps and platforms. When was the last time you meditated for over 90 minutes? Have you ever? I’m not saying you have to do that to lucid dream, but this sort of practice was very common 5000 years ago. In fact, it was weird NOT to do that. And herein lies the main problem.

Your brain is ‘fried’ with an overly stimulated dopamine pathway. Dopamine is the neurotransmitter that stimulates the feeling of WANTING to keep doing something. It’s the reason you keep scrolling through Instagram, or keep refreshing your Facebook feed to see if there are any new comments or notifications. But it’s also the SUBCONSCIOUS reason you aren’t able to lucid dream easily. In the last decade especially, there have been billions of dollars spent by big tech to essentially ‘addict you’ to their platforms. Why? Money. The more time and energy you spend on platforms like that, the more money they make. So the task has been given to artificial intelligence. The AIs often just get trained and told a few basic things: 1: Get people to spend more time on the platform 2: Get people to keep coming BACK to the platform as often as possible The ‘AI’ pays almost NO attention to what that would do to your mental health, attention span, motivation, emotions, or really anything else. Much LESS attention is paid to the effect it has on your ability to focus, or do things like, say, lucid dream. Now, the ‘dopamine cycle’ is one part of the problem, but it’s actually pretty easy to fix. There are several little pieces to what I call the ‘modern brain puzzle’. Things that just weren’t a problem 5000 years ago. You can see some of this playing out in children today. On average, children or people under the age of 15, find it MUCH easier to lucid dream than adults do. It’s because at that age, their dopamine system has not been damaged too much. This is of course changing now, as more and more children are having access to smartphones, but it’s an interesting point. In fact not only does the dopamine problem affect your ability to lucid dream, it also affects your ability to WANT to lucid dream (consciously and subconsciously). Specifically I’m talking about your motivation and focus. And you guessed it, there’s your number one cause of problems when trying to meditate, practice techniques like the WILD, or recall your dreams.

After reading this paragraph or stanza whatever,I noticed something,as a kid I had lucid dreams alot with just putting intentions.

My first lucid dream was at around 7-8 years old,and I was sinking when I realised I was dream and I tried controlling my dream and even succeeded,and I was probably there for about 10 minutes playing with underwater creatures and mermaids.

And till 7 grade I use to have alot of lucid dreams but after that I was allowed to use phone and so I was always invested in phone like all the time. By the way lucid dream was pretty normal for me and I pretty much forgot about it and never really paid attention to lucid dreaming. And then I rarely had any lucid dreams, probably 4 times ever since 8 grade and I've noticed every time I lucid dream it's always whenever I don't use any social media.

In 9 grade my phone was taken again because my mother noticed my social media addiction. And after few months I again start to lucid dream for fun easily and effortlessly but during COVID I was again allowed to have my phone and then a new laptop so now my life was revolving around social media again and for the past few year I only lucid dream whenever I don't get to use my phone more then 2 days.

Idk bout y'all but I wasn't allowed to use phones or laptop till 8th grade so the only thing I knew was TV which I only watched after coming home so like my mind was most of the te bored because I didn't had anything to keep it entertain which made it easy for me to observe around looking for things to do.

So how can you reverse the ‘dopamine problem’ and several of the other issues modern life has created? By the way: This is NOT about destroying your phone and going back to live in a cave. There are actually several powerful habits you can install, that will let you KEEP using your phone, laptop etc, but without these harmful effects. Here’s the simple solution to more lucid dreams: 1. Reverse engineer your life and remove distractions, manipulation, ‘dopamine hijacking’ and harmful blue light exposure from your daily routine (along with some other ‘problem patterns’) 2. Get inside your subconscious brain and rewire yourself to WANT to practice lucid dreaming, and to effortlessly do reality checks at the right time, without even trying 3. Learn powerful ‘all day awareness’ and ‘lucid living’ techniques that give your brain superpowers in the fight 4. On top of THAT foundation, learn the most effective techniques and concepts, use our tools to stay motivated, and experience lucid mastery within 14 days. Let’s dive a little bit deeper: First, you have to ‘reverse engineer’ the problem. This can be complicated if you don’t know what you’re doing, but we’ve laid everything out step by step for you. If dopamine addiction is part of the problem, we have to break that addiction first. Then comes your mindset, and your motivation pathways. You need to actually feel GOOD when you practice these things. I see so many people saying they’re struggling to remember to do reality checks, or they just don’t want to wake up at ‘weird times’ to practice. Don’t worry, you won’t have to. It will feel good, and you’ll ENJOY practicing these things. Next, your subconscious mind. It’s SO important to fix your internal beliefs about lucid dreaming, because the chances are you have ‘internal blocks’ about becoming lucid. They’re easy to pick up, but a bit harder to ‘unlearn’. The system shows you how to ‘unlearn’ them, and install new, powerful and self affirming beliefs into your mind. This gives your brain lots more motivation to keep trying. Now, one of the most common things I hear people say is that they can’t REMEMBER to keep doing reality checks. It’s linked to the dopamine problem we mentioned earlier, but it’s also connected to a few other psychological principles that we’ll get onto. We’ll give you a new framework to ENJOY reality checks, remember them without any annoying reminders, and actually get them to SHOW UP in your dreams, 9 out of 10 times. And then finally, we’ll build the most effective techniques, methods and concepts on top of that new, strong foundation. Of course, I’m simplifying this here, but that’s the outline.

Here are some videos that may help.

If you want to know more about it or get the steps to lucid dream you can buy the book or go through a long step to get it for free but the procedure is very long and probably only for Iphone user.

You find some good articles ways to do the 'reverse dopamine' thingy.(I donot trust my research on this topic cuz I got confuse)

You may use Adambja's tape to reprogram your subconscious and this hacking the matrix tape the comments under the video was so good and I found this tape on someone's success story. You can use this two tapes to reprogram your subconscious and of course psych-k.

This is pretty much all you need digital detox,observing your surroundings and subconscious reprogramming to change your belief or assumptions.

And this will make you even more motivated that you are working on your goals as many of us have the access of devices it's hard for us to keep up with all this method and it's not like we are always busy if we are we wouldn't be scrolling through Tumblr and Pinterest all the time. If you read the the copy pasted part you'll see what I mean.

Edit: I forgot to mention it 🥲 if we follow do this we CAN HAVE lucid dream everyday.

Egyptians lucid dreaming tea

This will be quick,so I went to my aunt's place with my mother and my aunt's ran out of tea powder/leaves so she used her daughter's blue lotus tea and after getting home I took a nap and I HAD A FOKING LUCID DREAM,so basically I didn't knew that it was the tea until I was doing some research on LD and found out that in ancient Egypt they use Blue Lotus tea and I found some review about it on YouTube and people had very vivid dreams aswell. This tea basically put you in REM which y'all probably know about.

But I don't like tea😐,so if anyone have interest you can try I honestly want to but my hate for tea is on top on the list of top 5 things I hate,you can find them online people even use Blue Lotus in vape😐not encourageling y'all to smoke but if anyone does you can.

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

This is extremely long and apparently subject to change, which is part of why I'm copy-pasting this version below. I don't agree with significant parts of it (in particular, I take umbrage with some of the delegitimizing language she uses for the Jewish/Israeli narrative and history that she doesn't use with the Palestinian narrative and history), however, I think it's a really really important read, because she addresses a lot of the real problems with the current discourse and real-world impacts that has.

I think this paragraph in particular was something I needed to read:

Arguing with the far left is a waste of time. They have no self-awareness, they are delusional, and they will never stop. They are as fanatical as any of the mob. The only way to make them stop talking is to actually sort this problem once and for all and work for the freedom and dignity of all. And when all is said and done, the ones that will keep complaining will finally be exposed for what they truly are.

She also winds up positing the A Land For All solution as the most likely to succeed, which I do agree is probably correct, for the main reason she argues, which is that it is the option that gives the most people the greatest amount of what they want, the basics of what everyone needs, and hews most closely with answering the competing narratives that exist.

There is No Magic Peace Fairy. Version 2

For anyone who might have read the previous version of this piece of writing, this is quite different from the original. Its spirit and essence are the same, but much has been added. It is very long, but it seeks to understand some extremely complicated and difficult things.

I should have realised when I first wrote it, and then sought to follow its instruction — to listen and learn from a wide spectrum of other people — that it was only ever going to be a working and evolving piece of work. This is version 2. There may yet be a version 3, 4 or 5.

Why did I even write it? Initially — truthfully, and honestly — it has been for myself. It started as catharsis, and it has become a compulsion — the way to “make it make sense.” The way to cope with horrifying scenes across the television and social media, witnessed day after day, and feeling utterly powerless to stop it.

It comes from years of witnessing, and sometimes partaking in long and sometimes very bitter family arguments. Arguments that became spectator sport for friends who would come over especially because they knew they would happen. Arguments that, in retrospect were not actually remotely funny for those of us living through that constant emotional turmoil, nor considering the subject matter. It has been the way to work through those conflicted feelings, and some things that were never really reconciled.

So, yes, it started for myself. But now I have written it, I do want people to read it. I think it may help others to work through some of the same things. And then it would have been worthwhile, especially if it may help some people to find a way to salvage lost friendships and lost relationships from the last few months, because it seems there is a giant rift forming in our communities in Britain.

This has nothing to do with ‘both sidsing’ anything, and it has everything to do with problem-solving. As far as I am concerned, in all of life, you cannot solve a problem that you do not understand. And I really want to understand it. So, I look at both narratives that the Palestinians and Israelis know as the history of their peoples, and think about the lives of individual Palestinians and Israelis, and then I wonder, how could this ever actually be fixed? Is there really any hope for the future?

It is not meant to justify or apologise for anything anyone has done.

I am sure this writing will includes things that almost everybody will take issue with, but it is my hope that by doing my very best to do justice to our collective stories that people can read without anger what it is that I have to say — and please do read to the very the end if you are intending to pass judgement on what that is.

Most of all, I think this will interest people in the diaspora with family, friends, and personal links and connections to the region — Israel or the Occupied Palestinian territories — who wish nothing more than to see their friends and family living in freedom, with dignity and security.

If you have read version 1, the stories of the 15-year-olds have only minor additions, but the narratives and the rest of the article have changed a lot. If you get to a bit that sounds very familiar, skip a bit further down — it is very long to read it twice.

~~~~~

What is the most important narrative of the Palestinian people?

(You do not have to agree with this — I am just telling it how it is told).

Something like –

“The defining event of our history is the Nakba (Catastrophe)

Before 1948, we used to live in Palestine. We loved Palestine. We lived there for centuries. We lived peacefully. We had a deep spiritual and emotional connection to the land. Our ancestors are buried there. Religious sites — Christian, Muslim, Jewish — that had great meaning to all of us were there. It was a rich tapestry of different religions and cultures containing a beautiful and sacred shared heritage.

We had wonderful villages and beloved homes that we built with our own hands. We had gardens with trees and plants that our grandparents planted. We had treasured possessions. We had friends and families and good lives. We could go and come as we pleased.

We had neighbours of all faiths, including Jewish neighbours. We lived contendly together. Some of them had been there for centuries just like us and we liked them, we lived there together happily and in peace.

In the 1900s, more and more started to come. They were fleeing persecution. We gave them refuge. We had no problem with them coming. They were being hounded in Europe and they needed somewhere else to go. Where better for them to be but here in Palestine, where the history of their people was born? And many of them were respectful and we had good relationships with them. We liked them.

But some of them wanted a country. Some of them fought with us, and some of them attacked us, and terrorised us. How could they have had a country in our land? We had been there for generations, and what would have become of us if we had agreed to it? Where would they have stopped? The problem was never them. It was them trying to make a country. And if they hadn’t tried to make a country, everything would have been okay. We could have had a country all of us together. What a beautiful country it could have been. But the country they wanted did not include us.

Some of them were clear they would have kept going until they got more and more of our land, and there is no question they would always have driven us away. Some of their leaders where unashamed and brazen in the way they looked down on us, in their statements that dehumanised us, in their disdain for us, in their colonial intent. They under-estimated us.

The Nakba (catastrophe) was a disaster for our people. In 1948, there was a war. During that war, the Israelis attacked us, killed us, stole our property and ethnically cleansed us from our land in order to create their Jewish state. We left in fear of our lives. We were not the ones that started that fighting. We wanted nothing to do with it. That is why we left.

We didn’t think we would be gone for long, surely once the fighting had subsided we would be back. But then days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into years.

Then it finally sunk in — they weren’t going to let us back. And we realised we were divided and dispossessed. That nightmare was only the beginning for us. They have never, ever allowed us back for 75 years. We lost everything. Our human rights are denied to us. More and more of our land is taken every day. We are not free. Some of us have no freedom at all and no rights.

We want to stop being ethnically cleansed. We want to go home, to go back, to see our homeland, our ancient sites, to be back where we belong, where we have always belonged. We want our dignity, and we want our freedom."

~~~~~

You do not have to agree with the way this story is told, but it has, in some form, been passed down through generations and generations of Palestinians.

~~~~~

What is life like for a 15-year-old Palestinian who lives in the West Bank?

You are told this story of your people from the day you were born. You live under a military occupation. More and more violent religious settlers move into the lands around you. They build new homes and can do whatever they want. They come and go as they please, in and out of Israel. You are not allowed to go anywhere except the West Bank. Their soldiers are always there with guns. They are in charge.

The settlers terrorise you all the time. They stop people farming their land and so you struggle to survive. A few weeks ago, a settler shot one of your friends. They never get punished and they never go to prison. But recently your best friend went to prison for throwing rocks at the soldiers. You really miss him.

Your grandparents left Palestine in 1948 with four children, and very few possessions. Your grandmother thought she would be back in a few days or weeks. Your grandmother’s sister ended up in Gaza and they never saw one another other again. She died recently. You have a cousin who is the same age as you. You know you could have been close if only you had even met.

You see no future the way things are now. There is no hope. You want a different life. You want the things your grandparents had. You don’t want to be constantly afraid of being attacked. You dream of leaving. You dream of the day you go back to Palestine where the house you should have had is, even just to see it, to be truly home, to live the life that is rightfully yours.

What do you do? You resist. In the only way that you can, with the only things that you have. You throw rocks at the soldiers. One day, you get caught, and you get put in a prison. You are tried by a military court, and you stay in prison for a really long time. In prison, people do appalling things to you. Finally, they let you out. What do you do?

~~~~~

What was life like for a 15 year old living in Gaza?

You are also told the Palestinian story from the day you were born. There are good things about your life. You go to school, have friends, and family who you love, you can go out and do things. There are hospitals, and you can get a lot of things that you need. You love Gaza. But you can’t leave Gaza. You can’t go anywhere else in the land or the world except Gaza.

Your life is still hard. Your family struggle for money and to survive, to get the things that you all need. There are a lot of things that would make your life better and easier, but you can’t get them in Gaza. You know that if you lived in Israel, you could get whatever you wanted and needed. You have family in the West Bank you have never met, but you know about their struggles. You have a cousin the same age, who is enduring unimaginable hardships.

The people in charge of Gaza are not good leaders. They can be dangerous and violent if you oppose them. A lot of people in Gaza don’t like them, although some people support them. Your own parents really can’t stand them. These people have been in charge of Gaza since before you were even born. You have learned that there was a civil war in Gaza before that and hundreds of people were killed or wounded. There has never been an election since.

You know they fire rockets into Israel because they want to dismantle it. You want a different life, but it’s never really worked or got anywhere. It seems futile. And you know that every few years, the bombs will come. Everyone you know has lost someone or something from the Israeli bombs. You don’t remember that much about the last time, but you do remember being really terrified, and you remember that your Dad cried when his brother was killed.

Then one day you hear news. News that Israel has been attacked by Gaza. Israelis have been killed, and some are even being brought into Gaza. Your heart sinks. You have a funny feeling in your stomach. You know what is coming.

~~~~~

To these two children, these cousins, Zionism can and only ever will mean catastrophic dispossession, oppression, and Jewish supremacy. The only Jews or Israelis they have encountered have either bombed them or terrorised them. Israel is a colonial entity. It never had a right to exist. Israelis are settlers. All they ever do is steal land. How could you expect them to see it any other way? There can never be any nuance, or any grey area about it. It could never have any legitimacy in their eyes. How could you expect or ask them to empathise with Israelis when you consider what they have lived and are living through?

For them, anyone who describes themselves as a Zionist in any form, even a liberal Zionist, could only ever be perceived as somebody that cannot be reasoned with, is trying to justify and support the unjustifiable, and is nothing but a settler and a tool of their oppression.

~~~~~

What is the dominant narrative of Jewish/Israeli people?

(You do not have to agree with it — I am just telling it how it is told).

It may be slightly different for secular Israelis and Diaspora Jews, but it goes something along these lines:

“We are the people of Israel. This is where our religion and our language were born, where we built temples and our ancestors are buried. We have and always have been surrounded by enemies on all sides. For millennia, we have been scattered throughout the world. We were driven from Israel and we went to Europe, the Middle East, and Africa. Throughout history people have always tried to kill the Jewish people. They didn’t like us being Jewish. There were always pogroms and mass killings. In some places people would hide and pray together in secret. It is our duty to keep the Jewish religion alive in their honour.

In Europe the pogroms got worse and worse. A few of us left Europe for a better life in Palestine. But most of us stayed in Europe. And most of us died in Europe. Six million of us. They did it because they said we were responsible for everything bad that had ever happened in the world.

Most of our so-called friends and neighbours said nothing as we were terrorised and led away. They carefully planned and counted how they could get rid of each and every one of us. They tried to annihilate us completely from the face of the earth. But as a people we lived on.

Jewish people had been coming to Palestine from Europe for years before 1948 fleeing the persecution. We came and we bought land fairly and built our lives there. We were happy. We wanted to all be together again, in a place that had meaning to us, where we would be safe. We knew we needed freedom and independence, so that this time it would never, ever happen again.

People say that we never needed a country, but what do they know? Jewish history has taught us things that they can never possibly understand. Jewish history has taught us that the world will always betray us, and when that day comes, our friends and neighbours will walk on by. We are a minority, so we must stick together, protect one another, keep one another safe. We knew we needed freedom and independence, so that this time we would have a safeplace where we can go and live when the world finally turns us on again, as it always does.

And In 1947, the UN agreed we could finally have a state of our own. We were so proud and overjoyed. What an achievement for us after everything we had been through.

We never wanted to fight with the people already living in Palestine. Yes, before 1948, some of us lived together peacefully. But it wasn’t a Utopia. Some of the people welcomed us and provided us with a safe place to live. We had good relationships with them.

But some of the people didn’t want us there, we were outsiders and they never liked us. Some people went to the British to get them to stop us from coming to Palestine. And even before 1948, there was a lot of fighting between us, and some of us were massacred even in Palestine.

But we could have found a way to live together peacefully, in two states, and they could have lived in our state just as we could have lived in theirs, just so long as we had a State. That is all we ever wanted. We could have divided and shared the land.

But they could never let us have it. Never. And when the British finally left, we saw our opportunity, we declared our state. We had no intention of taking anything from anyone. We just wanted a state. And then every single one of our neighbours, all the countries around us invaded us, from every corner of the land. Enemies on all sides. They surrounded us and we found we were alone, again, just as we always have been.

But this time we fought back. We fought for our freedom and independence and dignity, and our right to live and exist and not just accept to be killed, and mainly, for most of us, because we actually had nowhere else to go. It was a war, yes, we took land yes, but we didn’t start that war. It was existential, because how else exactly do you expect we could have guaranteed our security and safety surrounded by neighbours who were baying for our blood? What would you have done?

Then after 1948 the Middle East erupted. The Jews in the Middle East had always experienced persecution. But this was worse than ever. It was intolerable. They blamed those Jews for Israel. Hundreds of thousands of us were ethnically cleansed out of homes we had lived in for centuries, from Ancient communities all across the continent, and we left to build new lives in Israel. Over half of Israelis today are descended from those Middle Eastern Jews.

Now we live together in Israel. We stick togehter and we fight together. We have fought war after war after war. They have tried to kill us from all sides, time after time. But each time, we fight back harder, and we win. We have and always will be surrounded by enemies, but we will always fight back.”

~~~~~

You might not agree with a single word of this story. But this story, in some form or another has been passed down through generations and generations of millions of Jewish and Israeli people.

~~~~~

Now imagine the life of this 15-year-old born and living in Israel

You have been taught this story since the day you were born.

You live in a Kibbutz. You have friends. You like the outdoors and sports. You get good grades in school.

Your grandparents live nearby. Your Grandad came from Yemen as a refugee, as a child. He told you that his family were being attacked and threatened after the 1948 war, so they left their possessions and homes behind in Yemen, and they came to Israel instead.

Mostly you are happy. You are so excited you have a new boyfriend or girlfriend who you really like, but your parents don’t know yet.

But you really hate the rockets. You have never known any life without rockets. You know that some of the rockets get intercepted, but they still get through all the time.

There are bomb shelters everywhere. At school, in the playgrounds, in the bus-shelters, and at home. The sirens can go off at any time and then you have to run to the shelter. Even if you are busy doing your homework, or asleep, or on the toilet. The noise of the sirens never stops making you jump. You are used to it, but you still get scared and you hate it, and the sounds of the rockets make you shake.

You know in a couple of years you will be conscripted into the army. Everybody goes. You do and you don’t want to go. You want to go because you know it is your duty to protect the State from its enemies, just as everyone in your family has always done. But you are scared about it, and you don’t know what it will really be like. People don’t talk about it.

One weekend, your parents agree you can spend the night with your cousin. They live 40 minutes away. She is like a sister to you. So, you go on Friday. You have fun, watch a movie, chat for ages, and you fall asleep late.

The next thing you know your Aunt is waking you both up. It is Saturday morning. She is in a panic. Something is happening. Your parents have messaged. Something is wrong. She says there are men everywhere in the Kibbutz with guns. You turn on your phone. There are messages from your parents and your brother. They are in the bomb shelter. You try to call them. You can’t get through. You feel the panic rising in your chest. No, please, no. You ring your boyfriend or girlfriend. No answer.

~~~~~

This child has never met a Palestinian that lives in any Occupied Palestinian territory. All he/she knows about them is that they fire rockets at Israel and have done his/her whole life, and once every couple of decades they commit extremely violent and horrific terrorist attacks. That is what he/she knows because that’s what they have been taught and also what their lived experience has taught them.

Many Jewish and Israeli people believe when they talk about Zionism they are talking about, “Somewhere safe for Jews to live where they will not be attacked, where they can call home, and where they have self-determination.” How is it possible for this 15 year old child, given the stories they have been told and the life they have led, to be anything other than a Zionist, when it is defined like that? And if they are told they are a ‘settler’, or an ‘evil oppressor’ and that that is why they deserve to die, they will look at you with wide eyed wonder and assume you are a lunatic.

The reason they can conceive of the Jewish people as settlers who live outside 1967 borders and not themselves is because they do not see them as being in the, ‘Right for somewhere safe to live’ group of Zionists. They are considered to be religious extremists and supremacists, what they see as a distorted and extremist form of Zionism, and they don’t consider it the same.

~~~~~

There are many incredibly sad and depressing things about all of these stories. But the part to me that makes it seem most tragically futile — is that for a very large number of individual human beings that ended up living in either Israel or in the Occupied Palestinian Territories in the 1950s -1960s — their stories are almost the same. Most of them were running away from something, and most of the time, the people who are doing the running away are not the people doing the fighting or the massacring.

It is a story of being a refugee, of fighting for survival against all odds, of 20th century dispossession and mass displacement. A story of being blamed for things they did not do and being held to account for debts that they did not owe. The tumult of 20th century history created a shared heritage — that over a very short time hundreds upon thousands of people were displaced — Jews fleeing Europe to Palestine, Palestinians fleeing during the creation of Israel, and almost all the Jews across the Middle East then fleeing to Israel in the few years after it started.

Part of that shared heritage became about yearning to return to a Holy piece of land that carries promise and a deep spiritual connection. It really shouldn’t be that hard to explain to one another — and indeed the rest of the world, why we cannot just ‘let it go’.

I am not trying to rewrite history and say that every single person in the years leading up to and including events in 1948 was an innocent bystander. Absolutely not. I am just saying that, generally speaking, as is almost always the case — when it comes to atrocities, it is normally extremists that engage in it, that end up calling the shots for everyone, and it is them that end up dictating history.

And it is extremist ideologies that are plaguing us today. One is an ideology of Jewish supremacy. God’s chosen people, Israel is God’s gift and therefore comes with a right to take land off anyone and everyone. The other is an extreme, dangerous and corrupted version of Islam — a highly repressive ideology where human rights do not exist, and it exalts in the death of Jews.

These people — all of them — they are the mob. ‘Death to the Jew. Death to the Arab’ One or the other in their rightful place, subservient to the other, or better yet, dead in the ground.

Most people are not the mob. Most people are not sociopaths. Most people just want to live and get on with their lives, they want to have their basic needs met, their human rights, and they want their children to grow up happy and healthy with a bright future ahead.

It is important to understand though that the bonds of community and peoplehood are also part of a basic human need. The need to maintain relationships with brothers, sisters, cousins and friends who live in our communities together with us, who have a shared history with us, who support us, and to whom we are loyal — it is part of the human experience.

The stories of our own and our friend’s grandparents, the loss of livelihood and dreams for the future as they packed their bags and fled — these are the stories that make us peoples. And it is these stories that bind us together within our communities much more closely than any ancient religious text or any ancestral DNA test ever could.

And so when people say, “The Jews and Israelis are not a people. They are fakers, they are ‘Europeans’ pretending to have links to a land that has nothing to do with them.” Or people say, “The Palestinians are not a people. They are just ‘Arabs’ who could have gone anywhere, who have no real history and whose only goal in life is to terrorise Jews,” these will both only ever be seen as inherently anti-Semitic or Anti-Palestinian statements that erase and deny large parts of our collective heritage, and neither will lead to any kind of constructive dialogue. Who is anyone to make judgements about what another people is that they do not belong to?

And so we end up where we have got to today –

From the Palestinian side, what I think is difficult for somebody who is not Palestinian to understand, is that telling them that they should give up on the right to return — for many — is impossible. They can’t do it. Understanding and honouring Palestinian history, which is rich, and complicated, and is largely unknown to many people, for them it is part of their identity. Poetry, art, great thinkers, great writers — they are all there for the world to see if only they would bother to look.

And even worse for a Palestinian, to suggest that everything that has befallen them was somehow their fault because they refused to give up on their history, this could only ever be met with fury and be seen as gaslighting.

It is essential as well to remember that this land — it is not just any land. It is not so easy to walk away from it as any other place on earth. It is Holy Land. It has meaning to everyone associated with it, and everyone wishes to be able to walk free inside it.

Having an enduring determination to free themselves from a brutal occupation that does nothing but dehumanises them and steals from them — and a longing, ultimately, to return to their homeland, this is inherent to being a Palestinian. They cannot ‘Un-Palestinian’ themselves.

So the Palestinians will say, “What world would you have us do? You the world have done nothing to help us. You who have been silent and you care nothing for our oppression. You have abandoned us to unthinkable injustice and suffering for decades. You who sit comfortably in your homes have no right to moralise at us or criticise us and tell us what we should or shouldn’t do. We have no means whatsoever to fight for our freedom. No one is on our side. We are alone. We will do whatever must be done to fight for ourselves, our human rights, our land.”

The Palestinians are living in an impossible nightmare. There seems to be nothing they can do to free themselves that doesn’t make their situation worse. What exactly are they supposed to do when they live under an occupation, have no civil rights, no means to fight for themselves, and the people with power that could do something are not standing up for them? And when all means of civil and non-violent resistance are completely denied or futile, support for more violent resistance will become inevitable.

And it was indeed inevitable that 7th October would come. Warning after warning has been given about the Occupied Palestinian territories and the blockade. Warnings about human rights abuses have gone unheeded. Warnings that if Palestinians are not given their freedom what would happen. Warnings that it was totally unjust, immoral and illegal for Palestinians in the West Bank to be under military occupation. Time and again it has been said it is a danger to the security of Israel, and it was ignored.

But the problem for the Palestinians is that terror was never ever going to work — because the people in Israel believe it was established and is needed as security because of the risk of terror against them. So the idea that they could be terrorised into giving it back, or into leaving — this is an absurdity. People talk of ‘Hasbara’, but terror is and feeds Hasbara. October 7th has done nothing but make people believe in Zionism even more (a safe place to live in their eyes). Zionism burns greater than ever with the fuel of the fires from the Hamas rockets. All terror has and can ever achieve is further encroachment onto Palestinian territory — the literal opposite of a free Palestine.

What happened in 1948 is horrendous. But what of it, to that 15 year old Israeli child? Whose own grandparents had nothing to do with it, and were themselves dispossessed, as is the case now for so many people living in Israel. That child who has only ever known Israel as their home.

So Israelis will say, “World, what would you have us do after October 7th? People outside Israel, you can say whatever the hell you want, but we are here alone. We have and always have been surrounded by people on every side who wish to murder each and every one of us until we are annihilated, and in the most painful and brutal possible way, as has just been demonstrated plainly for all the world to see. You, who do not have any understanding whatsoever of what that is like, do not get to tell us what to do. We will do whatever we think is necessary to strengthen our position to ensure this cannot happen again.”

What people are missing is that this conflict is unique to any other case of the ‘coloniser and colonised’ in history, because the people doing the ‘colonising’ are half the people of the land, people who have a genuine existential fear of everybody around them that does not come from nowhere, and is deeply ingrained into most people’ psyche. Most do not have anywhere else to go, because most of their grandparents came to Israel as refugees, and so they cannot perceive themselves as a ‘colonial settler’ in any way. So they will never stop fighting back at terrorism for their right to live without fear of attack.

This links to the Jewish people in the diaspora who support Israel and is extremely difficult for non-Jewish people to understand.

For many Jewish people, memorialising the repeated attempts to eradicate Jews throughout history, most notably the Holocaust, and remembering and honouring ancestors who have died to keep the Jewish religion alive is considered essential.

Every festival, every prayer book, every cultural activity and a very large number of conversations includes this on some level. It is integral and inherent to most people’s identity. So if people feel that their Jewish counterparts, and very often family in Israel are in existential danger, they can and only ever will see it as a moral imperative that they must be supported.

Asking Jewish people to somehow disavow themselves of this notion is impossible. To tell most Jewish people they need to ‘get over it’ because, “they are a coloniser and their needs do not matter,” is completely meaningless to them.

It is not grounded in reality, and something that can and will only ever be perceived as an attempt to ‘UnJewish them’. I.e. to eradicate significant parts of Jewish history and day-to-day life and community, and thus could only ever be perceived as deeply antisemitic in its very nature. The more these things are denied as relevant, the more people will fight back against what they see as gaslighting.

But for those people in the diaspora who have blindly, unquestioningly, dutifully and uncritically supported Israel, while its government drifts ever further into the grip of right-wing extremism and corruption, must surely now see that was a mistake. If you had a friend or a loved one on a destructive path of self-sabotage, would you just let them carry on?

It is great tragedy of Jewish history for both Jews and Palestinians alike that self-determination and independence for the Jewish people, at a time when they needed and wanted it so badly would come at someone else’s expense. Something that is so freely and unquestioningly given to so many other peoples, but not the Jewish people. Yes, it is unfair. But it did come at their expense. I think that most Palestinians only opposed it, not because they oppose Jewish people — it is the bit about it being at their expense.

We can argue forever and eternity about, “Oh, but it never needed to be this way. If only you could have shared with us. If only in 1947 this or that. And if only in this peace agreement this year or that year,” or whatever.

But what of it to those 15 year olds living in Gaza and the West Bank? It is an irrelevance what was ever intended. What was intended bears no resemblance whatsoever to their lived reality. The Jewish dream of Zionism became their nightmare. I know this is an extremely painful and bitter pill for people to swallow, but Zionism since its inception has resulted in nothing other than subjugation for them. And it is not normal for a country to not have any proper borders, and for one people to control another in some parts of it.

And while it continues to happen, Zionism will continue to be seen as Jewish people being allowed to have control over other people. This was never ever how Zionism was originally intended for a lot of people, and it is not what they think it means. Far from it. But this is where it has come to, and intentions do not matter, because it is our actions that count. Once you understand this, it is really not difficult to see how this is fuelling dark and extremely dangerous conspiracy theories about Zionism, which are dragging us back to a place in history that we most definitely do not want to go, and it endangers us all.

We need to open our eyes to reality. As the bombs reign down in Gaza, destroying thousands of lives, after well over 100 days, there are people dying from starvation. This must end, immediately. It is abominable. The rockets are still coming. And even if you stop them today, while there is occupation in any part of the land, they will just come back tomorrow or the next day or the week or the year or the decade after that. And surely from the Israeli side, negotiating whatever terms to get as many of those hostages out alive, going through what must be unthinkable terror, at any cost, must be prioritised above all else.

And I am very sorry, because I know people will not like this. But this ‘war’ — it is not about destroying Hamas. It is becoming increasingly clear by the day that not only is destroying Hamas impossible, but Israel’s government are violent ethnonationalists. The far right threaten to collapse it at every mention of a ceasefire — the only thing that will get most of those hostages back alive — and so it carries on. And extreme ideology is much more widespread within the government than just the furthest right that are propping it up. The very leader of Israel himself is at the heart of it.

When you hear what they are saying, it is very clear that they have far more sinister intentions, and we must take them at their word. Allowing people to starve, making plans to drive them off their land into other places, destroying heritage sites, and yes, mass killing — that is ethnic cleansing. It is the definition of ethnic cleansing. It is illegal under international law, and it must stop.

People say, “Oh, but Hamas are stealing the aid.” Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t. I don’t know. I don’t know and I don’t care. I don’t care because it is an irrelevance at this moment in time to that woman looking into the eyes of her hungry child as they wither away and die. It is enough.

Could it ever be solved?

There are those of us that would be willing to give up on the dreams of our respective peoples, and not because we wish to throw them under the bus. But simply because we would just accept any solution, in whatever form, that would bring the suffering of all people to an end, and as quickly as possible. Because we believe that none of any of this is worth the blood of anyone’s children.

Because we look at those dreams of security through self-determination, rights to return, and we look at where we are today, and we see that none of any of it has delivered on its promise. We see that the world is a very different place to what it was in 1948. We recognise that there are people on the ‘other side’ that we would much rather share a country with than the ‘mob’ on our own side.

Because we know that our histories are worthless if they demand that we ‘unhuman’ ourselves.

Because we recognise that we have inherited the most Unholy mess.

But we are few in number, because the majority of most peoples cannot let go of their respective narratives, either in whole or in part. And so the solution that must be found is one that could satisfy the majority of the narrative of both peoples.

Israel already has half of what it wants — it has the state. But it does not have security, and any pretence of it has been an illusion, one that was violently shattered on October 7th.

The Palestinians meanwhile — they have nothing of what they want.

A one state solution — this does not satisfy the Israeli narrative, because it requires the undoing of Israel. It gives many Israelis nothing of what they think they want and everything they are afraid of. If you were that panicking aunt of that 15 year old Israeli child just now, would you be agreeing to open that border?

But I do not think the two-state solution really satisfies the Palestinian narrative. Because in that narrative, things were better before Israel, before Zionism, where everybody just lived together. And mainly because people want to able to walk free across the land — the right of return. The two-state solution may bring freedom and dignity, but I am not sure if it would give enough people what they really want.

Ultimately it comes down to one of the reasons this has been so intractable for so long. The Jewish State and the desire to control and ensure the continued right of Jewish immigration to Israel, and the presumed need to maintain a Jewish majority to enable that, vs the Right to Return of the Palestinians. ‘The War of Return’ as it has been called. The thing that neither side seems to be able to give up, that seem to be in direct conflict.

So what do we do? Throw our hands up, put it down to a bad job and just give up. (What the world has done). Keep blaming each side’s ‘propaganda’, each side’s education system, each side’s unwillingness to budge. But it won’t work, because it is asking people to let things go of things that they cannot let go of, things that are integral to the history of their peoples.

Human beings have been solving problems since we existed and there is no reason why we cannot solve this one.

There are many possible ways to solve it. The confederate two-state-solution is one example of a way to square the circle: https://www.alandforall.org/.

I suggest it not because I am wedded to it but because it seems to me that it would satisfy enough of both narratives to work. There may be multiple other ways to do it.

How do we get to it? As a possible example. We start with two states. Real states. Not a bit of a state or half a state with the other bit not connected to it and some people still being occupied that could never be acceptable, and was always going to be fought against. A real Palestinian state, whose borders are secured through international peacekeeping. But with that state must also come the promise and the goal that over a reasonably short period of time, everybody who wishes to cross that border gets to cross that border, until eventually, one day, ideally, there isn’t a border. People live wherever they want, but retain citizenship in their own state. And with regards specific land and homes that cannot be returned, real reparations are made. This is just one example of how it could be done.

As we keep hearing — 7 million Israelis, 7 million Palestinians. No one is going anywhere. But at some point, it is my opinion that, probably, for this to ever end, everyone must be able to go everywhere.

Two peoples living side by side. All free to live and move freely across this ancient and Holy land that is so special and meaningful to all and must be shared. Finally able to mix and become humanised in each other’s eyes. Christian, Jew, and Muslim, free to access their ancient and Holy sites. All of us united together in the spirit of mutual respect and tolerance.

Cooperating together to fight the only war that there should ever have been — the only war worth fighting.

Everybody vs the mob.

Not a religious war, not a war of the us or them, not a war over rights to the land and houses. But a war of the moderate and the just against the extremists that have desecrated our respective religions and turned them into something ugly. The lunatics marginalised, silenced and rejected. As opposed to what we have now — the sociopaths leading the charge and everyone else marching dutifully along behind.

People will say this is idealistic nonsense, a pipe dream. But what is the other option? Another twenty or thirty years of failed peace agreements and more of the same all over again? And with every round of violence, the violence gets more violent, the mob gets stronger and more popular on both sides as their ideas are seeded. And the mob is hard to fight, because the mob involves fanatic religion that cannot be reasoned with.

If we keep allowing them to get stronger and stronger, I think they will eventually set each other, themselves, and quite possibly the entire world, alight. Literal World War 3 with Jerusalem at the centre.

“How can you ask us to negotiate with them?” I hear you say. “Them, who are ethnically cleansing us,” or, “Them who wish to annihilate us,” depending on which side you are on. But here is the rub — you cannot terrorise people into leaving and you cannot bomb people into submission. Neither has ever worked. We cannot ethnically cleanse or genocide our way out of this for either people, one way or the other. Any other solution other than a diplomatic solution will lead us nowhere but the abyss.

Israelis and Palestinians are not all inherently genocidal oppressors or inherently genocidal terrorists. (As unfortunately lots of people are saying) Of course they are not. Maybe right now in Gaza most Palestinians do support Hamas in what they see as armed resistance, and most Israelis do support the actions of their government in what they see as a war. But both things have become intertwined with both mobs, and so they are not what each respective side thinks they are. The ‘armed resistance’ — a pogrom style massacre by the ‘death to the Jew’ mob, and the ‘war’ a flagrant breach of international law and an obvious attempt at ethnic cleansing by the ‘God gave us Israel, death to the Arab’ mob.

I am not very sure that most of any of them either know or believe exactly what has or hasn’t happened. The information they are receiving is very different to ours. And in times of heightened escalation of violence, people retract into the respective narratives of their people as they become reinforced. “If it’s a choice between us or them, I choose us. And for me to be able to look myself in the mirror, I must choose to believe what I choose to believe.”

Both believe so deeply within their heart and soul that they are on the side of righteous justice. For one it is ‘the right to just exist’, For the other, it is ‘the right to life, dignity, freedom from cruel and violent oppressors’. So they are both engaging in the collective delusion that because theirs is the side of the right and good, their soldiers/fighters must also be right and good.

Their people can’t possibly be the ones committing the crimes against humanity, and they cannot believe the worst things that are being said about their own side, only the other. But this is not the reality of wars and fighting, and definitely not in a conflict that has gone on for this long where this amount of hatred has become so entrenched, and most of all not ones which involve religion. To me it seems very likely that most of the worst things that are being said about both sides, are in fact, the true things.

As it turns out, many of them were always, are becoming, or have become, the mob.

I think almost everyone, whatever they say, would in fact be appalled if they were actually to see the violence that has happened, and is happening with their very own eyes. But they do not want to open their eyes to see it for what it really is, because they are on the side of the right and the good.

I know there are people of every colour and creed who no doubt I could become friends with, get along with, and love dearly. But also there are people of every colour and creed that I could not stand to be in the same room as. I know this because I am not a racist. Human beings are human beings, that is all we need to know. And if we find ourselves making any collective statements about all of a people, we are probably becoming the very thing we so vociferously claim to the world we are not.

I think that racism may well have become entrenched on ‘both sides’ but I am not sure that it is exactly racism — perhaps a better way to put it would be ‘othering’. “They did this, they did that. They support this, they support that.” And the only way to stop doing it is not to tell each other that we need to unlearn or erase our respective histories and ‘un-brain’ wash ourselves. It is the opposite.

We have to first human ourselves. And then we might have to temporarily UnJewish and UnPalestinian ourselves for short amounts of time. Then we learn each other’s history. Then we will be able to find solutions together.

How can we work together to solve this?

This part of this piece of writing — specifically — it is for us in the diaspora. Hardly anyone in the Middle East is in a place to hear any of this this right now, and too many of them are much too busy trying not to die or get killed.

We in the diaspora, we are trying very hard to do what we can to stop this, and to help. But how is it possible, that all of us who seemingly so desperately want the same thing — freedom and dignity for everyone, and yet still don’t seem to be able to get anywhere without offending and upsetting one another? How can we expect people in the Middle East to co-exist, if we cannot even have a conversation?

I believe we are talking to each other in languages we do not understand, and until we realise this, we will only ever talk past each other. Almost every conversation will have the opposite of its intended consequence, and make the other person believe they are even more right.

We will only ever find it inconceivable that people or friends or colleagues that we thought were ‘nice’ could have views that seem totally barbaric in our eyes. But if we could talk in languages each other could understand, it would get easier. Or at least if we can’t, if we tried to hear what the other is really saying.

We are not listening to, or being respectful of one another and as a collective we are so much weaker and so much less powerful for it. Because the discourse has become so toxic that we cannot work together to find solutions.

I know I myself have been done these things, but even as we try to so hard to understand and explain, it is so easy to offend. I think the reason we are offending each other is because the words in the mind of the speaker sound very different to the ears of the listener.

If the conversations are had respectfully in the spirit of achieving genuine mutual understanding, that is great. But if it is an argument to convince the other person that you are right, forget it.

Take the debate about whether shouting ‘Intifada’ is Anti-Semitic.

If you tell some Palestinians that shouting, what to them means ‘resistance’ against a state which is and has been exercising immense and disproportionate power against them and has done for three quarters of a century, is anti-Semitic, they will inevitably wonder what planet you are living on. How exactly it is that you expect they can possibly fight for their freedom? And why do you continue to engage in this collective delusion that just condemns them to suffer and die?

But if you try to tell most Jewish people, that what they perceive as the indiscriminate killing of Jews in terrorist attacks is not antisemitic, it is inevitable that they will not believe you. In fact, they will see you as yet another of the seemingly innumerable people in the ‘Death to the Jew’ mob.

Every conversation is having the opposition of its intended consequence. Convincing the other person they were more right than they were before.

Think about the way that we frequently use each other’s non-mainstream diaspora voices as a stick to beat each other with. (And this is not necessarily a criticism of those voices — some of them are very important — it’s just explaining how they are seen).

People say to Palestinians:-

“Look, this Palestinian is good, they think Zionism is okay, and you should just accept it. If only you could stop being so silly like them it would have all been over a long time ago. They agree that you haven’t exactly helped yourselves.”

How could a Palestinian ever consider this as a legitimate argument? Views that surely could only be perceived as incredibly anti-Palestinian. Surely they must think something along the lines of…

“You are privileged not to be in Gaza grieving incommensurate losses. You are one of the lucky ones whose entire family is not now dead. You who are not hungry and ill and exhausted and cold and terrified of being killed. All of your hopes and dreams do not lie in ruin before your eyes. You are enabling and emboldening our enemies. You are throwing us under the wheels of the bus of occupation all the while benefitting from living in the countries that side with our oppressors. You do not, and you will not ever, speak for us.”

Equally Jewish people are constantly bombarded with -

“Look at this Jewish person or that one. They are reasonable. They believe Israel is a colonial entity and should be entirely dismantled. They agree you are weaponising the Holocaust and playing the victim. Why are you not a good Jew, like them?”

This is not in any way a mainstream Jewish view because it is mostly perceived as -

“Lucky you, not to be one of almost half the Jews of the world that ended up living in Israel, to not have been born there, to not have a friend or family member that has been killed or taken or mutilated.

Lucky you, who can align yourself with the baying mob, and in so doing throw your Jewish Brothers and Sisters in Israel under the wheels of the bus of annihilation by the people that have demonstrated time and again that they hate them, because it is not your problem. You are not and never have been part of the community, and you do not speak for us.”

If we constantly tell both groups that we don’t hate them, just so long as they agree with something that is a total anathema to them, it will never wash. I am sure it is incredibly offensive to everyone.

“From the River to the Sea.” What do you mean? Genocide the Jews? Genocide the Palestinians? Arab Nationalism? Jewish Nationalism? Or simply freedom and equality for all?

And when it comes to ‘Zionism’. Forget about different languages. We are on completely different planets.

For everyone and anyone else watching the nightmare unfold, who can’t make sense of any of it, they must be thinking, “Surely none of any of this can be okay in the name of human decency?” But they do not know what to do. Because to ‘both sides’ it is to offend everyone and convince no one. ‘Both sidsing’ it has been declared not allowed. You will always be seen as a sell-out or a bus-thrower-under, one way or the other. So they are silenced, their voices not heard, reduced into a despondent, hand-wringing depression.

Yes, in the Middle East, one group has all the power. But in the diaspora, we are more equal. We have equal rights, we mostly live in countries where we are free to speak our minds.

Both sides are busy trying to expose each other’s mob. Both sides have “traitors” who are busy helping. The traitors have totally denounced their own side as either misogynistic, or racist, or both, and have joined the other team. And most of everybody else is on the scale of moderate, somewhere in between the views of the ‘mob’ from their own side, and ‘traitor’ for the other side. None of us even agree with each other on our ‘own side’, and very often, the people on our own side annoy us even more than the people on the other, and amazingly, sometimes the people we find the most annoying are the people we agree with the most.

In the first version of this I wrote, “We are mirror images of one another, yet it seems we mainly hold the mirror up at each other, not at the self.” So we never get to see what it is that we might have been missing.

Maybe is the other way around — we only hold the mirror up at the self and not the other. Something like that.

This is a long and, yes, very complicated story affecting and involving millions of different people across the world, across time and space, with millions of different stories to tell. For there to be any genuine hope of mutual understanding or respect, every single person is going to have to concede that most things about this story they can never truly understand because they have not lived them.

We cannot know, if we have not lived it, what it means to be born and live in a country that has only ever been at war. We cannot know, if we have not lived it, what it means to be born and live your whole life in a territory that is brutally occupied, or is under a blockade, by another people. Nor can we know, if we have not lived it, what it is like to have friends and family caught up on any side of this, whose safety and wellbeing you are desperately worried about.

We in the diaspora, so desperately worried for people in the Middle East, we are all working so hard, but we are not doing the right work. We are digging the hole deeper than ever. The magic peace fairy is not coming. They will not simply just descend from the sky, sprinkle us with magic fairy peace dust and make it all better.

When was the last time we tried to have a meaningful conversation with someone who is saying things that seem incredibly offensive to us? When was the last time we took the trouble to ask them why they think what they do? Or to ask why it is that we have offended them? To ask them about their lives, what happened to their grandparents, and their families and friends, and their parents and the stories that they were told growing up. About their hopes and dreams and aspirations. About their fears for the future.

Whenever the violence escalates, the historians cash in. Suddenly people have more motivation to understand, so we start reading and re-reading the history books. But mostly history will not give us the answers that we are looking for. It is people’s stories that will do it. And reading books that reinforce things that we already agree with will not give us the understanding that we need. It is the great writers from the other side that might.

Social media has many ills. But one huge positive is that it allows us to connect with all sorts of people whose thoughts and ideas we would never have been exposed to. We can observe fascinating conversations between other people we would never have been party to before. We can gain understanding, share ideas and solutions. It is definitely happenning. None of this was there in any previous attempts to fix this. It might just be the gamechanger that we need. We must make the most of it.

We cling to our positions like shells to a rock, not budging at all, so sure that we and we alone can see this for what it really is. I know I was. We could have been working together to stop this, but we never make any progress, and as a result, inadvertently, each and every one of us is complicit in the most unforgivable human suffering.

People say that there is no point talking about peaceful co-existence because it has never worked — but neither has violence. Ultimately there are only two choices — wait for the magic peace fairy, and die together. Or we can do the work to make the ‘peace’ that we all want, and maybe we can live together.

Addendum

And now I speak “as a British Jew,” to anyone in our community who is willing to listen.

I can tell the story of the Jewish story because I know that story. I have grown up listening to it. I was taught it in the Synagogue, in Sunday school and by family and friends. I have also tried, as best as I can, having not lived it, but by listening to the voices of Palestinians and with the help and feedback of allies, to do justice to their story. I hope that I have. It may not meet the mark, after all, this is only version 2. And anyway, neither ‘side’ is a monolith, we would all tell our histories a bit differently, so I definitely cannot satisfy all.

It is important to say that there is one thing yet unmentioned about these two stories. It may be the most important thing. I think it belies the biggest lack of understanding between us.

I have talked much of the similarities in our stories. But there is one very big difference.

The Israeli and Jewish story is about running away. It is about running away from terrible persecution, and of moving forward. It is about moving on and building a new life. The idea of wanting to go back in time, wanting to turn back the clock — it is unconscionable. There was never anything worth going back to. So, for example, when some of us are suddenly being offered citizenship in European countries because our grandparents lived there before the Holocaust, this is not something that we could ever comprehend wanting.

So many Israelis feel, “Why couldn’t they have just moved on like we did? Why did they spend all of their efforts ruining things for us when they could have just moved forward, let it go, made the best of a bad lot, and made new lives like we did?”

Apart from the multitude of reasons I have already explained as to why it was never that simple and why their material circumstances and the occupation has made that impossible for most people — what we need to realise is that their story is the other way around. Our story starts from a place of misery, and moves onto something better. Theirs starts from a place where they were happy enough, and moves onto something horrific. It starts from being at least content for hundreds of years, running away — something they thought was temporary — and never being allowed to go back.

And I say this part as gently as I possibly can. There is a very deep and particular sorrow that many Jewish people will know. It comes with realising that we do not want to look back, because looking back is much too painful. Knowing that for some of us there is no point going on ‘ancestry.com’ because there is no ancestry left to trace. And is it that sorrow that was felt so keenly after the atrocity that was October the 7th. People do not understand that something cannot be weaponised when it is so genuinely heartfelt — there is no intent behind it.

But for the Palestinians — seeing that people from other countries can go and visit, go on holiday, and walk around in a land where their grandparents built their homes, left with whatever they could carry only for them and their families to encounter ever more worsening horrors on their onward journey right up until this very day — and yet they can never set foot in that land — I think what they experience when they see that — it is a very similar sorrow. And I am sure that they have been feeling that sorrow most keenly with each and every passing day, and most particularly in these last months.

I do not believe, as I have argued, that is the case that Israel must cease to exist with all the people in it, to allow the Palestinians what they clearly want, need, and, I believe, are indeed entitled to. The idea that our millenia-old right of return is still in date but their 75-year-old right of return has somehow expired is completely logically incoherent.

And I am coming to understand that suggesting that it has somehow been indulged is a bit like telling us we are weaponising the Holocaust. I think that nothing could be more insulting.

The problem with our version of the story that we were taught — The story of the Jewish people, our losses, our sacrifices, our spilled blood — it is only half a story. It is history through only one lens.

And that story is not the only thing that is taught in our homes and in our Synagogues and in our Sunday schools. We are taught values. We are taught values of respect, justice, and ‘do unto others’. We are taught the words of the Talmud ‘Whoever saves a life, saves the world entire,” (words that can also be found in the Quran).

Most importantly of all, we are taught, “Do not stand idly by while the blood of your neighbour is shed.”

And because we are taught those values — there is a cognitive dissonance that so many people in our community feel — but don’t quite understand — that parts of this story don’t really make any sense, that what happened, and is happening, is definitely not okay. That dissonance — it will not hold forever. It will tear our families and our community apart. It already is.

Yes, there is a death to the Jew mob. Yes, they are a massive problem. But I think we have no right to make mention of that mob unless in the same breath and multiple times over we are making mention of our own mob. Because our own, ‘Death to the Arab’ mob — they have been running around the Occupied Territories unchecked for decades. And it is both mobs that need to be brought under control before there can ever be any hope of resolving this. The Death to the Jew mob will come back stronger than ever while the Death to the Arab mob roam free. And who are we to lecture Palestinians for not getting their house in order, when it is our side that has all the power and all the resources, and yet we have allowed it to carry on? We who demand that they condemn the “resistance” whilst refusing to condemn the “war”.

And we must understand this — If Gaza is allowed to be resettled — it is over. Ever more untold and unimaginable horror for the Palestinians, and in our silence we will have handed Israel on a plate to those ethnonationalists, to the people that should have had nothing to do with what Israel could have been — and in fact people that have nothing to do with us and our values.

People keep talking about the two-state solution like it is some kind of utopia that, like the magic peace fairy, it will just fall from the sky. It is not that easy. Trying to dismantle settlements in the West Bank to make that possible — it is probably almost undoable as it is. Some of them have been there so long now and the Palestinians have very little faith that it could or would ever be done. In fact a confederate version of the two state solution may in some ways be easier to implement because it does not necessarily require the dismantlement of all settlements, something that looks like it is getting harder to do.

And If we think antisemitism is bad now, it will be nothing compared to what is in store in years to come if the resettlement and reoccupation of Gaza were to happen. Israel, hated among nations like never before, until eventually the world will finally not tolerate it. It is dangerous and it leads I know not where, undoing it, I know not how. An epic holy war ahead of us, and in the process we will see what we are already seeing in Israel — free speech and dissent a thing of the past — and Israel’s democracy — burned to the ground.

We are doing our cousins and our friends no favours by parroting off the same old arguments, and ignoring the occupation that has been allowed to become normalised within Israel. It is high time for a different conversation. It was a long ago, and it is now or never.

We need to speak up, loud and clear. When it comes to armed Jewish settlers running around the West bank and terrorising Palestinians, we are anti — it, and we always have been. But how can we expect other people to know this if we do not have these conversations in the open? If we do not call a spade a spade. Our refusal to use particular words and talk about things in a particular way in front of other people even if we do it behind closed doors has led to a lack of education within our community — and I am sure that there will be some people when I talk about these things, that have literally no idea what I am even saying. This is a very big problem. I hope some of those people are reading this now.

And what exactly is it that we are so afraid will happen if we put our heads above the parapet? It is evidently clear that Israel has not been abandoned by its allies. Put yourself in the shoes of an ordinary Gazan just now. Heartbreakingly, it seems to me, that being abandoned by the world — that that has become their destiny.

And, “What of the far left?” people will say? How are we to do deal with their antisemitism?

Yes, the far left think they are supporting armed resistance but have in fact aligned themselves with the ‘death to the Jew’ mob. They bleat on about ‘Hasbara’ — something they clearly have no understanding of whatsoever because if they did they would realise that they are it. Or at least that they are feeding it. Literally they are walking, talking Hasbara.

But of the multiple problems with the far left — and there are many — to me the worst is that there are those of them who have no connection whatsoever to the lives of anyone in the region — no ordinary Israelis or ordinary Palestinians, and yet they cheer for ever more death and destruction. They cheer on “armed resistance” from their comfortable homes in their comfortable lives, and it is not them who will have to face the consequences.

And maybe this round of violence will be the last round, the round that ends it once and for all — I hope so. But it has come at the most appalling and unacceptable cost.

Who are they to think they have a right to declare that somebody else’s family, somebody else’s child — Israeli or Palestinian — even one — let alone thousands and counting — is an acceptable sacrifice?

Maybe it is because they did not understand that October 7th could only ever have been a suicide mission. Because as a consequence of the rigidness of far-left ideology that does not allow for self-critical thinking, they refuse to understand this problem in more than one way. That you cannot fight evil with evil. That yes, it is more complicated than just ‘oppressor’ and ‘oppressed’, more complicated than their warped version of reality where even children are fair game.

Probably there are some of them that knew what would happen after October 7th, and just decided it was probably worth it if it would eventually ‘free Palestine.’ Either way it is unforgivable because it was not their decision to make. And all that has happened as far as I can see, all October 7th has achieved is all it would ever achieve — to enable an extremely racist, harmful, problematic and untrue stereotype that ‘Palestinians are genocidal terrorists’ to be reinforced in the eyes of Israelis and the rest of the world. Around 3,000 people crossed that border on October 7th, of a population of over 2 million. But undoing that sterotype will be extremely difficult, taking us further away from where we need to be.

You cannot help but wonder where we might be right now if only all those people had used all that effort to lobby for a real diplomatic solution. But we can’t turn back the clock.

Arguing with the far left is a waste of time. They have no self-awareness, they are delusional, and they will never stop. They are as fanatical as any of the mob. The only way to make them stop talking is to actually sort this problem once and for all and work for the freedom and dignity of all. And when all is said and done, the ones that will keep complaining will finally be exposed for what they truly are.

That there are outspoken people within our community that think that the correct response to these people is for us to align ourselves with far right Islamophobes — we who have traditionally been proud of being anti-fascist — this could not be more ludicrous. It will lead us into that abyss. “I think the Jewish Chronicle is the Daily Mail for Jews.” Yes Dad, we all finally agree.

So where do we go from here? We need to start doing that right work. It is incumbent upon us more than anyone. Because it is only us who can help our friends and family in Israel, because it us who share history with them, who love and care about them. It is us who can help them see this through another lens.

We need to change the conversation, and we need to do it fast. Because the Palestinians do not have the luxury of time, and as far as I am concerned, neither do we.

There are people in our communities — both Israeli and Jewish — that have already been doing that right work for a really long time. It is time to listen to them, and elevate their voices. We need to start to be willing to be offended and to listen to other points of view. And unfortunately some of the right work does sometimes involve wading through what feels like a massive steaming pile of anti-Semitic shit, in order to get to the heart of some of the problems. But we also have an opportunity to meet some incredible people, and hear some amazing and wonderful voices that we would never have had a chance to hear. We have to get this done, to fix this once and for all.

We cannot hand this legacy to our children. We have to fight (non-violently) for a different future. This is the chance to do it. The world’s eyes are on Israel, and the time is now.

[erigold13261]

[Okay finally finished my mathing lol. Gonna copy and past stuff into here. It's a lot so I will put my TLDR before the cut, but if you want to see how I got to my conclusion then feel free to read my work]

Alright, this post is just gonna be me realizing I keep fucking up at math. Well not messing up at the math part, but messing up on how I want it to be applied to the power. It’s more just talking through my thought process and why I think certain power percentages wouldn’t work for me. I’ll try to make a last paragraph explaining whatever I come up with in simple terms and put it right up here for people who don’t want to see math lol.

TLDR:

-Pre-revolution NSR starting out had about a 95-5% split of total power produced between Megastar-Lesser artists at around a 65% power output. Hypothetically, Megastars were producing 617.5 units of power (308.75 units per Megastar) per citizen, while Lesser artists were making 164.5 units of power (3.25 units per Lesser) per citizen. This is at a population of 1 million, Megastar count at 2, and Lesser artist count at 10.

-Revolution time NSR had about a 65-35% split of total power produced between Megastar-Lesser artists at around 47% power output. Hypothetically, Megastars were producing 305.5 units of power (61.1 units per Megastar) per citizen, while Lesser artists were making 164.5 units of power (.583 units per Lesser) per citizen. This is at a population of 2 million, Megastar count at 5, and Lesser artist count at 300.

-Post-revolution NSR had about a 52-48% split of total power produced between Megastar-Lesser artists at around 78% power output. Hypothetically, Megastars were producing 405.6 units of power (81.12 units per Megastar) per citizen, while Lesser artists were making 374.4 units of power (.7488 units per Lesser) per citizen. This is at a population of 2.25 million, Megastar count at 5, and Lesser artist count at 500.

[I am going to warn you, it is a lot to read. It is also written in a way that it's more me thinking out loud than super academically written. Also I decided to post screenshots of my math instead of copy and past the text because I color-coded my math a bit and reference that in the writing.]

Okay, so here’s what I ended up doing when it came to the power output math. I was changing the math around to figure out roughly what I wanted the pre-Revolution power output to be between the Megastars and the combined force of the lesser nsrtists. I did a lot of math to try and figure this out but honestly I am really indecisive of what I want the power output percentage to be. 

At first I did the entirely wrong set of math. Before I changed what I was originally going to say, I was going to have the Megastars only produce 10-15% more energy than the Lesser artists. However, for some stupid reason my math showed that I made the Lesser artists make up a total of 10-15% of the total energy output. Meaning that instead of producing 10-15% MORE energy, I actually made calculations where the Megastars made up 85-90% of the total 47% output number. 

That would mean out of the 47% of total EDM power output, the Megastars were making up 39.95-42.3% of power and the Lesser artists were making up 4.7-7.05% of the total power. I realized this is technically the wrong math only because I had initially wanted the Megastars to be making 10-15% MORE than the Lesser artists. 

Because of this realization, I ended up making a small formula that I thought would have fixed this problem (only to now realize this is also not what I was going for). I ended up with the formula 100=x+(x-___). 

The 100 represents the total amount of power being produced (this would later be used out of the 47% total power output). The x represents the number I wanted the Megastars to have but didn’t know what it was yet. Finally the minus blank spot was what I knew I wanted the “percent more” to be that the Megastars had over the Lesser artists. 

So in my first instances of 100=x+(x-10) and 100=x+(x-15), I thought that this would mean I was making the stance that the Megastars would  be making 10-15% more energy than the Lesser artists, but this isn’t the case.

Anyway, what I ended up doing was figuring out what the x would be and technically what a y would be. y in this case would be y=(x-___). I don’t know why I struggled with this part but I did so much I just put the equation into google and got my answer as seen below with the like peach colored text.

x=55 and x=57.5 were the ranges for the Megastars percent of the total power output. While the 7=42.5 and y=45 would be the ranges for the Lesser artists percent of total output.

From here I divided all these numbers by 100, along with the initial 47% so that I can get their decimal versions and turn those into the actual percent of total power they are contributing.

So for the Megastars I did .55*.47=.2585. Then I multiplied that by 100 to get the percent, meaning that on the low end, in this example, the Megastars make up 25.85% of the actual 47%. 

I did the math again for the rest of the numbers, but honestly I could have just got the range of the Megastars and then subtract those percentages from the 47% to get the range of total power the Lesser artists were producing. So 47-25.85=21.15. That means that the Lesser artists total power output, in this example, is 21.15% out of the total 47%.

I then went on to do this for a few other versions of ranges because I initially felt that the peach ranges above put way too much emphasis on the Lesser artists. I don’t know why but I wanted the Lesser artists to be a bit less in their power so it is justified to have Megastars in the first place.

This led to quite a few trial and error math problems as I didn’t realize I could work backwards until after I had done most of this math. I also just had fun doing the math so it wasn’t a bother.

Anyway, this blue version shows (at the time what I thought) was the Megastars making 30-45% more power output than the Lesser artists.

For some reason I still didn’t like that. The levels seemed too close to me for some reason, so I went and did a more drastic number at 80-95% range.

However, the major problem with this yellow range is that it makes the Lesser artists almost powerless. They wouldn’t be making anywhere near enough power to make up for the less performances that the Megastars have and would have made my whole District Music Life post pointless. 

(I do kinda see this being the earlier range for the NSRtists like a couple years ago though honestly)

I still wanted the Lesser artists to be making enough of an impact that without their presence, the Megastars would actually have to pick up their shit and do more work. They are supposed to be pretty even but still have enough impact.

At least that is what I think now. I went on to lower the range a bit to this version with 60-75% afterwards.

For some reason I started to like this but changed my mind and went with a new range that I was going to pick last night, but now I am changing my mind.

This range being 75-85%.

Anyway, this was all well and good when I was doing it last night, except that all of these percentages are not what I originally wanted.

I originally wanted the Megastars to be making 10-15% MORE energy output than the Lesser artists. What I ended up doing was figuring out the different ranges of the TOTAL energy output.

I know it’s confusing, it is confusing to me too a bit. But if we look at the green percent range I think I can explain what I mean. I’ll just use one set of numbers in the range actually to make it easier to explain.

The TOTAL output of energy is 47%. The split between that 47% is 41.13% and 5.87%. Megastars make a total energy output of 41.13% and the Lesser artists make a total energy output of 5.87%.

Now if we look at the total as 100%, as that is 100% of the power being made, that means the Megastars are making 87.5% of the total energy output and the Lesser artists are making up 12.5% of the total energy output.

Now, the whole reason why I even started doing this math was so that I could figure out what 10-15% MORE energy output would be like (I’ll just stick to 10% for now to make it simpler). When I say this, and everytime I did say this beforehand, I wasn’t thinking of it in a way that if one is making 30% energy then the other is making 40% energy. 

No, instead I was thinking of it as, if one is making 100 units of energy, then the other would be making 110 units of energy. That is 10% more energy. However, that doesn’t really work honestly in all my math and I didn’t realize that at all until after I made all this math.

If we turn the percentages into true units I think I can figure out what it would be. For some reason I am having a hard time working this math when it comes to using only percentages.

Now that I know that my first math based on an equation gives me numbers like this. I was able to make up a new equation that would let me figure out what truly the Megastars would be making vs the Lesser artists if the Megastars were making 10% more power than the Lesser artists. 

I needed to do this into units which I could then later turn into a percentage. Instead of starting off with 100, I instead started off with the total 47%. x is what the Megastars will produce while (x-.1x) are what the Lesser artists will produce. .1x is 10% of what the Megastars are making, so taking the number the Megastars are making (x) and subtracting it from what the Lesser artists are making (.1x) would give me the 10% difference while making it all add up to 47 units. y in this case would also be (x-.1x)

So with this idea, the only way that the Megastars would be producing 10% more power than the Lesser artists would be if the Megastars produced 24.47% of power out of 47% (which is 52.64% of all power production) while the Lesser artists make 22.26% out of the total 47% (which is 47.36% of all power production).

To me, this actually seems like a good proportion only AFTER the revolution happens (proportion meaning the 52.64-47.36 split, not the actual output of power unit numbers). Before the revolution happens though, I do think that the power of the Megastars should be a lot greater than the power of the Lesser artists but still have enough of an impact that if the Lesser artists stopped playing it would have been a catastrophe for the city.

So, long story short, I think the power ratings would be something like this.

-Early years of NSR had the Megastars making 92.5-95% of total power while the Lesser artists made around 5-7.5% of the total power. I can see the actual output of power being about 55-65% for a small while (as EDM would have been a new-ish genre) which then slowly settled down to the 47% we see in game.

-By the time of the revolution happening, the Megastars are making up 65-72.5% of the total power while the Lesser artists are making 27.5-35% of total power. This is when the actual output of the power being made was stuck at 47%.

-After the revolution, probably about 2-3 years afterwards, I would say the Megastars are making 52.64% of total power while the Lesser artists are making 47.36% of the total power. The actual output of power would probably be at least 65-75%. And that is at the very least, I can see the actual output being as high as 85-90% of actual power output.

Now I want to see what these numbers would look like if they were of equal standing. I am just going to use these numbers for each. 95-5 split at 65% power for pre-revolution. 65-35 split at 47% power for revolution, and rounding the numbers at a 52-48 split at 78% power for post revolution (just to make it more simple).

Actually, I realize now that it would be extremely difficult to compare these numbers in their entirety because the numbers alone do not represent accurate percentages. Or at least these percentages literally cannot be compared at face value. 

This is because these numbers do not take into account the growth of Vinyl City or NSR at the time. They come from completely different time periods.The pre-revolution is around the start of NSR which could be anywhere from 7-10 years ago in my version of it (closer to 10 years ago most likely). On the other hand, the post-revolution would be only 2-3 years after the revolution happened. I don’t think there is a way to really compare these numbers as is without going into the hypothetical maximum energy output (or max energy output needed to run the whole city) that would have been needed at that time in Vinyl City’s life.

So, going into this, the smallest population needed to be classified as a city (most of these numbers I am going to use are probably US approximations) would be 50,000 inhabitants. Research shows that between 200,000 and 500,000 would be like an average city population (at least in the US), and then a large city would be 400,000 and 1,500,000. With really anything over 1,000,000 being seen as a metropolis.

For Vinyl City, I see the city itself as being already on the medium to larger size when the Goolings were ruling the city. So by the time NSR becomes a company, I can definitely see the city being more on the large size. Let’s say, when NSR came to power, the city was around 1,000,000 pre-revolution. 

By the time the revolution happened, about 8-10 years later (let’s just round to 10), the city would have definitely gone through a major expansion. Especially as now there would have been a major influx in power production and entertainment because of NSR. However, I kinda see it as a logarithmic growth as the introduction of NSR and the first like 3-5 years of the company really brought a lot more people into the city which then the growth slowly lessened by the time of the 10 year mark. Which is in line with the average city growth that I’ve been seeing in my research (at least in the US, however this research might also be bringing in the pandemic in their research which accounts for the slow in growth). 

Because of this, I can see the city becoming extremely big by the end of the decade. To me, 2 million would not be big for some reason, however, that is because I am comparing the number to other larger and more established cities that I know (such as New York City, I was going to also do California but I bailed when LA didn’t have totally accurate census records around the 1950s). 

At first I was thinking that just doubling the population wouldn’t be that amazing, especially for a city that is so important like Vinyl City. I realized my error though when I found out I was looking at New York as a whole and not just New York City. Using the annual growth rate from that I actually think it would be an amazing feat for Vinyl City to have doubled its population in only 10 years. It’s not impossible as some other cities are currently on this kind of trajectory. I still think a majority of this growth happened in the first 3-5 years while the last few years have seen a major decrease in growth. Anyway, that goes to say that I think Vinyl City would have a 2,000,000 population at the time of the revolution.

And with that being said. Vinyl city having a slower population growth by the time of the revolution, into the new decade, now needs to be thought of. The average population growth is like .4%, so I honestly think (with how big 10% is by the end of the decade) Vinyl City could be heading towards 4-5% population growth. Still a lot, but also not as much as before. Vinyl City did just have a revolution, however, things are getting better in the city because of said revolution. I think I will go with a 4% growth rate over a 3 year period. This would mean during the time of the story, Vinyl City would have a population of 2,249,728 post revolution.

Now that we have the populations to work with, we need to figure out the average electricity usage of a person. I’m gonna look pretty much only at the US consumption of energy because almost all of these other numbers and statistics come from the US. It’s also because I plan to use statistics from 2000 and 2010, and the power consumption of Malaysia at that time doesn’t seem to fit what I think Vinyl City could possibly have needed/used. This is taking into account the whole country which I plan to address when I do my math. 

Mtoe= Millions of tonnes of oil equivalent. This is the energy consumption of all fuel, not just electricity. I’m also just gonna average all this stuff out since I don’t think it is really possible to separate individual energy consumption from company energy consumption. I mean realistically they both need energy, the only difference is that I am going to make my calculations based on consumption per person so the numbers might actually be skewed somehow (I don’t know if they would be higher or lower honestly, but it is something to take into consideration).

There’s also the fact that the website I am using for energy consumption (World Energy & Climate Statistics-2023) does have a breakdown in energy consumption where you can tell how much of a certain energy was used (in our case the electricity consumption is what we will be looking at). However, the NSR world is a world based on music and music being electricity/power. So If I find a good average of how much electricity is used for the world (which I think that website has), I am probably going to either double or triple that number since this world would be using electricity far more than other modes of energy consumption (I doubt it’s FULLY electricity. Heck I might just swap the biggest energy method and make that number electricity. We’ll see when we get to that point).

Okay, let’s just use the 4,500 kWh per year per person since I feel like that would be a realistic energy consumption with how the NSR world presents itself.

Actually. Nevermind. I was going to try and attempt a really complex calculation of all of this information, however, I do not think I know exactly how it would work. I tried to figure out how to find the relationship between kWh and population using the information of the United States and Malaysia, but it was too difficult for me. The two formulas that I found above also did not help and whenever I did try to do some kind of calculation I got a solution that Vinyl City consumed more energy than the entirety of our world, which is obviously wrong. The electricity calculation is just too much for me to do.

So instead I am going to just look up what other cities (or in this case it is countries) have for power consumption and use that. I’m going to try and keep the per capita around 3,500-4,500 kWh as I think that is a reasonable consumption of power given the information I had already found.

Here are some countries that I think have a potentially relatively similar power output to Vinyl City.

These seem fine. I couldn’t find any other countries that had similar populations to what I was looking for and could not find any information on cities that could have helped me. The problem I am having is that I have no idea how to convert the kWh per capita into the total power consumption using the population. I’m not expecting absolute accuracy, but I can’t even get close to the GWh/y number. 

At first I tried multiplying the kWh per capita by the population and then converting that into GWh/y, but that doesn’t get me anywhere near the total power consumption. I think the reasoning for this is that the per capita number is only taking into consideration people (or like the average person) and not taking into consideration companies and stuff like that (which I think the total power consumption is). 

There is also the idea that I am just doing all of this wrong and there is either a formula or a conversion that I am completely missing out on. Which is entirely the case.

The whole reason I even went into this energy consumption problem was because I wanted to figure out a legitimate measure of power that Vinyl City would have produced in a certain year (pre-rev., rev., post-rev.) so I could take my percentages I got earlier and find an average or per capita (not the word I am looking for) version of the percentages to make them equal.

To me, having the percentages of different time periods of power output doesn’t do much unless you can accurately compare them. Otherwise that is like comparing $50 from a century ago to now. They have completely different meanings to them. 30% of energy output pre-revolution is not the same as 30% energy output post revolution. I just don’t know how to actually get the information needed to find out what the true values would be. 

I was initially going to try and make up a single number to calculate my percentages, but that would be more like comparing different cities in the same year than the same city in different years. Then I was going to try and use the Central Limit Theorem because I believe you use that when comparing statistics that come from data with different sample sizes, however that alone was too complex for me to even try. Which is why I started going down the electricity rabbit hole, but the major problem for me was not knowing how electrical conversions work, and not being able to find any good sources of City or Country examples of electrical consumption for large populations because I kept getting websites on prices for electricity or how to figure out my own personal electricity consumption. It was fairly difficult to find sources that would allow me to analyze large portions of electricity data that weren’t hidden behind a paywall or hidden in over 500 pages of other texts that went way above my knowledge level of what was going on.

I’m gonna try one more time to find a solution to me figuring out how to properly compare those percentages that I got. This is all gonna be hypothetical so that I don’t have to keep researching stuff.

I’m going to take the populations of Vinyl City I made, divide them by 1,000, and then make that number the total output needed to give everyone in Vinyl City the proper amount of power.

I think I finally figured this out and that this is the correct way to show the correlations between the three different time periods. Having the per capita numbers means that I now know how much energy was produced for one person in the population. 

So what all this data basically boils down to, is that Pre-Revolution Megastars were producing the most power out of the three time periods (617.5 units), then they slowly dipped down a pretty big deal (305.5 units) but are now making their way back up to a slightly respectable power output (405.6 units). They are still not near what they were originally at though as they still perform mainly EDM and EDM at this time is still an oversaturated market. Newer additions of other genres, plus more incorporations of other genres that the Megastars add in, is allowing the Megastars to slowly work their power output back up but are still making up the majority of power output.

The Lesser artists started off at a dismal 32.5 units of power. Barely anything. This is because there were so few artists at the time that even if they were playing the “new” EDM genre, it wasn’t enough to outperform the Megastars present at the time. However, they took a big leap up to 164.5 units of power by the time of the revolution, making up more than half of what the Megastars were making on their own at 374.4 units of power (mainly because of the vast amount of artists now in this section, technically if we figured out a number of artists, it would most likely show that the individual lesser artist is making less power output at the time of the revolution compared to the lesser artists at the time of the start of NSR as a company). Finally, the Lesser artists’ energy basically doubled in output in the span of 3 years. Not only because even more artists were signed on, but now there is a much greater variety of artists playing all kinds of genres. Still, with heavy elements of EDM still saturating the genre of Lesser artists, they are not making as much energy as the Megastars even though they vastly outnumber them.

That last part is actually something to look into. We know there are 5 Megastars (technically more because of like 1010 and Sayu Crew, but I’m just gonna keep it to 5). There is no real way to factually calculate how many Lesser artists there are with this information, so I will give hypotheticals. (Lesser artist numbers are not actual numbers, but just to give an example).

What this information shows us is that at the start of NSR, both Lesser artists and Megastars were producing the most energy per performer. As the music scene became very saturated because of EDM being basically the only genre, more performers were needed to get the same power output. The output drastically died down during the revolution and technically stayed low after the revolution, but it did also rise a bit in the upcoming years. Having output that did rise along with a lot more artists did allow the energy output to become stable. It most likely will continue to grow for as long as new artists are introduced and the genre scene stays varied. If that stays the case then both the power output in general and for individual performers should continue to rise as the years go by.

It is also worth to note that these hypothetical power outputs for the artists are averages. So technically Eve could be making the most power out of all the Megastars while DJSS is slacking in the energy output they are giving. I’m not gonna actually go into real detail about who I think produces the most power because that would then go into schedules and stuff. Just know that the energy output here doesn’t take into consideration how many times an artist plays.

So, as an example, in the pre-revolution stage, 1010 could be making more power than Eve only because they perform a lot more than her, while she makes more power per show. If 1010 played the same rate as Eve, their energy output would be drastically lower than hers, and vice versa with her output being drastically larger if she performed as much as them.

All of this to say, NSR power output has gone through a lot of changes.

TLDR:

-Pre-revolution NSR starting out had about a 95-5% split of total power produced between Megastar-Lesser artists at around a 65% power output. Hypothetically, Megastars were producing 617.5 units of power (308.75 units per Megastar) per citizen, while Lesser artists were making 164.5 units of power (3.25 units per Lesser) per citizen. This is at a population of 1 million, Megastar count at 2, and Lesser artist count at 10.

-Revolution time NSR had about a 65-35% split of total power produced between Megastar-Lesser artists at around 47% power output. Hypothetically, Megastars were producing 305.5 units of power (61.1 units per Megastar) per citizen, while Lesser artists were making 164.5 units of power (.583 units per Lesser) per citizen. This is at a population of 2 million, Megastar count at 5, and Lesser artist count at 300.

-Post-revolution NSR had about a 52-48% split of total power produced between Megastar-Lesser artists at around 78% power output. Hypothetically, Megastars were producing 405.6 units of power (81.12 units per Megastar) per citizen, while Lesser artists were making 374.4 units of power (.7488 units per Lesser) per citizen. This is at a population of 2.25 million, Megastar count at 5, and Lesser artist count at 500.

[starryeyedjanai]

Doing multiple for the get to know your fic writers if that's okay :) 12, 13, 17, 23, 24, 59, and 10!

thanks for the ask!!! 😘

ask me stuff!!

12. how does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you? i love getting comments and i love reading people's tags on my stuff! i love knowing what people like about my fics and what lines they enjoyed, but even just emojis or keysmash comments make me so happy!

13. what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow? one tip i've been following religiously since january of last year is to write every day! my goal this year is 300 words/day. it has helped me so much because more often than not, i'll start writing just to check it off my list for the day and then i'll get into a groove and end up writing more than i expected

17. What do you do when writing becomes difficult? (maybe a lack of inspiration or writers block) i have approximately one million fic ideas, so if i can't get inspiration for the one i'm working on, i'll switch to something else or i'll try to write a drabble. sometimes time away from a fic helps. i also read more fics when i have writers block and sometimes that helps me get unstuck

23. Best writing advice for other writers? if you're stuck on something when writing, talking about it with someone can help (<- says someone who needs to follow their own advice🤦🏽‍♀️)

24. Worst writing advice anyone ever gave you? i'm suddenly blanking on every piece of advice i've been given. uhhh oh i guess those posts that are like "write for yourself!" because i think people sometimes forget that fandom is largely about community and the interactions we have with each other

59. Does anyone in your personal life know you write fic? if not, would you tell anyone? i'm assuming this is asking about people i met outside of fandom because all of my fandom friends know. but outside of that, no one else knows. it'd be fine if other people found out, but for some reason it feels more daunting to tell them than to talk about it with my internet friends

10. Cltr+f "blinks" on your WIP & copy paste the first sentence/paragraph that comes up here's more than one sentence for a crumb of context:

“I get it now,” Steve says, coming closer. “Get it? Get what?” Eddie asks. “I get why you were looking at me like that all the time.” Eddie blinks at him. “Like what?” “Like you wanted to eat me,” Steve says nonchalantly.

[fountainpenguin]

If you were given the opportunity to reboot FOP from the ground up, what would you change, shake up, or put your own spin on?

I'll have to give this a short answer, I no joke spent over 2 hours replying to this, then added a Read More and Tumblr told me that my post was too out of this world and it broke the editor. It kicked me out in a split second without any opportunity to save. Sorry to everyone who has to scroll past my stuff in the future, but I'm not living through this again. Read Mores have no place on my blog.

I'm furious because 1) I tried to copy-paste out of this editor like I always do and save in an external place, but the new editor is busted and only copies one paragraph when you do CTRL-A so I gave up, and 2) literally the last sentence I wrote before typing that was "Before my hiatus, Read Mores broke stuff, but I'm willing to give this another try." It's not even the same error it used to be. I can't. I can't.

At least we're friends and I think you know a lot of my thoughts anyway. Sorry it took so long to write an answer to this message, but I've already let it sit for so long that I HAVE to get it out of my inbox now or I'll never go back to it after losing everything :/ I can't believe that just happened. How ironic that one of the main reasons I went on hiatus was because stuff kept breaking and then it's worse when I return. Bleh.

So... Here's the short version of things I can remember talking about:

Update world lore, especially regarding Anti-Fairies. Anti-Fairies debuted in Season 2 and didn't reappear until Season 5; Anti-Fairy World itself made its first appearance in Season 6 because the Anti-Fairies were only seen in jail before that. Anti-Fairy World is kind of barren and stereotypical, and the general vibe of Anti-Fairies is that they are all evil because their magic revolves around bad luck. I'd prefer some gray area. I also feel like the characterizations for Anti-Cosmo and Anti-Wanda were rushed and we should say it.

Logically I know that Anti-Wanda can be said to parallel Wanda's high-class mafia upbringing, but I doubt that was planned since Wanda's family only showed up in Season 5. In another universe, we could have had a classy evil queen. I love the grubby gal, but there are so many cool aesthetics she could have had instead. The Anti-Cosmo and Anti-Wanda vibe doesn't bring anything to the table that Cosmo and Wanda didn't already have unless you take creative liberties.

Maps. Maps would have been great.

Designs. Cosmo, Crocker, and Dad really don't need the same shirt. Wanda's outfit is pretty bland too, and it's honestly a shame that Anti-Cosmo got a unique outfit but Anti-Wanda's is just a recolor of Wanda's. See also, classy queen.

Also I've never liked Timmy's Channel Chasers adult design; I just don't think it's in character. I feel like his body type would be much closer to his parents, and the existing one is just too extreme for my preferences. Doesn't say "Timmy the average kid" to me.

"Fairly Odd Baby" - As much as I enjoy the idea of Fairies placing a ban on babies because they're destructive and Fairy World likes to push away its problems, I'd have introduced Poof as part of an announcement that Cosmo and Wanda had been expecting a baby for 100 to 1000 years. Their lifespans are so long, it wouldn't be out of the question. A reveal episode could have been fun.

I also don't think I would have chosen to leave Poof a baby who can't speak for that long; I think he has a fun personality (Sasses Foop, deliberately puts Foop in harm's way, but also he's super chill and nice and likes sports) and I would have liked to see more episodes where he talks. I don't love how he was shipped to boarding school as soon as he was able to talk and dialogue was needed.

Vicky takes Mark back onscreen. She canonically decided she wanted to start dating him again, after she found out he was an alien and she broke up with him. She made the choice to take back her alien boyfriend and she loves him and we should talk about it. I'm obsessed with them and will forever treasure the deleted "Foul Balled" scene of them holding hands at the senior home while Mark is in his squid form. I support Vicky becoming the shapeshifting queen of a violent planet and being extremely in love with her squid husband.

Chloe / A.J. friendship. A.J. ended world hunger in Season 2 and he built a time machine a few seasons later, I feel like those two would have really hit it off.

More episodes of Timmy playing soccer. I will not re-elaborate.

More of side characters I love, like Molly and Kevin. I love them. I love Kevin falling farther and farther behind his uncle when they walk together, I love Timmy introducing himself to Molly's fairy by shaking her hand... They might be side characters but I feel like they add a lot more to the world and character dynamics in their few scenes than many of the characters do.

Sharing fairies. Timmy sharing fairies with Chloe (or Kevin) as part of a temporary program (like she was just here for one school year before her parents moved again). I think one of the issues people have with Chloe is that it feels like she's here for the rest of Timmy's fairy-related life, and I think a few months of hanging out with her would have been plenty and then there would have been a reason for her to leave the canon afterwards.

Make Chloe Dinkleberg's niece. My favorite headcanon. Also a perfect explanation for why Chloe's family would move to Timmy's street. Also a hilarious parallel of Timmy seething with frustration at his "perfect" neighbor despite spending the entire series making fun of his dad for doing the same thing.

More Timmy/Chloe "step-sibling" interactions. I support Timmy "I will sit with you while you have an hour-long panic attack" Turner in "The Booby Trap" but I cannot emphasize enough that I equally support Timmy "Will take a call from Chloe, listen to her explain that she vaporized a juice box, then hang up and go to bed" Turner. They are step-siblings...

Timmy, Chloe, and Kevin. I support Timmy - Chloe - Kevin trio interactions in general. They're a comedic trio and I want them to support each other.

Gary and Betty. Unironically, we need to talk more about Gary and Betty canonically being aware of the magical world. Or at least they adjusted really fast to being teleported from California to Florida and back again. Also we should talk about that time Gary rang Sanderson on his cell phone, which gets funnier the longer you think about it. Also I love them and we should talk about the deleted "Totally Spaced Out" scene where they tried to flee to Mexico together.

Ending the series with a proper send-off. I'm not a fan of Timmy keeping his magical memories after losing Cosmo and Wanda. Being the protagonist doesn't make him immune. I feel like there are so many ways this could have been done in a sentimental way that people would have loved... I'm sad we didn't get a proper send-off.

On the list of things we don't need to change - Imaginary Gary, Norm, Mark, Molly, Jorgen, the Pixies, Flappy Bob, Foop, and Ed Leadly. They are flawless, 10 of 10. We also do not need to change Chloe casually swearing, but meanwhile Timmy will call you out for saying "Moron" on the radio, and we definitely don't need to change "This isn't a fancy French restaurant- this is a black hole!"

I love the Pixies. If they didn't exist, I would have come along and prepped some worldbuilding about characters who maintain magical paperwork. I love my snarky monotone wasp boys.

Also I just want to shout-out Chloe and Kevin and their personalities being hilarious. I think there are several Chloe-centric episodes that have flawed storytelling, but I do genuinely enjoy the character you're left with after brushing off some of her exaggerated perfectionism.

Kevin has some of the best dialogue in the entire series, and those two just seem to write themselves when you pit them together. I like the mental image of Chloe venting to Timmy about how unfair it is that Crocker shows him favoritism and then it slowly dawns on her that she also has a history of getting a lot of favoritism.

Thanks for the ask! I'm sad I lost the full responses, but I think I've learned my lesson and will draft in an external doc first. Please learn from my mistakes, I will not take back my venting >:(

Even if I lost it, it's nice to take some time and think about some answers to these things. I'm also pretty satisfied that I was able to make this post long enough to feel like a good answer. Yay.

[misakialter]

Ok but am I about to Rant?

...You know what? Fuck it.

Why not, I'm gonna end the year talking about something nobody really cares but I certainly do for whatever reason: Dragon Ball Super, babyyyyyy.

Specifically the Granolah Arc.

(In advance, thank you for reading.)

Genuinely, I have like a lot to criticize about it but for those who need a refresh or have no idea what I'm about to say but still wanna read my thoughts anyways lemme do a quick summary for you.

The story continues from the resolution of the prior arc, as a power copying enemy known as Seventhree is salvaged by it's creator. Before this guy could do anything though, the titular Granolah trounces and steals the Android.

We find out he's the last of his race, and had his planet wiped out by Saiyans working under Frieza back then. He's serving a faction known as the Heeters, they sell planets but work under intel over force, now holding their own monopoly after Frieza's first death.

Keyword: FIRST. Now that he's back, they are in trouble and tell as much to Granolah, whose trauma kicks in and wants nothing but vengeance, but of course, he's too weak. Though the Heeters start to carefully plot around this development thanks to SevenThree's memory helping them get caught up with last arc's development and our heroes.

Granolah returns to his planet and the topic comes out with his caretaker, a namekian elder. Reminded of their set of 2 Dragon Balls and with the finding of the missing one, Granolah wishes to become the strongest (At a cost) and demands to see Frieza.

The Heeters, of course, tell him to stay put and set in motion their plan: Get rid of Granolah before he destroys the empire they wanna overtale by tricking Goku and Vegeta into coming, while they wish their toughest member, Gas, to be THE strongest to then kill Frieza.

After a long brawl between our heroes trying to talk Granolah down, the elder is forced to reveal some truths: A Saiyan (Bardock) saved them and the Heeters killed his mom actually, he couldn't reveal it prior as Granolah was put to work with them in exchange for their safety.

Thus, Gas turns into the strongest and faces the now teamed up trio who are vastly outmatched as he continues to grow, little by little wearing him down until Frieza's surprising arrival, who wipes out Gas in one clean sweep and leaves Goku and Vegeta with the bitter feeling of being left behind powerwise.

With Granolah now giving up on his vengeance, Goku finding out more about his father and adapting Ultra Instinct in his own way, and Vegeta fueling his newfound Ultra Ego form with his feelings on the Saiyan's past, the gang says their goodbyes and set off.

People with familiarity on the arc will notice me describing the entire second half of it in three paragraphs. And this is for sure not a mistake: This IS the relevant information of that section. So you know, we'll be here for a while when I get there. :)

So like, was the arc bad from the start?

No. Much like the grand majority of DBS, I think it's got one of, if not the most promising start so far, because as it stands, the arc set in motion a very character centric narrative over something with a bigger plot in motion. This is actually the most enjoyable part of it which we hardly get in this series at all, so it feels fucking good when people come to blows because we have so much baggage on each side the clash gets hype, much like how DBS: Broly toyed with (Or you know, how Battle Shonen that go hard do it).

Granolah is an interesting character, despite having his arc rushed at the very end and with some missed out chances. Already having seen a similar concept with Baby from GT, we know the idea of a surviving race member of a wipeout from the Saiyans writes itself. Not to mention his unique aspects such as his trauma or his combat quirks help him stand out beyond the cool design. He's also integrated into the world with as much grace as the new group, the Heeters, who serve as our "people to punch" this arc.

From the duo of Maki and Oil proving to be a little more comedic than threatening but still effective, and the cunning Elec being modestly entertaining, they don't feel out of place in the world of DB. Gas in particular I'm going to put off for now, but know that his interactions with Elec is what make the latter vastly more unique in terms of narrative role. Commander Red comes to mind but if he was played entirely straight. I think they serve the narrative pretty damn fine without the need to go beyond as characters, Gas nonwithstanding.

When it comes to Goku and Vegeta's role in the story, the latter gets the most out of it. His training with Beerus, his theraphy session with Granolah, his showcase of the Ultra Ego to an extent and him getting to interact with the Saiyan's past in a fresh way. They have never fucking fumbled Vegeta since the "doing the same thing as before but worse" allegations from prior arcs, which is a strong positive for his fans, but yeah, he doesn't get any Ws lmao.

With Goku, we have... Things happening for sure, of varying qualities, but the praises are getting short on that end, so I'm going to save it for later. On paper, I do appreciate the attempt to do more with this character and he still is not the weakest part of the character centric narrative.

In general, the central core of said narrative is one of the more interesting and cool so far. It makes the entire portion of the fight against Granolah all the better, not to mention that section having bouts of good coreography and action. I love having an enemy worth punching in a series where punching people happens so much they can be souless bricks to punch, especially if the bricks aren't interesting unlike, say, Frieza.

Speaking of, he turned out the be the funniest, most shocking element in this arc. Like not even as a joke, his presence is a legit highlight from the sheer absurdity of his impact. He barely gets foreshadowed at the first half, with the asumption it's the character who is most commonly tied to everybody what makes you think of him at all times, and isn't even used until the very last minute. But when he DOES show up, he ONE SHOTS GAS, VEGETA AND GOKU, claims to have been OUT OF RANGE for the "make me the strongest" wish to account for him, found a HYPERBOLIC TIME CHAMBER in space and proceedes to brag that he knew what's up and that got a brand new form only to LEAVE.

It's truly a chaotic shock to the system which matches the ridicolousness of Dragon Ball Heroes whipping out a new Broly out of nowhere every anniversary or so, but in an oddly positive way. Like you could've done more with the concept but honestly I can't truly be mad with the sheer boldness in display. But that's because... Well...

So like, is the second half bad or what?

I can certainly say the ending woke me up. But it's kinda fucked up how once Granolah stopped being the opponent everything else kinda crumbles into fighting a boring nothing character with no connection to the heroes and progression being constantly halted JUST so we can attempt to give this opponent some fluff.

Let's be fair: Gas holds his own with Granolah padding and brick personality aside, there is some setup to their rivalry and the backstory works, albeit motion is wasted to highlight aspects that only come out now instead of beforehand: The fact that he was envious, the stubborn devotion to his own techniques, Granolah feeling anything beyond towards him, etc. Still works fine, still patched up now.

There's also his relationship with Elec as a highlight, the former manipulating him and hyping him up in spite of Gas doubting himself, showing devotion and loyalty back to Elec and even being grateful he made him strong as he is, which is kinda tragic once he realizes what he becomes.

But I can't fucking caaaaare.

I believe the core problem with Gas is that they waited too fucking long to start showing his development and choosing the very distracting battle that HALTS ALL PROGRESSION to try and do something with him.

This is also after the big break which was the Bardock flashback, we'll get to that, but since the goal became his defeat and he has no one to bounce from naturally, the second Goku steps up as the main opponent (After the fight has had MANY twists and he powered up several times) everything resets completely harder than when each form turned the tides. Because Goku still had no internal change, he doesn't remember Bardock yet, and the story didn't think of bringing Gas along to recruit Goku and Vegeta and build THEIR personal rivalry outside of Bardock's impact on Gas after defeating him so it feels limp without the connective tissue.

So what we have is a scene which deadass could've played like this:

Their goal is to kill Frieza. They did not want to waste time. They literally just believed they killed Granolah and incapacitated both Goku and Vegeta. What are they gonna fucking do? Defend Frieza? They don't fucking care if he dies again, maybe they wanna fight them, but it would provide a fucking change of scenery which hasn't happened since the start of all the fighting. Gas too, like, sure, he would want to kill them for knowing too much but at this point NO ONE is a threat.

As a result the jawdropping moment of Ultra Ego and Ultra Instinct together feels wasted on a very lame opponent. The revelation Goku has to use Ultra Instinct his own way is just kinda there because Gas is the least important part of said development. The epic struggle to take him down feels done already.

It's tiring. Really tiring. No matter how fancy the techniques, the core character is being built as we speak in a narrative that SOLELY focused on characters on the last minute. And I can't care as a result.

Speaking of breaking progression and being tiring, we also need to talk about a little something.

This is another joke page, dw.

But uh, anyone feels like the first flashback would've been enough? Technically, they could skim on HOW Bardock defeated Gas interrupting an already glacial paced conflict, especially not without any substantial information to the characters, Goku's development aside.

Bardock doesn't feel entirely realized either. I appreciate the fact they are trying to bridge the gap between Minus and Z Bardock to make it look like it's mostly the same character but it's not until he's fighting where this seems to be at play.

He feels like he's on autopilot on his own plot thread. There's feeling his actions are arbitrary (To the point of needing a flashback within one for justification) as him being conveniently set up to be there, rather than let his character flow naturally. His impact is felt across the characters but "just so happens to be there" is not the card they play. This isn't a rando — Nonono, this is Goku's Dad™, therefore he MUST be important... Which goes against the core idea of making Minus Bardock and Z Bardock the same character, but topic for another time.

Point is: When the story could've chosen to use the Saiyans as a positive influence (A loaded statement but yet another topic for some other time), they really chose to tell this story in a rather clunky way, contradicting the core idea of a typical Saiyan without exploring Bardock's uniqueness regarding it (If he has it) when we need it to buy into it. We're coming off from the character from Minus, you HAVE to expand on it because that one had ALSO next to nothing going for him.

So yeah, I may be beating this aspect way too much but in hindsight, if the story decided it should be focused heavily for breaks between fight while also having a half that is meandering just to trigger Goku's memories, then maybe they should've thought about it a little more when telling this story.

Which leads us to perhaps the biggest weakness of writing for DB: Getting Goku involved in the plot without him feeling less like a problem solving plot device they are forced to keep out the action. He's active, sure, but he has no connection to anybody, so what do?

His arc this time around is Ultra Instinct being a technique Goku needs to improve on despite everyone in the fandom swearing that the one we were calling MASTERED Ultra Instinct for years wasn't really it. As such, he has to find a path to use it on his own, which obviously means "dodge on your base form" but there's more to it: He has to learn and stop mimicking Whis when doing so.

The solution is simple and it works in every aspect but to make UI less impactful, but asuming we saw that coming and we don't mind, this leaves Goku accepting his emotions instead of repressing them while using UI, thus getting the most out of the Sign form.

...And it's kinda disconnected to everything? They tacked in Bardock's sole focus on his drive to win as a catalyst which is why they used the second flashback, and that kinda gets a little lost when this still doesn't tie him to Gas and with how little that statement says on it's own. "He has the same determined look" doesn't work and the Sign reveal loses a lot of impact, so what we're left is with what feels like a very random power up.

This scene of Goku recovering his memories is used as a superficial aspect as a result, because the memories themselves don't make for anything beyond one disconnected touching moment. It's even lacking impact on Goku as a character because he sure knows the thing which never mattered to his core identity at all save for being a fighting freak, it would be nice if this was important as it wants to be. But that's it. Him being positively in touch with his Saiyan side internally has always been a thing, he's supposed to be the opposite of the stereotypical one, so yeah, sure. It's not awfully offensive but it sure feels wasted.

Wait, that's it? Those are your takes?

Listen, you probably expected me to go off over the new set of DBs making the story lame with how anyone can wish for strength or what I think about the new forms and how I think they are either ugly or cool, but like, I feel there was a bigger urge to talk about the core narrative problems and less about the window dressing of the action. The balls have always been in a downward spiral to becoming too convenient already, and forms as punctuations for progression is like, tiring but it works visually, it's not a specific problem to the arc but the series as a whole.

Overral, I just feel uneven about it. The character driven conflict is obviously gonna leave you with a lot of holes if you don't keep it PERSONAL so the failure to do something so cool with DB hurts a lot. Undeniably though it's first half was the best part of this entire Manga on setup alone.

The second half is an atrocity however that makes me call the arc trash without the hesitation that I should be having. The fighting? Drags on with a nothing opponent. The opponent? Boring us to death as momentum has to stop to develop them. The developments? Tied to Bardock between breaks in a couple of flashbacks, used sloppily with a protagonist that feels uneven. Our actual protagonist? Hardly there.

Frieza coming back to end the arc feels cathartic on top of hilarious as a result. It's a spit to the face to the whole of it. And it's not horrendous as the Future Trunks Arc's ending thanks to at least having promises for the upcoming stories and ultimately being more interesting too.

o(-(

I don't know. This especially sucks because we were going so hard on something amazing like always but DBS just has a mystifying way to fuck things up for literally no reason. But you've heard me ramble enough. I still enjoy the series for that alone: I can't stop peeking no matter if it's a trainwreck with thousand dead. It's easy to pick apart the pieces.

Thank you for reading this if you did. I really appreciate it.

Take care! <3

[semper-legens]

65. Gleanings, by Neal Shusterman

Owned: No, library Page count: 426 My summary: The world is run by the Thunderhead, and kept in line by gleanings from Scythes. We’ve seen Scythe Anastasia and Scythe Lucifer’s stories. But what about the other stories we haven’t seen? The past, present, and future of this world - art contests, communities denying the existence of Scythes, a dog’s revenge, tragedy in space. This world is so much bigger than ever before. My rating: 4/5 My commentary:

I didn't know this book existed! It's a further novel in the Arc of a Scythe series; I say novel, it's a collection of short stories set across the timeline of the Arc of a Scythe canon. There's at least one story that takes place just as the Scythedom began, and at least one that takes place after the events of the series. I wasn't entirely sure what I was getting into when I started reading this one (see the fact that I didn't know it existed), but hot damn do I love Neal Shusterman's work, and this certainly did not disappoint.

Standard disclaimer: not talking about all the stories, just the ones that jumped out at me for whatever reason. And the first of those is The Mortal Canvas, featuring an early Scythe coming to an school and challenging four pupils to a contest - create the best art, and gain a year of immunity from gleaning. I'm of two minds about this one. I really liked the view of the early days of this world, where the younger generation have been born into immortality but the older ones still remember fearing death. I just wasn't too sure about the actual art contest element. See, one of the worldbuilding points in Arc of a Scythe is that humanity is just a tiny bit creatively sterile, everything being safe and standardised. This is encapsulated in the students, Wyatt being unable to create art without relying on formula and program, and Morty wanting to create something original. Morty ends up submitting an incredibly provocative oil painting of the Scythe that shocks the onlookers into silence. His is obviously the best art, though Wyatt wins the contest, but I'm not too sure about the messaging going on here. Much is made of the idea that a fear of death and mortality is an impetus for great art, but it smacks of the whole 'if you get help for mental health issues you won't be able to Create' mindset so common in reality. Then again, the issue is less of individual response than collective artistic stagnation - it's not that Wyatt is himself bad for not being able to create, more society's fault for prizing cookie-cutter copies of great art rather than something more creative and challenging. Hmm. I think I just did a 180 in my opinion on this one.

Another of the stories featured a young man who has emigrated to Mars and wants to return to Earth, study, and really make a name for himself there in a way that he can't do in a backwater like Mars. He applies for and, through an act of desperate murder, gains the role of a valet to a visiting Scythe. Who charges him with a 'great act' that will shock Mars out of complacency. See, Mars is out of the jurisdiction of the Scythes, not having a large enough population to necessitate gleaning of the populace. This leads to some complacency - without gleaning, the people quite literally cannot die outside of major accident. So he causes that accident. Blows up a damn nuclear reactor, and ends up impressing the Scythe so much that he gains an apprenticeship. And he wants to choose the name Goddard. I gotta admit, I was lukewarm on this story, but the twist at the end punched me straight in the chest. Knowing the backstory of Goddard was interesting enough; reading this story with full knowledge of where this kid is going to end up is delicious. Seriously, baby Goddard, you threw your friend to his death to get the valet role over him? What an absolute scumbag.

I'm gonna use my last paragraph here to be a little more general. One thing I always praise about Shusterman's work is that his worldbuilding is ridiculously expansive; he just commits to the bit, putting extra detail in, even if that detail is weird or kind of silly. Like retelling the Masque of the Red Death, for example. And this is a good way to see the parts of the Arc of a Scythe world that have been backgrounded to this point! Like what happened to Citra's brother, or the Dream shared by the people of one region, or what it's like to be an Unsavory, or getting a conclusion on the rockets sent into space at the end of the series. It's a way of broadening the scope of the series that doesn't bog down any of the novels' narratives, and it was greatly appreciated. If you read and enjoyed Arc of a Scythe, this is a worthy followup and welcome addition!

Next, more Junji Ito, and a man barely human.

[oldfashionedmorphine]

hiiii, I love your fics, hope you're doing well :)

2, 10, 19, 24, 27, 46, 53, 56

Thank you!!! 💛💛💛 and my anxiety has been acting up lately but otherwise I’ve been good :)

2 Do you plan each chapter ahead or write as you go?

A bit of both. I do work with an outline. But sometimes an idea comes to me out of nowhere (usually when I’m trying to fall asleep) and I throw it in at the last minute and it just works.

Some examples from chapter 10 of iawwyh:

The scene of Jonathan helping his son with his tie was one I planned very early on, sometime in September/October back when I was in the early stages of brainstorming ideas for scenes and coming up with things I hoped to accomplish for the fic. It was an important scene to me for multiple reasons. I remember writing the general idea of how I pictured it in advance… and I kept it in my “ideas” doc and just waited for the right time to finally use it and all I had to do was revise it a little and connect it to the right spot in the chapter :)

But the scene with Mike and Holly looking through photos was not planned at all until I started writing the chapter. I had an entirely different vision for their interaction and it fell apart, it’s not even worth mentioning what it was either because the scene ended up being 10x more beautiful than the original idea I had in mind. It’s easily one of my top 10 favorite scenes in the whole fic (and yes it was one that came to me out of nowhere as I was trying to fall asleep!)

10 Cltr+f "blinks" on your WIP & copy paste the first sentence/paragraph that comes up

Will blinks, “But since when?”

19 What is the most-used tag on your ao3?

“Not Beta Read” 😅😅😅

24 Worst writing advice anyone ever gave you?

I can’t recall someone giving me bad advice, but I will say in school I felt heavily discouraged from writing in general because I often was told I wouldn’t engage my readers with how I wrote back then, but whatever advice they kept giving me to fix that problem did nothing to improve my skills 😬 (it took getting into college and taking English 2 for me to receive a truly positive remark from an instructor)

27 What is your most and least favorite part of writing?

My favorite thing is when I manage to convey what my brain is seeing and what I’m feeling when I write a scene. Sometimes it takes revising the same sentence over and over and over until the emotion clicks properly and I can actually see it how I pictured it.

Does that even make sense? :D

My least favorite thing is becoming uncomfortable when I have the motivation to write. Because then I can’t write and it’s a bummer.

46 How would you describe your style? (Character/emotion/action-driven, etc)

Emotion!!! I struggle with the idea of action. But I like getting into a character’s mind and exploring their emotions. And my hope for my readers is to be moved by the words and the emotion. I’m an emotional person and writing helps to express that. I’ve been told my current ongoing work is heartbreaking, but also healing and that’s exactly what I hoped to achieve.

53 How do you spend your time when it comes to fanfiction? Are you primarily a fic reader, writer, or a perfect 50/50 split of both?

Depends on my mood. If I’m writing mode I can’t read. If I'm in reading mode I can’t write. Sometimes the mode will last a week or a month so I can’t say 50/50 because it’s not always equal. Lately it’s been writer>reader and I’m sad about that cause there are so many fics I want to read 😔

56 What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

Hmmm… I have no idea.

[namodareads]

me when. me wenw wehen . me when wen mont.en. wehen mtony . when monty writes about love

(pay for my tissues)

not only does monty write abt love, but it's so CAPTIVATING!!!!!!!!! everything in me is sooooooo tender and and and and soft and just 😭😭😭 this very much brings me back to the feelings i held onto during high school. like. how to explain this. the feelings that were so much and had nowhere to go but trickle out when i was hopeful, that would exist inside me and then those feelings would steep and leak out and would just make everything so painfully nostalgically sweet

It had been pure luck that Tooru and Hajime managed to synchronise their brief visit home in the first place. You think that they might’ve even conspired to match their flight times as close as humanly possible, just so they could find one another in the airport upon arrival.

^ LIKE. SMTH ABT THIS PARAGRAPH HAD ME TEARING UP ALREADY!!!! IT'S LIKE. LIKE. BEING PHYSICALLY APART FROM UR FRIENDS BUT ALWAYS STAYING CLOSE. THE INTIMACY OF THIS, WHICH, LIKE THE FACT THAT IT HAPPENED WAS LIKE A KISS FROM LADY LUCK!!!!!!!!!!! words r so hard but it's like. somehow lining up the lives of ppl u love and trust and care for so EFFORTLESSLY!!! thats what gets me !!!!

and when ur reading this, u can FEEL each character as if they were written in canon. idk the way u describe iwaizumi--like, the significance of him suggesting that trip, and then reader being the one to follow thru. idk thats my hq canon. godbless.

With both his and Tooru’s upcoming departures you had fully expected to be inundated with their company—savouring the remaining time you had left, never quite touching on the topic, still too tender for the three of you. It surprised you. A trip felt final. Another last hurrah. The tying of loose ends, to separate on a good note.

^ THIS PARAGRAPH MADE ME TEAR UP JUST READING IT WHEN I COPY-PASTED IT IN HERE (:AGONY:, BUT LIKE. THE GOOD KIND)!!!! ITS LIKE. this is smth i think many ppl have gone thru when they have friends that move away--it's exactly what i felt when i went on a trip w some hs friends before 1 of them moved across the country. it's a subject thats tender and raw and bittersweet because going on a trip to celebrate it, even quietly, makes the departure feel so much more real!!!! and seeing those emotions put into a fic.... ough.... be still my bleeding heart 🥺🥺🥹🥹

(and side note those MUSCLES.... bites lip.... 1 chomp pls iwaizumi)

and and . and 😭🥺😭🥺 and reader's relationship w the other 3. i will. CRY (<- already been crying) i love the casual intimacy i love the closeness and banter i LOVE the moment where oikawa kisses reader and it's like "ur heart doesnt flutter" bc its casual platonic intimacy and man i wish that were me. 😔😔😔 reader feels like their pal, their guy(gn), their precious friend!!! and they feel just as if not more precious to reader. u cant help but root for them thru this entire thing, holding ur breath with them, cheering them on, crying when they cry. like. GAH. all these emotions r so visceral

From the minute you met there’d always been something there. Maybe it was pheromonic, the way you know something is right the instant you find it; or maybe it was the chubby, six year old hands that plucked the cicada shell from your hair one summer morning. Presque vu, years spent waiting on the tip of your tongue. It doesn’t escape you that this might be the last chance to do anything about it. 

^ not me having to google presque vu but pluck more bugs from my hair and eat my heart iwaizumi!!!!! i wuld do anything 4 u !!!!!!! GAAAAAAARGAHRGAHRGAHRGAHRGAHRGAHRGAHHHH !!!!!!!!! and that last line rly makes u feel a sense of desperation and urgency!! coaxing urself to address this thing uve been feeling and!!! WEEPING AGAIN!!!

i want to be sandwiched in a car w them 😔 they r just 1 big happy family to me!!!! with ofc reader and iwaizumi being the only reasonable ppl around LMAO /j /lh

Heading west out of Tokyo toward the Chuo Expressway, it isn’t until a passenger window is opened and a gust billows into the car that you shake the final dregs of sleep. Tooru’s hair is whipping in the wind as Hajime reaches for the radio and switches channels, bass vibrating through the speakers. 

^ speaking of which, i loved this part just bc of the way it makes u feel like ur in the car w them. like ur experiencing the roadtrip again thru a scrapbook or diary and it's just!!! shaking off the early morning rush and settling into the excitement of a roadtrip w ur friends..,,, EEEEEK!! imagining a movie montage w some pumpy upbeat music as they zoom on da freeway 😌😌😌

You watch his reflection in the rear view mirror, admiring the soft crinkles by his eyes. His mouth isn’t visible but you know he’s smiling. Issei bumps his knee into yours—again. Simultaneously, Tooru bends make quiet kissing noises against your ear. Swatting them isn’t justice enough, and threatening to throw them out of the moving vehicle only makes them snicker.

^ THIS MADE ME GIGGLE AND KICK MY FEET AJHDSFJHDSFJ idk ur friends knowing abt ur crush on someone is always the same LMFAO theyre little shits abt it but it comes from a place of love. they can see u admiring the person u like before u even notice what ur doing !!! embarassgin!! !! but i love them!!!

This is your Hajime, the one you’ve always known; only now there’s stubble lining his jaw.

^ THE CASUAL TOUCHING... I NEED IT

and the fact that theyve grown so much from summer and those cicaida shells but hes still reader's hajime!!!! AGONKNEEEEE!!!!!! /POS BC ITS LIKE THAT SAYING "even after everything its still u" ITS STILL HIM AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA hes still hajime hes just got some facial hair 🥺🥺🥺 and the fact that he blushes so easily when reader compliments him. hehe. (talking to iwaizumi) i know what u are... (in love) 🫵🫵

AND THAT WHOLE SCENE ABT IWAIZUMI GETTING ON ONE KNEE AAAHRJRKHUAJDUASHHWHADJKFHSIDFRIUHDSJKFHR

AND READER BEING SO CLUELESS LMAOOOO for all their overthinking they are a little dummy /aff 😌😌😌😌 but the fact that they probs didnt think of it bc they hadnt considered that iwaizumi likes them back... 😔😔 feels bad man... good thing they got there eventually LMAO ✨💖💕 THEIR HEARTS WERE SO CLOSE IN THIS MOMENT BUT THEY DIDNT EVEN KNOW IT !!!!!! AGONKNEE!!!!!!!

AND!!!!!!! THE PIC THAT HANAMAKI GETS OF READER AND IWAIZUMI 🥺🥹🥺🥹🥺 AAAAAAARGHAHHGHHAAAAA!!!!!!! reader and their boys..... i miss them already (<- just finished reading) and like. idk. the way that reader is enjoying this time even tho theyre anxious abt the future when iwaizumi and oikawa leave... 😔😔😔 WEEPING AGAIN!!!!!!!

i did get a good laugh when oikawa used his charm on the receptionist LMFAOOO, using his good looks for justice. thank u great king 🫡🫡🫡 and its like. even tho oikawa got those updares for them the fact that they all basically sleep in a pile anyways. lmao. love them sm,,,

and the way they love reader too 🥺🥺 THEY WANT THE BEST FOR READER EVEN IF THEYRE PUSHY ABT IT AND THEY LISTEN TO READERS WORRIES AND TELL THEM 'ur bein silly abt this' IN A LOVING WAY... GAAAAAAHHH.... it makes me want 😔 i want to be in a dog pile w them. just maybe not at the very bottom bc they will crush me LMAO

^ on that note tho, i thot it was interesting how oikawa pushed reader a little more. bc he and oikawa are close bffs so like. idk ofc it makes sense that oikawa knows iwaizumi like the back of his hand (oh lala) and he's a little fiercer but no less loving in his encouragement of reader. i was preparing for him to psychoanalyze them over the chip section or smth LMAOOOO

“Tooru,” you say. He makes an inquisitive noise, his nose wrinkled as he rummages through the deep fried snacks. “Being rejected and watching you two leave again—I can’t do both”. 

^ PAY FOR MY TISSUES, MONTEE

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!!!!!

BC LIKE. BC. BC BC BC OIKAWA AND IWAIZUMI LEAVING IS ALREADY HARD ENOUGH AND EVEN THO THEYRE HAVING FUN!!!! AS I SAID!!!!!!! ITS ALWAYS GOING TO BE IN A CORNER OF THEIR MINDS AND !!!!! AND MAYBE THEY FEEL A LIL TRAPPED, A LIL OVERWHELMED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AGONKNEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! and !!! and theyre finally in a private-ish spot where they can talk abt it 🥺🥺🥺🥺 and that in of itself kinda makes it a lil more raw and scary!!

That while you were desperate to make it hospitable, desirable, to be a person Hajime could want, he had managed to blindly pivot around it his whole life. 

^ pay for my tissues 2: electric boogerloo

i can only imagine that oikawa was just. mere moments from simply grabbing reader by the shoulders and shaking them n being like "OFC IWA-CHAN LOVES U HOW CAN HE NOT" sjdfhsdj clinging to ur leg montee HOLD ME HOLD ME !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! the love between these 5 idiots (/aff) is so plain and obvious and precious :((( i love them sm

also reader trying not to stare at iwaizumis chest lmao. felt. AND HIM FEEDING READER FROM HIS OWN CHOPSTICKS??? GOING 2 EAT MY FECKING HAND!!!! /POS

People found your group dynamic odd no matter how much you tried to articulate it to them. You think in the end, it boiled down to trust. To safety. They all loved you in their own, individual ways, as you loved them. Maybe that's how you'd managed to be so content with Hajime's friendship. It had been enough.

^ eatign my haend /pos i just ... i just i just i just..... it doesnt have to make sense to everyone else as long as it makes sense to each other, and thats what makes it so special!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺 GAHHHH

AND THEN. AND THEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! there was only ONE FUTON!!!!!! (and its the one iwaizumi is in!!!!!!!!!!) AAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAA SHAKING THE BARS OF MY CAGE LET ME IN LET ME IN!!!!!!!!!!!!! IWAIZUMI U LITTLE SHIT I LOVE U IM GOING TO BITE U!!!!! U KNEW WHAT U WERE DOING!!!!!!!! WEEPING IM WEEPING IM CRYING !!! and thinking abt the similar times when they slept beside each other as children!!! but now its ... its more !!!!!!!!!! iwaizumi petting reader's back what if i chew my ankle off..., aaaaAAAAAAAAAA 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

ALL THE WAYS TO SAY 'I LOVE YOU'!!!!!

tears PISSING from my eyes dont look at me.

and then omg ofc,,, ofc,,, iwaizumi telling reader they look good!!!!! WEEPS... AND THE . THE !!! THE THIS!!!

“You two should go and find somewhere to sit,” Tooru insists, shaking his finger from Hajime to you, “We’ll go grab some more food and join you later”. Hajime levels him with a flat look. “All three of you are needed for that?” “Yes,” Tooru smiles back, an intensity to his expression. You shift your weight from left foot to right, waiting with bated breath.

^ oh my gah... OH MY GAH!!!!!!! i was holding my breath while this was happening bc i was like omgggg what if !! what if he POINTS IT OUT!!!! omg i WAS reader in this scene BEING SO ANXIOUS AAAAAA BC when u. when u like someone and ur friends know abt it and do stuff like this it can feel SO obvious. it can feel so awkward and obvious and scary... but thank god for iwaizumi being who he is LMAO...

(thru incoherent sobbing) AN D THN. THEN. AND THEN THE CONFESSION SCENE oh my GOD i burst into tears they were PISSING FROM ME EYES LIKE U WOULDNT BELIEVE!!!!!! READER U ARE SO BRAVE AND LOVABLE GAAAAAH !!! GAAAH..,, THEIR RAMBLING ... THEIR CONFESSION.... LAYING THEMSELVES OUT LIKE THAT PHEWWWWW ... PHEEEWWWWWWW...

and omg iwaizumi's silence RRAAAGAGHHHHHH DONT LEAVE US HANGING LIKE THAT SJDHFKDSJH !!!! but side note its so silly(/lh) to me that reader was thinking maybe iwaizumi was gonna be like "sorry i dont feel the same way" after he tried to suck their face off SDKJFHSKDJFHDSJK /LH /AFF LMAOOOO idk <333 smooching them. iwaizumi move aside or smh.

"I love you too. Not sure if there was ever a time that I didn’t,"

dont lOOK AT ME DONT NO ONE LOOK AT ME !!!!!!! im going to . EAT MY FOOT!!!!!!!!

and then they BANG and its TENDER and LOVING and FULFILLING EMOTIONALLY SPIRITUALLY PHYSICALLY GAAHHHHHHH . iwaizumi WOULD be good at eating thussy thats canon . these bitches r so in love and i love that 4 them,,, weeps.... and the fact that reader looked up the distance to california :(((( on god thats some loverboy(gn) shit /pos

monty ... i am holding yer face in me hands... kissing u on da cheek so tenderly ... i am so glad i finally had the time to read this and respond... weeps cries... i loved every second of it 🥺🥺🥺🥺 i always will 💖💕

AN OBSERVER OF LONGING ┊ IWAIZUMI HAJIME

synopsis: with a few days remaining, the five of you run from Tooru and Hajime's impending departure for a little longer—and tackle some unearthed feelings along the way.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, childhood best friends to lovers, romantic + sexual tension, mutual pining, a lot of casual physical affection, sharing a bed, angst + fluff, masturbation, festivals, alcohol consumption (everyone) + smoking (makki), yay love confessions, emotional hurt/comfort, eventual smut, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (reader rec.)

wc: 18K

↳ written in three days while in my feels and on new medication: for the komorebi collab hosted by yours truly lmao ↰

Like most impulsive plans it stemmed from a tipsy throwaway comment. Ruddy cheeks, the warm, honey tinge of whiskey on his breath, Hajime’s lips came loose. 

“We should go somewhere together,” he’d said, ensconced by the booth cushions. Your gaze met meaningfully across the table, half lidded and dopey. Even as Issei’s arm wrestled its way around his neck and jostled him, wrangled him closer with the promise of teasing, Hajime had not looked away from you. 

“Oh! Let’s rent a little bus, like in the movies. That’s a cute idea,” Tooru enthused, inflection slurred by the warmth of his liquor. “Hajime, who knew you could be so cute?”

“Hajime has always been cute,” Issei drawled, eyes gleaming as his knuckles successfully rub back and forth over Hajime’s skull, even as the man squirms against it. “But you’re both leaving again soon. We can’t go far, or for long”.

It had been pure luck that Tooru and Hajime managed to synchronise their brief visit home in the first place. You think that they might’ve even conspired to match their flight times as close as humanly possible, just so they could find one another in the airport upon arrival. 

“Now look. Poor ‘kawa,” Takahiro strummed his finger over Tooru’s puckered bottom lip, pink and plush as it bounces back. “Quick. Tell him he’s cuter before he starts crying”. 

And the drink-addled idea passed. You, however, let the thought marinate in the morning that followed. Knowing that it was Hajime who suggested it felt significant. He’s the quiet sentimental type. With both his and Tooru’s upcoming departures you had fully expected to be inundated with their company—savouring the remaining time you had left, never quite touching on the topic, still too tender for the three of you. It surprised you. A trip felt final. Another last hurrah. The tying of loose ends, to separate on a good note. 

Ultimately you decided to forward a link to an article detailing different overnight itineraries and festivals to the group chat with hopes of bringing it to fruition. Now you found yourself standing beside Hajime’s car under an early eventide in a pair of old sweatpants too long at the ankle and listening to them bicker, wondering why you ever got the ball rolling. 

Phone, check. Keys, check. ID, check. Wallet, check. Overnight bag—

You glare down at the offending object propped on the ground beside your feet. A good twenty minutes of your frantic afternoon had been spent trying to zip the thing shut. Check.

“But Hajime, the otter cafe!”

Tooru yelps, and you glance up in time to watch as Iwaizumi jostles and loosens his grip, “No. We don’t have time. We’re sticking to the plan".

“Are those even ethical?” Issei wonders under his breath, bending at your side to lift the case and ignoring your weak protests. It’s handed off to Hajime with ease, and you allow yourself a brief appreciative glimpse of the muscle flexing under his fitted shirt. 

You shake your head, full of mirth as you call to him, “Tooru”.

The sinking sun is crowning his head in a dewy flare. Tooru looks up from Hajime’s back and the halo slips, highlighting the hidden wispy strands of ginger by his temples. Balmed lips pouted, his brow arched in question.

“Stop fussing and sit with me”. 

The curiosity smooths out and he looks increasingly pleased at the request. It lasts a few sweet moments, broken by the smug uptick of his mouth. Tooru grins, “Of course you want to sit next to me. I’m your favourite after all”. 

Years of repetitive back and forth taught you that arguing that point was futile. With a fond eye roll, you reach across in his approach to pinch at his bicep. “Just get in the car before I change my mind,” you say. 

You duck in to sit beside Tooru while he scrambles for the window seat. Hajime is angled toward you while he fiddles with the centre console, a muscled arm wrapped around the headrest, deliberately waiting for you to meet his gaze. When you do, he mouths the words, “Thank you”. 

From the minute you met there’d always been something there. Maybe it was pheromonic, the way you know something is right the instant you find it; or maybe it was the chubby, six year old hands that plucked the cicada shell from your hair one summer morning. Presque vu, years spent waiting on the tip of your tongue. It doesn’t escape you that this might be the last chance to do anything about it. 

You’re shaken from your reverie when the car rocks on its axles. Issei throws himself into the far right passenger seat beside you with a heavy sigh. Broad shoulders push you closer into Tooru, thighs pressed together and feet parted awkwardly on either side of the rear suspension. 

Takahiro excitedly clambers in the front with an energy drink in hand, uncapped, earning an indignant shout from Hajime when he slams the door with too much force. 

“Oi—!” 

You grin as he struggles to dodge Hajime’s successive smacks. “Alright, alright! I’m sorry, be nice!” 

“I told you already, it's my dad’s car. That means no tracking dirt, no spilling anything, and no smoking inside. Capiche?”

“Aye-aye,” Issei drones, knuckles grazing your hip where he fastens his seatbelt. There is little space, yet it is oddly comforting. Tooru snorts, slumping until a head of unkempt brown hair rests heavily against your shoulder, tilting briefly to nuzzle your jaw. 

The radio switches on automatically as the engine starts, an initial splutter tapering off into a gentle hum. You reciprocate Tooru’s affection and rub your cheek over his crown, inhaling the familiar scent of coconut milk shampoo. He takes your weight without complaint, and when Issei leans forward to receive a sip of Takahiro’s energy drink, your knees knock together. 

Hakone was the chosen destination, thanks to a local festival taking place tomorrow. Of the five of you, Hajime is the best driver in terms of navigation and road knowledge. Issei is a close second. Both Tooru and Takahiro got their licences for the sake of convenience, but you doubt they could make their way around a clockwise roundabout without crying. 

Takahiro whoops, his hand thudding in line with the beat on the car roof, “Road trip, baby!” 

The scenery becomes less and less familiar, turning onto streets you do not recognise. Heading west out of Tokyo toward the Chuo Expressway, it isn’t until a passenger window is opened and a gust billows into the car that you shake the final dregs of sleep. Tooru’s hair is whipping in the wind as Hajime reaches for the radio and switches channels, bass vibrating through the speakers. 

Reality sets in like a slow simmer and excitement buzzes under your skin as the giddiness swells. You lean forward, cheek squashed unflatteringly to the back of the driver's seat, and paw at Hajime’s arm. 

“Turn it up, Haji”. 

Above the road ahead is a large blue sign detailing directions to Lake Kawaguchi—a purposeful detour, for the sake of acting like tourists. There’s a spot with a perfect view of Mount Fuji. Despite having lived only a forty minute ride from Tokyo, you can’t say you’d ever thought to look at it outside of a postcard. 

It’s nice to step into the shoes of another. View the country through a less acclimated lense. You’re taken through winding roads that thread between verdant mountains; entrenched by nature, only to be thrown out into the open as the foliage breaks. 

Lake Kawaguchi greets you brightly, the sunset surface glittering across a vast horizon. You are yelling harmoniously with Takahiro as it comes into view. Issei’s phone is already pressed against the window, scenery rolling across the camera screen as he repeatedly taps his thumb to recalibrate the focus. 

“I can hear you laughing at me,” he casts a suspicious look over his shoulder. 

You grin, “You’re such an old man”. 

“We’ll park just up here. There’s a good spot for pictures down by the bank,” Hajime says, the heel of his hand flat to the wheel as it turns left. “Not too far to walk. Pretty sure there’s a cafe just nearby, too”. 

You watch his reflection in the rear view mirror, admiring the soft crinkles by his eyes. His mouth isn’t visible but you know he’s smiling. Issei bumps his knee into yours—again. Simultaneously, Tooru bends make quiet kissing noises against your ear. Swatting them isn’t justice enough, and threatening to throw them out of the moving vehicle only makes them snicker. 

The car park is entirely deserted and unmonitored, surrounded by brush. No line markings or need for payment, just a part of the ground carved out and filled with gravel that crunches beneath the tires as it displaces. Cruising toward the far end of the lot, Hajime chooses the spot right by an old staircase that appears to lead down the bank. 

He pulls the handbrake with a resounding click and shuts off the engine. Comfortable silence befalls you as the radio cuts out. Soft, muted chirps rippled throughout the treeline, and as Issei popped open his car door, those first few notes bloomed into many more.

You climb out and step onto the uneven ground, the crisp air pinching the tips of your ears. You reach up and rub at them, running your palms over your cheeks in hopes of warmth. It isn’t cold—just refreshing. Cool enough to feel it in your sinuses when you breathe. 

“Come on,” Tooru whines. He’s already stood by the railing, weight shifting restlessly between his feet. You smile at the bounce of his hair, frame outlined in darkening sunlight, breaking through the curls like a canopy. 

An arm snakes loosely around your back and Hajime pulls you into his embrace. You fall in line with him, his pace purposefully slowed to remain at your side. He guides you forward, and once you’re close enough, the others begin to descend the staircase. 

You hear Issei whistle. Glancing up from the final step, you’re met with a watercolour come to life. Open skies, there lay smudges of orange, red and pink. No telling up from down. The surface of the lake is completely still, reflecting a perfect mirror view of Mount Fuji. 

“Wow,” you murmur, breathless. Hajime hums in agreement, awe bleeding into the sound. Tooru is crouched near the water, struck with wonder, idly swirling his fingertips over the surface as Takahiro and Issei station either side of him, the pair deep in thought. 

Dragging your eyes from the picturesque view, you take in the emotion on Hajime’s face. People always claimed him to be intimidating—he could be, without question. But to you, Hajime was made up entirely of soft lines, deliberate kindness and telegraphed movements, as though he were a gentle giant, despite being the shortest of the four players. 

He still carries some chub in his cheeks. You know, because you’re often inundated with the urge to pinch at it. This is your Hajime, the one you’ve always known; only now there’s stubble lining his jaw. 

“It’s grown back again already,” you comment sotto voce, careful not to disturb the pensive atmosphere that has settled by the lakes edge. “You really are a big boy now”.  

“It’s annoying”. 

“Looks good though,” you muse. “Kinda rugged. I like it”. 

His throat flexes as he swallows, hand coming up to itch his jawline, and you try not to stare. It’s always so easy to turn him pink. “You do?” 

Too much, you think, poking the swell of his cheek in lieu of a response. It yields under the pressure, and as he smiles it takes on the appearance of a dimple. 

Casual affection was second nature, now. You found yourself thankful for the excuse to touch, and knowing that he’ll be leaving soon has emboldened you somewhat. All those years ago you’d preemptively decided that crossing the threshold would lead to rejection, but the initial borders defining your relationship have long since blurred, and it’s hard not to wonder where you truly stand. If you got it right.

“Guys,” Takahiro demands your attention, hand cupped by his mouth with a lit cigarette held precariously between his fingers. The other is in the air waving his phone back and forth. “We’re here to marvel at the miracles of mother nature, not each other!”

You step out of Hajime’s embrace, disguising your reluctance. 

Joining their lanky huddle rewards you with a chorus of cheers as Tooru latches on to your back and props his chin atop your shoulder. He flashes an effortless peace sign. The others attempt to fit themselves into the frame mirrored on Hanamaki’s phone screen, an iridescent crack running from one corner to the other, Mount Fuji’s blushing snowy peaks crowning your heads. 

“You really gotta get that fixed,” you hear someone say. Their voice is muffled, as if they’d been talking with their lips closed, and one glimpse finds Issei trying resolutely to keep his posed smirk in place. Your own mouth flattens into a thin line to keep yourself from laughing. 

The camera shutters.

You groan, “I wasn’t ready for that one”. 

A few more are taken and sent to the group chat, eyes on you while you set a particularly sweet one as your wallpaper. Crowing with delight, you find yourself surrounded by bodies and squeezed in a firm group hug. 

“Alright, alright,” you huff. The discomfort stems more from the insistent, cramping sensation in your stomach. Your smaller hands meet a hard, muscled abdomen, pushing fruitlessly. Neither man budges. If anything, your resistance only encourages them to coil tighter. “You’re all too heavy. Get off!” 

They relent, but only at the sound of your gut rumbling. “Hungry?” Hajime asks. The sheathing sun reflects in his irises, burning bright, verdant green, as though he were part of spring itself; soft in apology.

“Food is that way,” Issei points out. “Looks like it’s open. Maybe”. 

There’s a stout, cosy structure further along, tucked atop the edge of a hill and half hidden by a cradle of Japanese maple. If you squint you could make out the moving silhouettes inside. 

Tooru cranes his neck, lips comically pursed as he looks toward the cafe. “It’s pretty romantic. If we have Hajime get on one knee out here for a picture, think they’ll give us a free meal?” 

Hajime shoves him half heartedly and clicks his tongue, “Why me? Do it yourself”. 

You watch as they share a long, unspoken moment, conversing without words. Tooru offers him a scathing look, one of total incredulity and that alone is enough to break the suspension. Hajime juts his chin in the opposite direction and turns his back, beginning a stiff march toward the cafe. 

“What was that all about?” 

“He’s so bullheaded,” Tooru muses, knuckles rapping gently to your skull as he passes. When you are offered nothing but a fond laugh in the face of your confusion, you stalk off after them. 

Petulance has you speeding ahead of the group, further picking up the pace at the sound of hurried feet. The natural instinct to run nips at your heels. As the earth begins to incline upward and your strides broaden, there’s a burn in the back of your thighs that Takahiro seems to have no issue with, if his sudden sprint ahead has anything to say about it. 

“Last one there has to pay!” 

“Bastard,” Issei hollers from the back, refusing to run and carried by his heavy gait. “Just because you’re unemployed!” 

Your lungs are burning with the exertion, laughter coming in short bursts. Issei remains in last, Tooru second, Hajime fourth. From the terrace, Takahiro pieces his thumb and forefinger together into the shape of a heart, nowhere close to apologetic. “Buy me something and I’ll give you a big wet kiss,” he returned in a singsong voice.

Issei lumbers through the gate, movements broad and slow. His brow arches, Takahiro immediately losing bravado. “You’d do that for free”. 

“Get me out of here,” Hajime mutters. “Kill me”.

You take pity on him and herd them all through the doors, “Less flirting and more pastries, please”. 

Inside is painted in rich deep browns. The fresh air weaves well with the aroma of freshly baked goods. You breathe it in, your hands dancing over shelves sparsely stocked with baskets of flatbread, loaves and cakes. While quaint, the ceilings are high, held up by large beams on which decorative lights and plants are carefully draped. 

You feel slightly awkward and out of place in your shabby old sweatpants. A calming melody is playing overhead. Soft spoken voices belonging to the few employees and fewer patrons encourage you to lower your own into a whisper. 

Hajime subtly leans down to listen as you say, “I think we should get our food to go”. 

He hides his amusement against your shoulder and you accept the brief weight with a grin. Then you feel him nod in agreement. 

Issei holds his hand out when you reach the counter. There are already multiple paper bags tucked under his arm. “Give me the goods before I change my mind,” he says, exasperation set plain on his face. 

“Thank you Issei,” you recite like a child, pressing two sweet rolls shaped like a cornet into his palm. Hajime chooses comfort—curry bread. Shared on countless late night walks home; the memories stir something melancholic deep within your chest that you’d rather not examine right now. 

Your initial concern about being out of place were not entirely unfounded. The employee behind the register greets your group kindly enough, and her smile is genuine, but you cannot ignore how her eyes seem to flicker back and forth to the disgruntled customers seated by the terrace. 

If you had to guess, they were regulars. Retired elders that lived nearby and had the privilege to spend their evenings here. Though irritating, you are honest enough to admit that your gaggle of idiots would certainly fracture this place’s peaceful ambiance. So Issei pays, feigning nonchalance at the long, wet kiss Takahiro leaves on his cheek, and you trudge back to the car with food in hand.

Tooru ambles around to the front passenger seat, hip checking Takahiro toward the back where he previously sat. You knew he might do this at some point during the trip. Eating before a car ride made him prone to nausea, and since he was young he’d claimed sitting in the front helped. Anpan held between his teeth, Tooru peers at you through the headrests and smiles with his eyes, entirely too pleased. 

Takahiro nudges your side as he clambers in. Lifting your hips, he buckles the seatbelt, and soon after you are half-draped over his lap to allow Issei to do the same. You glare at him as he wiggles his eyebrows, stopping short when he flashes you his phone. There’s a picture, this time of you and Hajime at the lake curled into each other; you’re cradled by his arms, and he by the mountainside, entirely in your own world. 

You relent, “Send me it”. 

“As I thought,” he mutters smugly. 

The lake is rarely out of view. Heading south to Hakone, the road hugs the water for most of the journey. Tooru connects his carefully curated road trip playlist to the speakers and the car swells with an old city jpop song. You pick at your sweet rolls, barely humming along; choking on feelings left to fester in your throat, unacknowledged and unspoken. 

You remember the day they told you their goals for the future. Plans to leave. Together, across from you, hands wrung in their laps. Grief filled your body like lead, and you recall thinking to yourself, half-hysterically, ‘How can I do this alone?’

That was a time in your life you couldn’t imagine a world without Tooru or Hajime in it. Day in, day out, seasons passed side by side. Three small stars converging on the same path. It never needed to be clarified—all plans were made with the tacit promise of being together. The unwillingness to part pulled even your families along and you were hard pressed to recall a first New Year shrine visit without their relatives present. Until they decided to leave. 

It’s loneliness tinged with a smidgen of guilt. You’re not truly alone. Issei and Takahiro are some of your best friends, and they weren’t going anywhere far anytime soon. Still, you can’t help but brace for the ways your orbit will further unfurl in Hajime and Tooru’s absence when they return to their lives.

Hakone is a town tucked away in the shadow of Fuji-Hakone-Izu national park. Long, mountainous roads lead you toward an expanding vista. Faces sun drenched in varying hues of red maple, pink blossom and youthful green. The next hour and a half passes in the blink of an eye and the destination closes in. You angle your head, stretching across Takahiro’s lap and squinting up to make out the shape of ropeways cutting across the burgeoning sky. Tiny, far off carriers glide along the cables. 

Something about it compels everyone to stop and take a breath. You lapse into pleasant silence. The car slows to cruise through the busy streets, music lowered into a faint buzz. It is larger than life. 

While advertised as a quaint getaway from the chaotic, fast paced lifestyle of Tokyo, in actuality Hakone is made up of seven separate villages, each with its own distinct history. Lush hills crowned with cumulus clouds of smoke from the hot springs; young families standing beneath grand, crimson painted torii gates; vendors sheltered from the sun by conical straw hats tied beneath their chins with silk. 

To get to Gora, you must first cut through Yumoto—a lively, compact area lined with shops and restaurants that have attracted an uncomfortable amount of foot traffic. Hajime drives with his body strung tight, knuckles losing colour as yet another tourist almost walks out in front of his car. 

“Almost there, man,” Issei offers sympathetically.

Hajime grunts, “Don’t talk to me”. 

Tooru is too preoccupied with taking pictures to notice his best friend's struggles. The small noises of awe only seem to push Hajime’s shoulders higher. You have to duck away from the rear view mirror and bite your inner cheek so as not to laugh.   

Eventually, the place you’ll be staying at comes into view. You all release a collective sigh of relief. The modernised ryokan is much larger than most family run facilities. It sits conspicuously on the end of a private road, concealed by forest and threadbare canopy that casts shadows across the windshield as the car pulls in, sliding effortlessly into one of the empty spaces. 

Four staff members adorning pastel yukata’s greet you by the wide genkan with a deep bow. The woman standing behind the reception desk mirrors them when she meets your eye. You’re offered a pair of new grey slippers and gently ushered out into the lobby with your outdoor shoes in hand while Hajime heads to check in. 

When he rejoins the group his expression is distinctly uncomfortable and pinched in a way you recognise as embarrassment.

“There’s been a mix up with the room—suite, I guess,” Hajime admits. Hesitant, his gaze drags up from the floor to where you’re standing beside him. “I showed her the booking but no dice. We’re stuck with a tatami room and bathroom, but she promised there’d be enough futons to roll out”. 

While it was last minute they’d all designated tasks to each other, and his task had been booking accommodations. Having expressed that he would make the effort to get you your own room for the sake of privacy and comfortability, despite your protests, you understood his immediate reaction. Letting people down—at least, his own arbitrary idea of it—never sat right with Hajime. 

“Let me go talk to her, Iwa-chan. I might even charm her into giving us some extra amenities,” Tooru grins wolfishly, already fiddling with the cuffs of his sweater. Faint freckles scattered along his forearms, some newer from the summer months. Tendons flexing with determination, he takes the proffered print out and saunters toward the counter. 

“I can be charming,” Hajime mutters childishly, shucking the cross bag higher up his shoulder. He frowns you. “Am I charming?” 

You pat his cheek. His pride always rears over the most obscure things. “In your own way”.

Takahiro voices his amusement with a heavy clap to Hajime’s back. “Yeah, man. You appeal to people’s baser instincts. Makes me wanna get knocked up in a cave and nap while you’re out hunting for boar, or something”. 

“Shut up, idiot”. 

Tooru leaned his body against the counter, closed the distance and tilted his head, a coy sequence you’ve paid witness to a thousand times. You can imagine how he’s holding the receptionist's attention, speaking in low, dulcet tones that slide through her like warm butter. 

“What a bastard,” Issei sighs. Hajime grunts his agreement, and you realise that the four of you are lined up, watching them unashamedly as if it were a piece of theatre. 

“Alright, weirdos. Move it,” you prod insistently at Takahiro’s waist, snickering when he flinches away from your fingers. “Stop staring and get your bags together so we’re ready”. 

“You sure are confident in him,” Issei smirks, picking up his luggage nonetheless. There’s a loud click as you extend your suitcase handle, pulling with force when it jams halfway. 

“You’re not? It’s Tooru—” your voice abruptly halts at the heat of another, their hand encompassing your own. Hajime relinquishes your grip and readjusts the handle without fanfare. Flustered, you clear your throat, “He always pulls through for us. Though I still think this is all a bit unnecessary”. 

“I, for one, am glad he’s with us and not against us,” Takahiro snorts, eyes flitting between the two as Tooru tips his head and laughs. The sound is trim, practised and forced to your own ears, yet manages to make the employee blush. “Kinda scary, isn’t he?” 

Unfettered affection pulls at the corner of your mouth. You smile, turning away from them before they can see and tease you for it. Without a doubt, you had missed being with them more than you realised, and the giddiness was hard to temper. 

When Tooru returns, it is with a self satisfied grin, a new set of keys and a slip of paper. “That her number?”

“Yep,” his lips pop as he flips it over between his fingers, flashing the numerical digits scrawled on the back before flippantly sticking it in his jacket pocket. “We now have a modern double, a tatami room and a private onsen. Don’t all thank me too quickly, now”. 

Hajime accepts the keys with a begrudged sigh. “You should worry about texting and thanking her before we leave”.

“Stop trying to make me a better person,” Tooru sniffed, allowing himself to be herded toward the cramped lift. You trail closely behind, shaking your head. 

The room is bigger than expected. Family sized, you’d say. Traditional with a modernised touch; the main tatami room that flowers in the moonlight as it floods in through the sliding lattice doors. Behind it comes the promising sound of running water and after setting all your shoes in the modest genkan—pointed outwards—Takahiro rushes to discover the private onsen.  

Hung in a recessed alcove is a silk scroll inscribed with calligraphy. Staggered wall shelves frame a small flatscreen TV, neatly decorated with painted vases and incense. Tucked away in the corner is a closet full of freshly aired futons. The rice straw flooring yields softly under your feet as you explore. 

Two other rooms are cordoned off, a smaller tatami room for the futons and one largely taken up by a double bed featuring a western style ensuite bathroom. Tourists must love this place, you think. It offers a palatable amount of Japanese culture, while simultaneously providing them with the simplistic comforts of their own. 

Issei makes work of the futons, nudging the low table and cushions into a corner and dragging the blankets over to the other room. Lip worried between your teeth, you find yourself hovering uselessly with no task to attend to aside from unpacking, which you thought to be just as useless. 

A hand snakes around your arm. Tooru’s, you soon recognise; impressively soft given his choice of career, lithe, and slightly balmy from a fruity smelling moisturiser his sister gifted him from her travels in South Korea. “Come on,” he insists without explanation, a dramatic weariness about him.

You are guided into the modern room and handed a travel sized torch identical to his own. You flinch away from the bright light as it abruptly begins to blink, but catch on quickly. ”Look everywhere you can think of”. 

“What’re you guys doin’ in here?”

Ignoring Takahiro’s question, you bend to flash the torchlight into the plug sockets. As Tooru peeks into the vents—giving the theatrical whisper of “all clear” with every check—you circumvent around the bed, looking under the frame and the nearby closet. 

“Makki, stop hovering like a ghost and check the bathroom for cameras. Actually, I’ll do it,” Tooru waves him off dismissively, sleuthing precariously into the small bathroom. “Gotta check the shower head. Can’t have my darling friends showing up on some dark web auction…”

Once Tooru is mollified that there are no hidden cameras the group allow themselves to settle. You are set up in the double room. It is the only door with a lock and a private bathroom, and you suspect that is why it was foisted onto you. 

Still you are conscious about the proximity, or lack thereof. Listening to them bicker and scuffle through the walls, their footfalls and voices passing beneath the crack in the bathroom doorway. Your fingers lingered on the turning lock for too long and in the end, you’d left it horizontal. The intense anticipation in your belly culminated into what you recognised as yearning—longing. 

The shower can only be described as a transparent box. Aside from a few shallow shelves left to house the complementary body wash, you’re surrounded only by clear, frameless glass panels that do nothing to obscure the view of your naked body. Anyone could walk in at any time. Standing under the warm spray, pressure just right against your shoulders, even as the dense steam fogs up the glass your gaze still falls back to the door handle. 

You run a washcloth over your skin and ignore the muted arousal that flares between your thighs. Sounds can be heard over the white noise, muffled by hollow mortar yet still clear enough that the sounds are coalesced into words. 

“Get your shoes off my futon,” Hajime demands. Hand braced against wet tile as though to touch the baritone of his voice, the other passes innocently over your sex, and you shudder. Thoughts wander. 

Tentative, you slide your fingers through your folds. Massage wet, loose circles around your clit. Eyes fall closed and you dip into your imagination. There’s a firm body behind you, cock grinding tantalisingly slow against your ass. Shaped around your back as though you were an extension of him. Your rhythm stutters when Hajime nuzzles below your ear. Tender kisses forge a path to your shoulder while his hands smooth across a resting stomach toward your chest.

Curtained by hot water as it patters away at the tension in your muscles, droplets slip into the seam of your lips and they part for breath. You lean on the tiled wall, seeking cool relief where the steam starts to overwhelm you, and slip abruptly on the condensation. With an undignified yelp, you quickly find your footing—though not without first knocking over the travel sized bottles of body wash. 

Deafening silence follows. You inhale deeply, exhaling to steady your breathing. A hesitant knock to the door gives you pause. The handle remains mournfully upright. 

“…You alive in there?” 

Your face twists into a grimace as you attempt to recompose yourself. You clear your throat. “I’m fine, Hajime. Sorry. The only thing I’m dying of is embarrassment”. 

His short laughter is warm and uninhibited. It rings true in your ears long after he’s gone. Turning away from the spray, your head tips forwards until it thumps against the glass. Shame prickling behind your eyes, you groan, “What the fuck is wrong with me”. 

Surprisingly there are no teasing comments awaiting you when you leave the privacy of your room, dried and redressed. All the screen doors have been pulled open, connecting the main room to the spare tatami room where they’ve rolled out all the futons to create one large bed. Five, together. You smile but don’t mention it. Issei greets you with a lazy wave from his place amongst the blankets. 

“Makki’s just havin’ a smoke,” his thumb points to the door leading out toward the private onsen. Through the lattice you can make out a blurred silhouette standing on the small veranda. 

“The other two?”

“Headed downstairs to ask about the festival tomorrow, and dinner”. 

“Are you looking forward to it?” you perk up, kneeling to sit cross legged on one of the beds. 

Issei smirks at your enthusiasm and hums an affirmative. Your eyes are drawn to the subtle movements of his hands where they fiddle with the inseam of his jeans. “Yeah. Heard they’re lighting some bonfires”. 

Your mouth parts with a sound of recognition. “On the mountainside, right?” 

“That's the one,” he nods and bows forward to rest an elbow on his thigh. You straighten up as he pins you under an intense stare. “I can slip away with the guys, if you want. Tomorrow. It would be a good time for you to talk to him”. 

Heat prickles over your face. Your pinch your cheek between your teeth, eyes instinctively darting to the hallway. You’re not sure whether it’s his consideration of you or your own piteous transparency that makes you want to cry. It has been this way for years; a tentative dance that never seemed to end. They all know. You wished you could still be ignorant of that. 

“Do you…” you clear your throat as your voice cracks. Issei’s gaze softens and you feel naked. “Do you honestly think that’s a good idea?”

After a short, pensive silence, Issei exhales a long breath and lays his hands flat on the futon. He leans into the heel and pushes onto his knees to drop his body heavily beside yours. 

You struggle against his weight as he slumps, flinging both arms around your waist. “Issei—!” an aborted yelp falls from your mouth when he hooks his chin over your shoulder and locks his jaw, pressing it into your back. 

“Stop! That hurts, bastard!” you squawked, pushing down against the forearm cinched across your middle like a belt. They flex under your hands, not moving an inch. You can feel his cheeks lifting as he grins. 

“Sure. When you stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he offers slyly, tightening his grip. You fall slack as the fight bleeds from your body. There’s a familiar burn behind your eyes, closely followed by a swell in your throat that the words can’t quite seem to get around. “And for the record, I do think it’s a good idea”. 

“It’s a terrible idea,” you intone flatly, smile fraying at the edges. “He’s leaving again after this, Issei”.

Issei must hear the clear defeat in your voice because he gathers you against his chest to hug you properly. “I know,” he murmurs. You breathe in the light notes of amber lingering on his skin, his big hand splayed between your shoulders.

Then you feel the unmistakable press of a kiss to your crown. “You’re a coward,” your brows knit together as you glare up at him. It's just like Issei to make it sound like you’re fussing over nothing after you’ve spent years building it up in your head. His grin widens, crooked. “But you’re our coward, and we want to see you happy”. 

You feel your irritation melt away at his sincerity. A smile curls at the corner of your mouth. The sweet atmosphere is swiftly soured as he adds, “So hurry up and fuck already”. 

Takahiro’s return is poorly timed. Shutting the lattice door behind him, he strolls in with scent of tobacco following close behind, “Who’s fucking?”

A wave of embarrassment washes over you. It makes you go hot and cold in quick succession. Issei surrenders and rolls onto his back, cushioned by the futon as you push him away, loud cackles bouncing off the walls. 

“Nobody is. Be quiet, the pair of you”.

“Is it about Hajime?” he continues, crouched before you with eyebrows wiggling suggestively. Takahiro jumps backwards with a snicker when you angle your hips to kick at him. The bitter smoky smell is much stronger around his fingers. He grabs your ankle to keep you still but Takahiro’s smug air dissipates in an instant, mouth falling open as you drag him down. “Hey—!”

Issei stays quiet with his arms tucked behind his head, happy to no longer be the target of your ire. 

That is the scene Tooru and Hajime returned to only a minute later. Having rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, Makki had accidentally pushed you down into Issei, the three of you tumbling backwards in fits of laughter. 

Spurred by the need to be included, Tooru took it upon himself to flop unceremoniously into the pile. Your pained yelp had caused quite a stir, the image of Hajime’s face twisted in worry playing on a loop in your mind. 

You inhale deeply and grimace in discomfort. The air is humid here. You can feel it sticky in your lungs, right beneath the fresh bruise blooming across your rib. Tooru’s eyes flicker, caught in the movement as you rub at your sternum. The corners of his lips downturn. 

“Sorry again,” he mumbles over the sound of gentle, trickling water from the nearby spring, knocking your elbows together. You’ve strayed toward the back of the group alongside him, his stride slowed to keep pace as you wandered around the low lit gardens to kill time before dinner. Flowers are few, evergreens abundant, stone lanterns guide you forward. 

With a forgiving sigh you link your arms to keep him close. Tooru’s rigid posture relaxes as you nuzzle against his bicep. “Nobody died. It’s fine,” you laugh quietly. 

“If it were up to Iwa-chan I might’ve”.

You roll your eyes. “I can handle a bit of roughhousing. Grew up with you, didn’t I?” 

Tooru’s face is thrown into stark relief as moonlight filters through the canopy, and you watch his small smile scrunch up into a moue. “With my sister you mean,” he says, with a fondness betraying his expression. “What a beast”.

You have vague memories. Downy brunette hair fisted in a small hand. Eyes swollen with tears. A young boy sent to the corner to think about his actions. Tooru always started those fights, not that he would ever admit it. But you knew he was fighting for his older sister’s attention more than anything else at the time. 

“Liar. She spoiled you all the time,” you tell him. “And you were as bad as each other”.

Tooru hums, the way he often does when he doesn’t believe you. Your paths converge, misstepping as he sways and you throw his too-innocent act a look of suspicion. “So,” he starts a beat later. 

It’s apparent in his eyes. That gleam of curiosity, and hesitance. Bingo. Tooru barely moves as you return your weight to his side and almost veer him onto the grass in protest. “No,” you reply. 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“No? Well if it’s not about me confessing to Hajime then please, do carry on”. 

Tooru makes a petulant, frustrated noise. There’s an indent in his cheek where the inner flesh is pinched between his teeth. You roll your eyes, scuffing your shoe to the stone path. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to confess now,” you tell him quietly. 

“You’re just scared,” Tooru returns under his breath. His expression is solemn now, as is his tone.

“And what if I am?” Your voice raises a bit, rousing the attention of the men up ahead. When they look back you muster a smile and give a reassuring wave. Your attention momentarily drawn to the huddle behind them by the bamboo gate. A small family shuffled by, heads bobbing with gratitude as the boys made room, when their toddler took notice of Takahiro and became appropriately delighted by him. 

While the mother spilled panicked apologies and took her daughter's hand, the girl stood on the very tips of her purple jelly sandals and Takahiro bent to let her pat him on the head before departing. Tooru drops the topic with an offended hum as you abandon him to rejoin the group, examining the trim of his nails to feign disinterest, “She only liked you because your hair is pink”. 

“Actually it’s strawberry blond,” Takahiro snarks, equally affronted and amused. “Just heavier on the strawberry”.

Their movements coalesce, blindly shuffling after one another back into the hotel lobby. “Should probably head back soon,” Hajime mutters as an afterthought, his gaze trailing wall to wall before landing on the clock hung above the main desk. “Should we buy some drinks and stuff for tonight?” 

“I can get it,” you volunteer at the same time that Tooru interjects with, “We’ll go get it”. 

You glare at him.

Hajime disapproves. At the very least he’s worried. It’s in the flex of his fingers, the set of his jaw, the earthen eyes narrowed at the pair of you. “Will you be okay together?” 

“Yes, Iwa-chan. This isn’t an episode of ‘My First Errand’,” he reaffirms his grip on your arm, giving it a decisive squeeze. “It’s no problem, right? Right”. 

“Right,” you say, the decision clearly made for you. You turn your attention from Tooru’s pointed smile back to Hajime and the others. “We’re good. Text us what you want and we’ll bring it up to the room”.

Murmured acquiescence ripples through the group, and Tooru ambles you out through the main entrance as you part ways. Your entwined shadows elongate, the wall mounted sconces leading a path to the small sundry nestled in the east side of the hotel. 

“You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“No”.

“Not even if I say please?”

“No,” Tooru chimes again, tugging you through the automatic doors. The cashier acknowledges your arrival with a quick smile and continues to restock the empty shelf in front of them. 

The temperature drops as you turn onto the drinks aisle and Tooru opens the closest fridge while refusing to let go of you. “I just don’t understand why you’re not taking the chance,” he continues, frowning at the bottle labels. When he plucks the umeshu from the rack you know it’s for him. “I don’t want you to regret it”.

“They’re asking for beer and shochu,” you read tiredly from the phone in your free hand. The text chat bumps as another message comes through. “Uh… Issei wants dried calamari. We should get seaweed tempura, too”.

“Stop changing the subject”.

Annoyance sparks in your chest. “This is what we’re here to do,” you grumble, shoving your phone into your pocket and opening the adjacent fridge door with more force than necessary. You shiver at the gust of cool air. 

An indolent sigh seeps from him. “C’mon. You have to know,” Tooru murmurs, moving closer to hook his chin over your shoulder. He softly knocks your heads together. “The chances of you being rejected are less than zero”. 

“No, I don’t know that. And—even if that’s true, what then?” you shake your head, chewing your lip. “Like I told the others, it’s not a good idea”. 

“Okay,” Tooru replies, standing upright and turning to saunter away. He draws out the word as he does whenever he concedes an argument he still thinks he has won. You stare at his retreating back with a bereft sense of defeat, now cold where your arms had been linked. 

“Tooru,” you say. He makes an inquisitive noise, his nose wrinkled as he rummages through the deep fried snacks. “Being rejected and watching you two leave again—I can’t do both”. 

Your voice cracks. That strikes a chord square in his chest; the sudden crestfallen expression is evidence enough. Tooru abandons the tempura shelf and tucks the bottles of liquor under his armpit while tucking you under the other. You're a mess, a cacophony of emotion threatening to spill out through your tightly closed eyes. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to push you”.

“I mean. You did,” you laugh thickly, and Tooru has the decency to appear sheepish. He rubs his hand down your side. “But it’s okay. I know you mean well, you all do”.

It’s enough to see that it comes from a place of love. The extent of your yearning has affected him just as much as anyone. Tooru watched consistently over the years while you stood in place and dug, and dug, and dug, for somewhere to put your feelings. That along the line it became a crater you couldn’t climb out from. That while you were desperate to make it hospitable, desirable, to be a person Hajime could want, he had managed to blindly pivot around it his whole life. 

The electrical buzz emanating from the fridges is abnormally loud as Tooru, for a precious second, actually stalls to gather his next words. “Look. I’ve been thinking,” he says with a rather rehearsed air. 

“That’s not good”.

“Don’t be mean. Hear me out,” he grins. “It was weird for Hajime to suggest a trip so last minute, don’t you think?” 

You purse your lips thin with a contemplative hum, grabbing the snacks and shuffling along the aisle while he talks. You had thought it significant, that being the main reason you encouraged Hajime’s idea in the first place. “See, he’s a straightforward, honest guy. And he’s earnest. That’s why you think if he returned your feelings he would’ve said something, isn’t it?”

The cashier furtively looks you over as you wander closer to the counter and set them down. You offer a strained smile. “Hi, that’s everything. Tooru—what’s your point?”

Tooru pulls out his wallet and emphatically states, “My point is you’re wrong!” He hands over the money, “Oh, here. Keep the change. Thank you”. You take the carrier bag, wincing when the glass bottles clink together. “Anyway,” Tooru exhales a heavy breath, visible as he steps into the night air, “You’re underestimating his cowardice”. 

Coward was not a descriptor you’d ever ascribe to Hajime. Yourself, sure. You shoot Tooru a sidelong glance, and he smiles at your clear scepticism. “Iwa-chan is bad at being selfish. He feels a certain responsibility toward the people he cares about. Did on our old team, and with the guys, and especially with you,” Tooru continues, a warmth to his tone. “He’s probably not thinking about his own feelings. He’s mostly worried about you, and yours”.

Your pace lags until you’ve come to a stop. Tooru does so a few steps ahead. “So he brought us here for what? To let me down gently?”

“Did you listen to a word I just said?” Tooru cocks his head, the moon crowning his head, light threading through his hair as his expression is shadowed. “I think he was always aware of what could change if he outright confessed. He needed to be sure, and he needed a reason, because his gorilla brain thinks it’ll ruin your whole relationship. That’s why we’re here,” you blink at his lithe fingers, waving in your face and wriggling. “It's an excuse. Because he wants to try!”

Eyes wide, caught in the place between awed disbelief and crippling anxiety, your fingers almost slip from under the bag handle. The trip being symbolic of Hajime’s resolve—could that make sense? You swallow against the lump in your throat. Memories of every recent there-and-gone-again touch and gentle look hold new meaning as they resurface. “He said that?” 

“Well, no”.

And the lump in your throat, presumably your heart, drops straight into your stomach. You march past Tooru into the hotel lobby with a bitter laugh. 

“Wait, would you—! You’re both so frustrating”.

“Me?” you whirl around to glare at him. People linger at the edge of your vision. Those prim, soft looking women that greeted you mere hours ago are gathered at the reception desk and pretending not to stare. Lowered into a broken rasp, you tell him, “What happened to not pushing? You aren’t being fair, Tooru”. 

“This isn’t about fairness. You said you're scared,” Tooru says. Your eyes dipped low to avoid the surety in his gaze. “And that’s fine. I just want you to consider that maybe you’re not the only one who’s scared”.

His words register gradually, and they make you ache; similar to that of a bruise, as the implications become clearer, and your reply comes quietly—not whispered, with a voice that carries no strength. “Fine,” you lift your head, ball your fist tighter and the plastic handles dig into your palm. The tension smooths in Tooru’s brow. His eyes soften, squinting at the corners, and you realise you’ve begun to smile too. “I’ll keep it in mind. You’ve said your piece. What now?”

“Oh. Now we go back to the room before Hajime sends a search party, eat as much as we want and drink until we fall asleep,” Tooru says, casting a quick glance to your surroundings. He drapes arm around your shoulders haughtily, “Then at the festival tomorrow I’ll conveniently slip away with Makki and Mattsun to leave you and Hajime alone. Do with that what you will”. 

You snort, feeling an unrestrained fondness for your friends, and will yourself not to cry. “You three already had this planned, didn’t you? Issei told me the same thing”. 

“Confess, don’t confess. Either way, I think it’ll be good for you to talk alone,” he says resolutely. Tooru’s one armed embrace has the steadiness of home. You return it, hooking around his lower back, and walk together. His strides that much longer, and you feel a smidgen braver.

Returning to the room you’re greeted by the sight of three men crowded in the genkan pushing to get their shoes back on. As Tooru anticipated they were preparing to go out looking for you both. The smile on your face only grew at Hajime’s admonishments now you're considering the love behind them, Tooru’s words relaying through your memory. 

If Takahiro and Issei exchange a look at the bounce in your step, well. You happily ignore it. 

Yukatas had been laid out neatly for each of you to wear for dinner. Once you’ve changed you putter into the main room and settle on your knees, resting back on your calves. The tatami is comfortable underneath your shins. Set on the table is a lavish spread of food brought up to you by the ryokan staff. 

The heat of another body radiates to your left. Hajime smiles when you look at him and your heart thunders. He’s unbearably handsome in his complimentary robe, a darker blue than your own, and he has it loose at the neck. You feel a headache coming on with the effort it takes not to ogle his chest. 

To your right Takahiro’s navy coloured garb is worn equally loose, somehow managing to look dishevelled rather than natural. As though he had pulled it on haphazardly in his excitement to get to the food. 

Tooru saunters into the room alongside Issei. His robe matches your own. It is drawn tight at the waist and closed at the collar, closely outlining his upper half. You are always startled by how broad Tooru truly is, given how lithe his movements are. He huffs when he notices the spots rather side of you are taken. 

“Ready to eat?” Issei rumbles, sitting opposite at the low table looking nonplussed as ever. You can’t help noticing his belt is barely holding tension and could fall open at any time, both sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. It smells incredible,” you say. The dinner is beautiful, a healthy array of colour, covered in mouth watering glaze. Seasonal flowers and leaves and decoratively cut vegetables have been used as finishing touches on each dish, artistically expressing the end of the summer. Your stomach twists in hunger as both palms come together in synchrony, “Thank you for the food”. 

You take your chopsticks and reach for the dish closest. Limbs cross over the table top. A familiar, homely scent of saffron, garlic and onion fills your senses. The gloaming moon watches you eat in the relaxed atmosphere. Soft sounds of satisfaction, the clang of cutlery. “S’good,” Hajime says. He catches you staring and lifts his chopsticks toward you, free hand cupped beneath it. “Want to try?” 

It’s unnecessary in the best way. “Mmn,” you replied, leaning forward with an indulgent smile. You don’t trust yourself to speak, the spark of giddiness was doing embarrassing things to your body. 

Could Hajime really return your feelings? Tooru certainly thinks so. Issei and Takahiro. Seemingly everyone that has been within twenty feet of you. 

Tooru watches the interaction over his glass of umeshu, radiating a smugness that can only be interpreted as ‘I see you’. You don’t particularly enjoy being seen to the bottom of; it makes you want to shrink back. It’s the strange flicker of determination on Hajime’s face that keeps you from doing so. 

You’re not the only one afraid to say something, a voice insists in the back of your head. 

The food falls apart gently on your tongue. You give a pleasantly surprised hum, engrossed in the rich flavours, and you almost miss how Hajime preens. His mouth pulled into a small, boyish grin, unable to look you in the eye. 

“Hey man, give me some,” Takahiro bemoans, his amusement on the precipice of teasing. You recline to allow Hajime to pass the dish across and instinctively know what will come next. “I see how it is. Not gonna feed me too? Favouritism at its finest—” With a flat glare he scoops a large chunk of rice and shovels it into Takahiro’s mouth mid sentence, and you hide a laugh behind your hand. 

As the plates empty your imagination wanders. It’s a careful unravelling of doubt. You’ve navigated every one of your relationships with a certain level of trepidation, Hajime most of all. Taking a forward step only when certain it wouldn’t creak. Years of doing nothing, saying nothing, because it was the safe option. You had been prepared to spend your life in that unspoken purgatory if it meant keeping Hajime, and there had been comfort in that decision. 

But now you have permission to hope and you don’t know what to do with it. You’re quieter than usual, though nobody points it out. If anything they seem relieved. Three of the four, atleast. Hajime won’t stop sending you worried glances. You wonder if he’s overthinking his actions, and your reactions, the way you’ve always done. 

The main tatami room is fragrant with the remains of dinner. You’ve gathered some pillows, shared out the snacks and poured their drinks, five sups in and counting. The boys are bickering over which movie to watch. Sake heats you from the inside out, plucks you right from your entangled thoughts and back into the present with loose limbs and a looser tongue. 

You speak loudly over them, “How about a comedy?” It’s the first one you can think of. “Tampopo?”

Issei, Takahiro and Hajime pause to consider. Tooru groans, already knowing he has lost the majority vote. “I wanted to watch ‘Before we vanish’,” he whines. “Sci-fi is better than comedy!”

“We always watch sci-fi,” Hajime remarks as he works the remote, switching the movie category to comedy and searching for ‘Tampopo’. 

“There’s a drinking game for this one,” Takahiro adds. “I think you sip every time somebody says ‘ramen’”. 

“If you want to be put on a waitlist for a new liver go ahead,” Issei says. 

The room briefly fades to darkness, lighting up not a second layer as the studio logo spins onto the screen, emphasising the shadows of Hajime’s laughter lines. “We should drink every time there’s a weird food-porn montage instead,” he suggests, sinking back onto his elbows. Your traitorous mind immediately notes the few inches between your hands. 

“Well I’ll be drinking in protest,” Tooru turns his nose up though his eyes betray him, fixed on the screen with obvious interest. “And I’m not sure I want to hear the word ‘porn’ from your mouth ever again”. 

“Porn,” Hajime says. “Porn, porn, porn”. 

“Quiet,” you hiss, focus absorbed by the opening scene. An odd pair of lovers, one delicate woman and her white-suited gangster, enter a movie theatre. Their entourage scurries behind them with champagne and a wicker basket of food, setting up a small table as though in a restaurant. 

“Oh,” the dapper man’s voice bleeds through the speakers as he approaches the camera to break the fourth wall and harangue the viewer. “So you’re at a movie too. What are you eating?”

“Dried calamari,” Issei answers loftily. Takahiro snorts into his drink. 

Scene to scene, you drink when prompted and settle into uninhibited contentment. Feet tucked up under your thighs, propped on a plush pillow. The heat from Hajime’s hand grazes your skin. Closer and closer until the simple stretch of your fingers would see them entwined. 

The movie is funny. It is also unabashedly sensual and hedonistic, and heavy handed about its themes surrounding food. From oysters to noodles, including a scene involving the two lovers using their tongues to move an egg yolk between their mouths before it bursts, you're barraged with wet slurping sounds as the characters on screen eat, and eat, and eat. 

“Hot,” Takahiro slurred, while Tooru cried, “What the hell are we watching?”

You drank twice for that one. Too tipsy to parse whether the hot flashes through your body were embarrassment or arousal or an intermingling of both. You’re overly conscious of Hajime’s movements and his closeness, so much so that the plot passes through one ear and out the other. 

The dim lamplight from the ensuite room pools across the tatami, the door left ajar to luminate the spot where you’ve lined up the liquor bottles. You squint at the labels. Fuzzy. Laughter ripples through the group at the ongoing scene, an elderly woman being chased around a grocery store and hit with a fly swatter for seemingly—fingering the food? 

You smile at the sound as you lift Tooru’s umeshu bottle to the light to measure the remains before pouring some into your glass. A hand circles your ankle, shifting back and forth to fit the peak into the gaps between his knuckles. The soft evocation of your name. Hajime is holding out his own empty cup with a half lidded gaze, the left side of his face thrown into stark relief by the TV screen. 

Something hot flares through your chest, your perspective on his tactile habits shifted; the initial desire suffuses to the very tips of your fingers. Now you’re restless with it. He’s so handsome, you think. And he’s still looking at you. 

You fill his drink too, and hope the alcohol will not steal these warm moments come morning. 

Once the movie is over your sprawled out bodies eventually migrate toward the futons Issei prepared. You forgo the bed to crawl into the covers, to the surprise of no one, and let your eyes trail after Tooru. The flush across his nose has steadily deepened throughout the night. He flicks on the electric fan and kneels to roots through his luggage, pulling a compact from the front pocket with a triumphant noise. 

“Comfortable over there?” Tooru circles the pad of his pinky into the balm and brings it to his mouth. The faint strawberry scent is enticing, preferable over the heady, bitter smell of beer. His brow quirks when you don’t reply. 

“Want some?” he asks. Slowly, you nod, and he flashes a wry smile, setting down the pot before stretching to reach you. The motion draws you in, tipping your chin up. His fingers are soft on your cheek, splayed out and cradling your jaw. 

Tooru kisses you. Your heart maintains a steady rhythm. It’s a friendly, chaste press of lips; you rub your own together as he pulls away not a second later, finding them smoother. Sweeter. The hints of strawberry linger right beneath your nose. Caught in your own world you fail to notice the other two men staring.

“Oh no,” Issei drawls. Turns off the light as he saunters in. He drapes himself across a prone, drunk Takahiro, tilting his head in Tooru’s direction. “My lips are so dry”.  

The atmosphere sparks a little. Issei’s teasing, syrupy tone is like flint striking steel. A fond, syrupy sensation settles around your bones—or perhaps that was the alcohol easing the tension. Flirting came easily amongst the others because it was without expectation. The silly pet names and heavy handed affection; it’s all a playful toeing of the line. People found your group dynamic odd no matter how much you tried to articulate it to them. You think in the end, it boiled down to trust. To safety. They all loved you in their own, individual ways, as you loved them. Maybe that's how you'd managed to be so content with Hajime's friendship. It had been enough.

Tooru hums and sits cross legged on his futon. He settles back onto his hands, smiling hazily as Hajime kicks his foot in passing, “I’ve noticed”. 

You can’t help appreciating how genuinely coy it is. Patently different to the way he behaves with strangers—not so forced. With his friends flirting is more about working for Tooru’s permission; it’s more fun that way. 

Issei purses his lips expectantly. Tooru leans forward. 

“You okay?” 

You blink. Hajime lowers onto the futon beside yours. His yukata has fallen further open to display his firm chest. Not that you’re looking. You’ve been cordoned on the far end of the room together. Takahiro is too drunk to make any purposeful decision but it’s obvious—at least to you—that Tooru and Issei chose from the remaining futons to keep you and Hajime together. 

“Sleepy,” you say, the lull to your voice earning a gentle smirk in response. 

“Want any, Iwa-chan?” Hajime’s frowns at the interruption and looks over his shoulder, taking in the suggestive intermittent puckering of Tooru’s mouth. You think at this rate there’ll be no balm left. 

“No thanks,” he says. 

“Have it your way,” Tooru grumbles from his place beside Takahiro, right in the centre. Pale legs kick at his covers until they’re rumpled a certain way, apparently satisfying to him, and he wriggles down into the mattress. “Still think we should’ve watched ‘Before we vanish’. I’m going to have nightmares about oysters”.

Issei snorts. He turns on his side, laid at the furthest end from you. “But does ‘Before we vanish’ use an egg yolk to symbolise orgasm?” his hand makes a sweeping gesture in the shadows, “I don’t think so”.

“Tha’s cinema baby,” Takahiro slurs, mouth muffled against his pillow. A beat passes. You meet Hajime’s gaze. His lips are pressed thin, trembling. You hear a smothered wheezing sound coming from Tooru’s futon, and the stillness is abruptly broken by a unanimous fit of laughter. 

“Shit,” your cheeks ache, your stomach is in knots as you pull the covers up over your persistent grin. The collective glee tapers. “I’ve,” Hajime starts after a deep breath, rubbing at his eyelids, “missed you idiots”.

Tooru sniffles at that. “Don’t make me cry,” he says, clearing the emotion cloying in his throat. You feel a pang of sympathy, overcome with it yourself. “I’ll wake up with swollen eyes and I forgot to bring gel masks”.

“Use a cold damp cloth or something”. 

“Mattsun, you're so primitive”.

Eventually the murmuring between the boys settles into silence; the kind that makes the shadows in your room a little darker, dense branches spreading across the ceilings and walls into a daunting canopy. The electric fan and the cicadas hum a cohesive song into the night. 

Through the thick of it, you hear a new whisper. Hajime calls your name and there’s barely any voice behind it—uncharacteristically timid. Blinking away the haze, your eyes adjust to the lack of light. You can see an inviting, wide open embrace. The corner of a blanket pulled back to expose his torso. 

Intention clear, you first glance at the sleeping figures over his shoulder. Tooru curled into a cocoon with his bedsheets tucked under his feet. Takahiro laid out on his belly, open mouthed and drooling. Issei on his side, arm bent beneath the pillow, breathing so shallow you’re tempted to pinch him awake. 

Hajime waits while you think. Your vision has sharpened enough to make out the trepid smile on his face. Emboldened, you crawl out of the futon and into his. 

“Looked cold over there,” he reasons. 

You hum in agreement. Compared to his body heat, you’d say it had been freezing. Despite all the hard earned muscle over the years, Hajime is pliable when he’s relaxed, doughy, and he yields when you begin to adjust your shared position. You guide his arm down to cinch around your waist and nestle against his chest, legs overlapped. Made up of yourselves but also each other. 

“Better?” he murmurs, breath tickling your ear. A final shiver dances the length of your spine as your nerves settle and anticipation thaws. You can feel his heart beating like a wing beneath your palm. 

It reminds you of when you were kids. The jagged shape of a tall, lego Godzilla had forced you to find home between him and Tooru more times than you could count. Everything had been so much bigger. Scarier. Still, those watercolour memories don’t quite hold a candle to this. 

Hajime’s hand glides down your back in repetitive, methodical strokes. It makes you feel delicate, like something in you might fracture. You try to ease your breathing as he pulls you closer. The proximity isn’t anything new, but this is something else. Different. It always is, with him, only this time you don’t need to convince yourself otherwise. 

Fingers twisting into the thin cotton of his yukata, you mumble, “Thanks, Haji”. 

You feel his lips on your temple like hot wax. Your eyes flutter closed, and all at once you feel brave enough to say it, but the moment passes as his head drops against the pillow. 

From the recesses of your memory rose the rehearsed speeches, the recipes for honmei chocolate, the imagined cliche scenarios that you left dog-eared in highschool. All the ways to say ‘I love you’. 

Hajime has always expressed love in smaller ways. You’ve observed, over the years, his little habits. Easing small burdens. He’d take the clothes off his own back if it could make your journey smoother but wouldn’t ever dream of asking you to stray from it. That’s where you differed, and what you feared. 

If he got cold feet you would need to be the brave one. 

For all that you had doubted about the nature of Hajime’s feelings towards you over the years, you could have some faith in it now. The thought of him leaving again without hearing it from you—without knowing you were an option—doesn’t bear thinking about. 

Vague and half-formed, you succumb to sleep on the end of a drowsy self imposed promise. Tomorrow, you’ll tell him. 

Wading through a cottony haze, your consciousness sharpens in increments. Every physiological response in your body is shouting that it is far too soon to rise. You groan, tilt your head and let it loll against your arm; the other is flung outside of the covers, fingertips skimming the futon edge. 

You’ve turned on your side in the night. Slowly, you realise a firm body has conformed to your back, knees nudged up behind your own, bending them toward your chest. The way you melt into their warmth and nudge against the cradle of their hips is instinctive. Then the shallow, steady breaths brushing the nape of your neck stutter on a sharp inhale and your eyes fly open, remembering where you are. 

Hajime. 

After a few seconds endured with bated breath you release the tension in your muscles. He’s asleep. 

There’s stark relief. The initial terror in your chest ebbs. Careful as you go, you slip out from Hajime’s grip. A crease forms in his nose, frowning at your absence, and you stay to see how he reaches for you even subconsciously. 

A long yawn forces your jaw open, tongue sitting like cotton as the last dregs of sleep fade. A quick look around the room tells you Takahiro is the only one up. The latticed door to the onsen is cracked open. You pull your yukata tighter to your chest to shield against the slight draft. Blood rushes down to your toes as you walk, prickling white noise filling both legs. 

Bordering the onsen is a quaint patio area mimicking a traditional veranda. There’s a mosaic garden table and two matching folding chairs, one of which is occupied by a visibly hungover Takahiro. 

“Anyone would think you had a night out,” you murmur, closing the door behind you. The air is cool again. Morning birdsong carries over from the trees.  Takahiro peeks at you through his lashes, a permanent frown etched into his brow. A headache, if you had to guess. He’s slumped in the chair with long legs stretched outward, a cigarette nestled in the ‘V’ between his fingers, held up by a loose wrist like it alone was too heavy.

The tip glows red as he takes another drag and turns his head away to exhale the smoke into the dew laden air. “Never let me mix drinks again,” he rasps.

“You say that every time,” you cross your arms over your middle and sit down. The metal is cold under your thighs, felt through the thin fabric. “Sleep well, atleast?”

“Like the dead,” he flashes a conspicuous smile as he brings the cigarette to his lips. “You?”

A voice nonchalant in a way that betrays his interest. Subtle in his teasing. Despite already knowing he would’ve seen you and Hajime on his way to the veranda, the confirmation leaves you feeling hot.

“It was comfortable,” you reply stiffly, braced to defend yourself ad nauseam. Takahiro’s eyes softened in the rousing grey-blue daylight. 

“Good,” he says. 

“That’s all?”

“What, you want me to force the subject? Figured you've had enough of that already”. 

“No,” you sigh, sinking into your chair. “…Thanks, Makki”. 

Takahiro shrugs lightheartedly and stubs his cigarette out. There’s movement from inside the room. At that moment the door slides open, and Hajime pops his head through the narrow gap. 

Your fingers twist hard around your obi. He looks sleep mussed where he’s sitting on the tatami, pushing the door further open to lean on the frame. There’s recognition and relief in his gaze as he glances from Takahiro to you. No indication he was awake before. 

“Hey,” Takahiro says. 

“Morning,” Hajime replies, sounding as though his throat is dry. A draft dances through and his face scrunches slightly at the nicotine smell. “I set an alarm for breakfast. They’ll be here in any minute”.

“The other two up?” you ask. 

“Mostly,” Hajime nods in their general direction. “Tooru’s getting in the shower and Issei’s on the phone to his little brother”.

Takahiro takes a deep inhale and pushes his centremost knuckle to his forehead. “I’ll go help put away the futons,” he states with a groan. Hajime tucks his legs in to allow him through and swats at the hand that scrubs over his hair in passing. 

He turns his attention to you. A crease from his pillow marks his cheek. “Have you been awake long?” 

“About ten minutes,” you reply, staring hard at the dense garden and dwindling into silence caught somewhere on the knife’s edge between awkward and companionable. Running water streams from the wooden spout into the onsen, making the surface ripple. You latch onto the sound. “Shame we didn’t use the onsen”.

“We’re still here another night,” Hajime says placatingly. “Use it when we’re back from the festival if you want”. 

You nod, adjusting your yukata without reason. The simple need for distraction. “Maybe,” your mind can’t help veering toward the worst case scenario. What would’ve changed by that time, tonight? What would you say, and how, if anything at all? The thought makes your stomach twist. You’re not sure you could recover if he reacted poorly. 

Blinking out of your reverie, you realise that Hajime had been talking. Heat prickles under your skin. “Sorry,” you grin awkwardly, and it feels brittle on your face. “Got lost in my thoughts”.

“About what?”

You wet your lips, like that could soften the blow. “I’m going to miss you,” you tell him. His expression falls. “Both of you,” you add hastily, which does little to reassure him. “When’s your flight again?” 

Hajime’s mouth thins, eyes dipping low. “Late tomorrow night. Or early I guess,” he answers. His shoulders shake and he laughs ruefully, “I’ll miss you too, y’know. Not sure you realise how much,” like it was a matter of fact. The earth would go around the sun and Hajime would miss you.

“Like a hole in my head,” you murmur, so quiet you’re not certain he heard you. Then, slightly louder, “Are you excited to get back to California?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m excited to leave. Got a lot of interesting stuff coming up this semester, though,” he perks up when you gesture, encouraging him to continue. Inwardly, selfishly, you only want to hear him speak a little longer. “One thing I’ve really wanted to do is biomechanical testing. We use it for detailed analysis of our players movement. So…”

The air stifles as the sun rises and drapes across the private veranda, warming the wood panels beneath your feed. Once breakfast has been laid out—and you’ve been bid an enthusiastic ‘good morning’ by the staff—you gravitate toward the same seating arrangement as the night prior. 

It’s nothing short of a buffet. A traditional Japanese-style breakfast, hot rice and miso soup, grilled fish, dried seaweed and shellfish boiled in soy sauce and sugar, all served across four hand-woven bamboo trays. There are western elements to the spread, including coffee and bread, which Tooru happily reaches for. 

“A person like you should really avoid stimulants,” Hajime muttered as he came to sit at the table. 

Tooru startled, hands poised over the steaming coffee pot. He pouted, “A person like me? What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Paranoid, is what I mean”.

“If you're so concerned about my overactive limbic system maybe try being nicer to me!” 

The morning crawls onward with an atmosphere of trepidation. As if waiting for the other shoe to drop. You squirrel away in the ensuite bathroom again to get dressed, taking longer than necessary. Condensation from Tooru’s hot shower sticks to the tile and the mirror’s surface. The reflection is foggy, your figure like a smudge.  You regret not bringing a kimono for the festival—knowing you’ll be surrounded by all that beauty and colour and you worry you’ll look dull in comparison. 

Regardless, you smooth out any lingering creases in your outfit. Dull or otherwise it flatters your silhouette nicely. 

“Oh”.

You step out just as Takahiro angles his mouth to exhale. Smoke plumes out the open door in delicate wisps, swept away by a humid gust of wind. “Shit—sorry,” he mutters, a little flustered as he scrambles to shield you from the smoke, eyes roving over your form. 

“You okay?” you ask, unsure if you should be amused or insecure. 

He stubs his cigarette out into the ashtray balanced on the side and wipes his hands on his jeans with such speed you worried it might create static. Then, suddenly, he’s across the room with his thumb sinking into the swell of your left cheek, tobacco fingertips framing the right; he pushes them together until your mouth is puckered. There’s nothing sweet about it. Rather, it looks like he wants to squeeze you like a clementine. 

“You’re all glowy. And determined,” the crease in his brow deepens, and he adds pressure to his fingers until you’re squirming, flustered. “And you look cute”. Issei emerges from the garden at that moment. Hand up his dark turtleneck shirt, scratching idly at the hair on his belly. 

A deep groan rumbles in his throat. “What are you two doing?”

“I think it’s finally happening”. 

Drawn to Hanamaki’s incredulous outburst, Issei stares at your confused, squashed face as it is turned in his direction. His mouth parts and he squints, as though he were searching for the right words. 

What the fuck, you think. 

“What the fuck,” he says, as if plucking the thought from the air. 

“Right?”

They sidle either side of you. Tall and looming, their overbearing presence has anticipation swooping in your belly. Issei smells it like blood in the water and hooks two fingers to pinch the bridge of your nose. “Well look at that,” he teases, bending forward until your eyes cross. “Wonder who you’re getting all dressed up for. Us?”

“Fuck off,” you grumble, though it comes out muffled and terribly nasal. Takahiro laughs, and his thumb skips over your rabbit-footed pulse as his hand slides down the column of your throat and away. 

“Oi. In all seriousness you do look good,” Issei smiles. His kind eyes squint with it. They’ve made a clear effort themselves. That’s part of the fun. 

A voice floats in from the genkan, “Who are we talking about?” Tooru looks up from his phone and he beams. “Oh! You look cute,” he says, tone light and pleasant. “Hajime will like it”.

“Your reactions are worrying me a bit,” you reply dryly in favour of ignoring the heat in your cheeks. “Anyone would think I usually look awful”. 

“No,” their three voices overlap as they protest. “You never look awful,” Tooru says, shaking you gently by the shoulders. Then he stops to consider his words. “Well. Maybe that time we thought you had strep throat”.

“What Oikawa wants to say is,” Takahiro cuts in with a flat glare in the other’s direction, “We’re here to support you today, and stuff. That’s all”. 

“And stuff,” you repeat, a fond smile coming unbidden to your lips. The surge of affection has you trying to stretch your arms around three big bodies. “You’re being overbearing. But thank you”. 

Their arms come up to wrap around your lower back and reciprocate. You are corralled into a long, strong hug, compressed from every direction. They release you when Hajime returns. He is visibly stupefied at the scene, brow knit as he fiddles with the collar of his dark denim jacket. 

Your spine straightens, taking an unnecessarily deep breath. “Hi Hajime,” you say. It feels so different now, now there's all that premeditated intent behind it. Like ‘IloveyouHajime’ bunched into a single word. 

“Hi. You look…” Hajime's throat bobs. “Good. You look good”.

You glance at the boys and chew the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress your grin, “So I’ve heard”.

The sun is at its highest point when you leave the ryokan together. You are swallowed up by gold beneath the gingko trees flanking the road, a mosaic of dappled light filtering through the partial canopy and intermixed with the softly shaded ground. 

Foot traffic grew dense on the main street, teeming with life. “Stick close,” Hajime murmured next to your ear. You suppressed a shudder and took his arm so as not to stray far. The crowd herds your group closer to the heart of the festival. Sound assailed you from every direction. Thousands of lanterns have been strung up, forming a blushing canopy over the yagura, a makeshift stage housing performers and musicians, handsome taiko drummers setting the pace for participants to gather around it and dance along in circles.

There’s a sense of harmony, pigments blended into one another. Families are swathed in beautiful kimonos and silks, jinbei and traditionally woven hats. Your group stood out for their height alone—Mattsun especially, the tallest of the four men. People part to let you through, and children look skyward with awed eyes, jumping in place to see how high they could get. 

The current pushes you towards the stalls, where an amalgamation of savoury scents pervade the air. Sweet, crisp okonomiyaki sauce, intense pickled ginger, charcoal smoked meats. Hunger knots in your stomach. Hajime looks over the heads of people and spots some vendors. 

“Guys,” he raises his voice and drops his arm around your back with firm reassurance. The others pause, colliding with the moving bodies around them. “Food first. Then we can go to the games”.

You’re suitably satiated after takoyaki. The folded boat-shape container they’d handed over to you is warm in the already throbbing heat. It burns at the nape of your neck; the sun and the many stares of those around you. Takahiro, Issei and Tooru, too, keep flicking their eyes over, as if waiting for something to happen, or some kind of sign. 

Music plays over the din. A quick-tempo showy melody, like one would hear at a circus. Takahiro points at the ring toss stall. “Hey, ‘kawa. Win me something,” he says. 

“Win it yourself!”

“Don’t be like that babe,” Takahiro laments dramatically, his movements becoming languid and sloppy as he drapes himself around Tooru’s shoulders with his mouth curled into a smarmy grin. “You’re so much better at tossing than me”.

At your back, Hajime shakes with restrained amusement. Issei catches your eye and shakes his head while Tooru sniffs primly, attempting to scrunch his own smirk into a displeased pout, and relents. “Fine,” he says. “But one of you needs to win me a mask at the rifle-shooting game”.  

“I don’t need to do anything,” Issei replies dryly as they start toward the ring toss game with startling synchrony. You glance at Hajime’s face, at another tentative, uncertain beginning of a smile, and feel the limitless joy of being together ballooning inside you.

“Did you want anything?” he asks as you walk. 

Giddy, you cling closer. Part of your brain is stuck on the thought that anyone on the outside looking in would probably assume you were a couple. “If you’re feeling generous,” you exaggerate the flutter of your eyelashes, making Hajime snort. 

Hours slip through your fingers like sand. In no time at all the sky began to darken. There’s a bubbling anticipation in your chest the later it gets. You lift your head to be met with the ochre of evening, azure blending into vivid orange at the horizon. 

Issei tips his head back to take in the sky. “Fireworks are starting soon,” he announces. Tooru’s eyes flicker to you. The tangible sense of finality that had permeated the afternoon comes to a long awaited fulcrum. You’re tempted to linger amongst the stalls, simply to vy for extra time. 

“You two should go and find somewhere to sit,” Tooru insists, shaking his finger from Hajime to you, “We’ll go grab some more food and join you later”.

Hajime levels him with a flat look. “All three of you are needed for that?”

“Yes,” Tooru smiles back, an intensity to his expression. You shift your weight from left foot to right, waiting with bated breath.

After a moment of anticipatory silence, Hajime exhales his acquiescence and turns to you. “Come on then. Let’s find a spot”.

You’re pulled along with him, casting a lasting glance toward your friends and their encouraging gestures as you go. He leads two steps ahead, shoulders drawn to his ears, which are now notably pink. The fingers around your forearm are clammy and loose enough that you could break free. Instead, you overturn your wrist and slide up into his palm, aligning your hands to properly hold him. You squeeze three times, and the rigidity in his posture lessens.

Hajime leads you away from the crowded centre toward the river bank as the display starts in an explosive burst. Couples and families have dispersed there to watch the fireworks. When he manoeuvres himself to his knees you bend to sit beside him, the soft blades of grass flattened under your weight. 

The fireworks go on for close to half an hour, great pulsing strobes, fiery dandelions and starbursts of light brightening both the sky and the water. You hear nothing over the noise, not even your own breathing. A streak of gold shoots up, few becoming many, fizzling into pinpricks of light mimicking fireflies.

You wonder after it ends, "Are the Californian displays better?"

Hajime binks at you, registering the question. He makes a contemplative sound. "Bigger, yeah. Especially on the fourth of July," he brings your joined hands over his lap and you stare as he absentmindedly strokes the back of your knuckles. "Wouldn't say that makes it better. Better depends on the company".

You mumble your agreement, "Think the others missed it?"

"Would be pretty hard to miss," he smirks softly, falling into a comfortable silence. Childlike laughter chimes around you, sparklers of every colour glowing etching names and shapes into the darkness. “They’ll be around here somewhere”.

You lift your gaze, staring at his profile. Your eyes traced the line of his jaw up to the delicate shell of his ear. “Hey,” you mumble, drawing his attention away from the surroundings. Speckles of light reflect in his irises as he turns to face you, cheekbones burnished with a soft red afterglow. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something”.

His brow arches in lieu of a response. Every movement he made you mirrored without meaning to. Quieter than before, you start, “I…” and as fast as it comes your resolve withers. Stretches and thins into weak, fibrous threads.

“What’s wrong? Is it that bad?” he tries for a grin. Hajime puts on a brave face for you, he always does. But you can hear the genuine concern in this voice, and it spurs you on.

"Just don't want you to think I'm being selfish".

“You can be selfish sometimes," Hajime argues.

“Even with you?”

“Especially with me”.

You scrunch your eyes shut.

Hajime frowns and rushes to wipe the stray tear with his thumb, swiping right through it like spider silk. "Take your time," he murmurs, hands an unsteady counterpoint to the surety in his voice. Your heart beats, a desperate rattling behind your ribs. Trembling hands, damp skin. The swoop in your stomach that makes you feel as though your body is precariously balanced on a cliff's edge. This could be everything you’ve ever wanted. This is it.

A slow burn has to catch fire eventually.

So you reach inside and twist the spigot of your heart. A trickle becomes a flood fit to burst. It’s all encompassing, like love and heartbreak at the same time. You look at him and blurt, tremulously, “I’m in love with you,” then wince for having said it, as if you hadn’t really meant to.

“I have been for as long as I can remember. You’re my best friend and I was scared to say it and…” you continued, voice all in a rush, with the pained expression of someone who hadn’t meant to say that either, “I still am. Scared, that is. I'm sorry it took this long. My feelings for you were always at odds with my fear of losing you. And I’m sorry if it’s selfish. I know we don’t have much time left until you leave, and this could make everything weird, but you deserve to know that you're loved. That I love you. And—really, Hajime, if you could just stop me whenever you feel like it that would be great,” you snapped your mouth shut, white hot with embarrassment.

Hajime remained motionless, jaw slack and muscles wire-tight with tension for a long, sickening moment. The sting has you backing off, away, trying to think of something to explain, some excuse—

—Hajime surged forward and kissed you.

It is not like you imagined. There's nothing slow about it, no hesitance nor gentility. Hajime kissed as if trying to press the full weight of his want upon you. As if gravity were a mere suggestion. You suck in a sharp, surprised breath. Relaxing into it your arms instinctively wrap around his shoulders to pull him impossibly close, drinking in his soft shudder when you brush the nape of his neck, making all the little hairs there stand endwise.

Hajime's lips are smoother than they look. His hands roam over your hips, kneading the soft parts of your body, and you give way to indulgence. You tilt to kiss his shallow cupid's bow, down to the corner of his mouth. Teeth nibble at your lower lip, the tip of his tongue hatching hundreds of butterflies in your stomach as he traces the seam with promise.

Another loud bang startles you out of the kiss. Laughter and whispers. You sharpen to the surroundings, noting the distant acrid smell of smoke. Rather than release you, Hajime wrapped his arms around your waist and tucked his nose into the hollow where your jaw and neck met. Faint stubble tickles your throat. Your heartbeat clamours in your ears, the blood in your body blush rushing to your head.

"Sorry," you hear him say. His lips drift across your skin as he speaks. The apology fills you with immediate dread. "Should've asked before I did that," he continued quietly.

"Fuck. Is that all?" you slump in his grip with a quiet, wet laugh. "You scared me".

Hajime rears back to look at you, enough room to share a shallow exhale. His palm, large and rough, rose to cradle your cheek. He leans his forehead against yours. You feel like you’ve eaten the sun, brimming with inexpressible tenderness.

"Sorry," he repeats, understanding washing over his expression and a sheepish, fond smile playing on his lips. Pinker than before, not cold bitten, but kiss bitten. "Waited to do that for a long time," his eyes soften in the shadows, half lidded as they flit across your features.

"You have?"

"Used to think you would be my first kiss. First everything, really," Hajime's smiles broadens at your uncertainty, awed and dumbfounded, as he maps out the curve of your jaw with his thumb. Light over your fluttering pulse point. His hand drops and the heat lingers on your neck. He swallows, a sobering moment. "I love you too. Not sure if there was ever a time that I didn’t," he pauses then, looking out toward the orange glow flickering through the treeline, expression unguarded and open. “I kept trying to find opportunities to tell you. I didn't know how. Thought it wouldn't be...”

"Fair?" you finish for him. Of course.

The bonfire has been lit. Cheers can be heard across the river. Your thoughts splinter, stuck in the present while wondering if the others found their way, or if they were hidden somewhere, watching it all unfold. The mental image of them crouched in a random bush together makes you snort, and Hajime's brow pinches.

"Just," you rush to explain, grasping his forearm. You're halfway into his lap. When had that happened? "I imagined the guys hiding somewhere trying to spy on us. S'stupid".

An impish grin graced Hajime's face, ducking his chin as though to hide it. "I wouldn't put it past them," he says. And it hits you that—Hajime has always looked at you like this. Has been saying he loved you, for a long time.

You dither, your skin suddenly cool, and your palms clammy. "Hajime," you say at the same time as he begins to speak.

"Oh—you can—"

"No, you".

"I was going to say we should head back," his voice is infused with fond exasperation, gaze dipping to your union. He clears his throat, "For some privacy. I can't touch you the way I want to, out here".

“Right, right,” you nod slowly through the rush of adrenaline. It prickles in your fingers, the skin on your arms pebbling as Hajime eases you to your feet and a strong arm snakes around your waist. His lips brush your cheek.

“This okay?” 

Melting into the crook of his elbow like it was a space carved just for you, you return a kiss to his jaw and tell him, “You don’t need to ask”. 

“Noted,” he says roughly. 

The walk to the ryokan is a blur. You hardly remember the faces of those you passed. The dancers had been bright in your periphery, their movements reduced to streaks of colour, and every beat of the taiko drum thundered in your chest. 

The quick text you sent to the group chat receives an overwhelming litany of winking emoticons and exclamation marks. Inwardly you hope Hajime doesn’t read them until after—whatever it is you’re heading back to do. Hajime notices. “What’re they saying?” 

“That, uh,” the phone screen dims as you lock it and shove it deep into your pocket. Your legs keep moving. “They promised not to be back for a while,” you shared a meaningful look and wet your lips at the ideas flitting through your mind. The taste of him lingers. Takoyaki, toothpaste and lip balm. 

Together you stumble through the lobby to your room. Hajime remains close at your heel; not once do his hands leave your waist, steadying your movements. You feel drunk. Exhilarated and swept up in the newness of it, as if in a free fall. The keycard almost slips from your trembling fingers as the door beeps open. You step into the shadowed genkan and swivel to take his face into your hands. Another beep as the door closes. You press yourself to Hajime’s front and kiss him. Natural as anything. 

Hajime leads you deeper into the room. The tatami yields under your feet. He sighs blissfully as your tongue swipes along the seam of his mouth, opening up for you and coaxing you in. It’s languid and without demand. The soft, wet sound makes your skin hot. You shudder as he sucks on your tongue, letting go to take the flesh of your bottom lip between his teeth.  

“Need you. On the bed,” you murmur, threading your fingers into his cropped hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. Starting at the crown, you make your way down the back of his head to the nape of his neck where you found him to be sensitive. He shudders, goosebumps spreading over his skin, and arousal seeps through your core. 

“Anything you want,” he breathes. A frisson of anticipation zips up your spine when he steps forward to crowd you against the bedroom door, fumbling at the handle. It swings open and your stomach tightens at the abrupt inertia, stumbling onto the bed together with an oomph. 

Hajime rises onto his forearms, flicks on the lamplight before bracing either side of your head. His nose bumps yours, a warm puff of air against your mouth as he bends his knees, slotting your hips together. You kiss him again. It’s more of a press of mouths, because you can’t stop smiling, and neither can he. 

The outline of his cock is pressed hot against you. You hook your heels into his lower back and breathe his name into his mouth. Flint sparks in your belly as he instinctively ruts forward, rising frantically to meet him. Lips part above your own in a shaky groan, quivering as he deepens the kiss. 

There’s tension buzzing under your skin, the restless, pleasant kind that diffuses into every fibre of muscle and leaves you shaking. A soft hitch of breath. You rock your hips in search of relief, feeling his cock hard in the tight confines of his jeans. “More,” your voice dwindles into a weak moan.

“Slow down,” he calls to you, gentle and placating in a way that makes your eyes sting. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” and you wish that were true.

The rustle of fabric as you undress is inordinately loud in the intimate atmosphere he draws you into. Hajime’s eyes deign to stray from you as he shucks his jacket off and pulls his shirt over his head. The blush on his chest looks like the aftershock of a shot of sake; colour that seeps through his body and stains his skin. He’s gorgeous in the warm dim light, emphasising the shadows of his pecs and the downy hair on his navel. You trace a finger through it and preen at how his abdomen clenches. 

A rough hand slips behind your knee, not quite prying them apart. Hajime thumb strokes the skin there. “Can I taste you?”

Desire tugs at the base of your spine, heart racing. You’re wet. You can feel the cool kiss of air between your thighs. With a surge of want they fall open to him. The quiet hitched breath doesn’t escape you as he looks at you. 

Palms smooth down the backs of your thighs. They ache and stretch to accommodate him. Hajime descends, forging a languorous path of wet kisses on his way. Your stomach twists in anticipation when he blows lightly over your pussy, bringing your legs up to straddle his head, kneading the soft flesh there. 

Hajime’s eyes can’t find a place to call home. Flitting from your sex to your chest to your face, mouth hovering just above where you want him. Even so you find yourself wanting to kiss him again. Wanting for more hands, more mouths, more time to learn him with. 

“You’re beautiful,” he rasps, pressing praise into the delicate skin there. It’s the expression on his face that makes you throb. The intense, unabashed want. You’ve never seen him look like that. “You’ll tell me what you like, yeah?”

You concede with a barely audible mumble, unable to trust your voice. The corner of Hajime’s mouth quirks into a smirk. Then his thumbs are tucking into the innermost creases of your thighs, gently spreading your folds. He presses a chaste kiss to your clit before licking a broad stroke through your folds. 

Forcing his eyes open, Hajime clutches at the fat around your hips. He laps at your pussy, alternating between slow and fast, firm and languid, finding a rhythm that plays your body until your hips are rolling against his face. You cling to the bedsheets, head dropping back into the pillows. “Like that. Hajime,” you gasp as flickers back and forth over your clit, breathlessness abated by the sudden rush of air to your lungs. “Fuck. Don’t stop—!”

You hear his deep inhale, and his eyes scrunch shut with a long groan as he keeps pace. It sends an echo of pleasure through you—makes you clench around nothing, an innate plea from your body. He kisses your pussy, open mouthed, sweet and precise. Heat gathers in your belly like a solar flare. The pressure has you bursting at the seams. 

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you say, voice caught in your throat. Your thighs wrap around his head, toes curling. He doesn’t push, or adjust his pace, or let his enthusiasm get the better of him. A broken moan spills from your lips, pelvis undulating with each wave. Hajime maintains the rhythm—exactly as you need it, right as your spine arches into the sheets, and your orgasm ripples through you. 

Your breathing begins to steady. Your legs fall slack, hung limp over Hajime’s shoulders. He hums, a satisfied little noise, and rests his cheek against your inner thigh as his tongue slides lazily through your folds. You take in the arousal and spit coating his cheeks, half lidded stare, the sheen of sweat on his brow, and feel a surge of affection. 

Your fingertips graze his temple. His eyes flutter at the tender touch, and Hajime tips into it, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Good?” he asks, smiling. 

“Good?” you repeat with disbelief. You grab at his shoulders to coax him back up, pleased when he goes willingly. You readjust as he buries his arms under you and gathers you close to his chest, kissing the corner of your lips. You turn and murmur into his mouth, “You’re a little too good at that”.

Hajime laughs, lolling his forehead to yours. “Just good at following instructions,” his voice goes tight at the pressure against his cock, your hips raised to feel him through his briefs. “Fuck”.

“If you want to,” you tease dazedly. He nips at your lip in retaliation. 

“Don’t feel like we have to,” Hajime reassures after a beat, hand coming to rest on your waist. He strokes up and down your flank. “I don’t have any condoms. And I know this has been pretty fast”. 

You consider him closely, love suffusing through you like a warm, pleasant fog. It spurs you to admit things you wouldn’t have otherwise. “I’m clean. We can stop if you want to,” you kiss his cheek, “But I’ve waited enough. I want you,” you kiss the bridge of his nose, “Wanna know what you feel like inside me,” you kiss his slack mouth, tasting yourself. “Want you to know what I feel like when I cum, so you can think about it when we’re apart—”

Hajime pins you to the bed like a butterfly, his jaw set tight. His eyes are dark, gone is the colour of nascent spring. You feel swallowed up by him. “Keep talking and you’re going to make me cum,” he rumbles, reaching to push down his briefs. 

“I don’t care if you cum as soon as you put it in,” you squirm, tucking your chin to watch the moment his cock slips free. He sits in his palm and wraps his fingers firmly around the base, leaning deeper into the cradle of your hips, legs splayed overtop his firm thighs.  

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Hajime replies dryly, dipping to kiss you again. You’ve lost count of how many. He positions his arm above you by the headboard and the hot weight of his cock settles on your sex. You share a soft sigh as he guides the tip through your folds, the underside nudging against your clit. 

“You know what I mean,” your focus is torn between talking and angling your hips to take more of him. “Doesn’t have to be mind blowing I just—want to be with you,” you mumble, quiet like an admission, and Hajime’s concentration comes apart at the seams. 

The air is stolen from your lungs as the tip slips in. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, seeking—something. Leverage. A tether. Chest to chest, Hajime presses you deeper into the mattress as his cock sinks into you. Slow, attentive to your shifting expression while you adjust to the stretch. 

And when he bottoms out you feel full. He’s thick. it has a sense of contentment spreading throughout your body. Eventually, “You can move, big guy”. 

Hajime gives a gasping breath, groaning your name on the next. The rough timbre of his voice makes you pulse around him. The corded muscles in his arms flex as he shifts. There’s a dull sting while he pulls out, and a startling emptiness, immediately sated as he rocks his hips forward. You arch upward, angling your hips to take him deeper, and his eyes screw shut, lips parted in a silent moan.

Hajime fucks you with slow, deliberate thrusts, gradually building a rhythm, finding a pace that you respond to. You can hardly bear to look away from him. Flushed pink with exertion, the light lovingly kissing the left side of his face, mouth swollen and red. He’s murmuring little incantations of praise that you strain to hear over the sharp slap of skin, every thrust plucking another breathless sound from your throat. 

And he’s looking right back, almost reverential. A desperate pinch to his brow. You dig your heels in, nails biting at his back. It’s all you can do to hold on. His kisses grow clumsy as his attention wanes, reaching a spit-wet hand down to play with your clit as he pistons his hips. 

“M’close,” he grunts like it pains him to admit. 

Your ears are ringing. The sticky, wet echo reverberates around the room as Hajime fucks you. His strokes press impossibly deeper and you choke on a moan, feeling him in your throat. His fingers rub faster over your swollen clit. Pleasure spreads through your belly, blood rushing between your thighs. 

“Please,” you cradle his cheek, hot against your palm. He takes it in his free hand, interlocking your fingers against the bedsheets. The intimacy has your mind going numb. You’ve become a knot of a person. That new vulnerability, the love he’s immolating you with, is what knocks you toward the edge. “Hajime,” you cling to him desperately. “Hajime”.

“Fuck. I’m cumming, I’m—” Hajime buries his face into the crook of your neck, intermittently squeezing your hand. His thrusts are harder, sloppy. He shudders to a stop, his orgasm carving him straight down the middle with a drawn out moan. 

The tension seeps from him all at once. You laugh breathlessly at his collapse, the weight both comfortable and bruising. His pelvis is nestled perfectly against your clit, and every twitch creates another wave of pleasure. You undulate your hips to chase the friction. 

The only indication that Hajime notices is the smile curling against your throat. He lets his lips drift across your pulse, folding his arms around yours until the world and it’s axis are just that—Hajime. Without needing to ask, he stays close and circles his hips even as his cock softens inside you, tipping you over the precipice. 

Time is difficult to measure while swaddled in your intimate little bubble. You’re not sure how long you spend simply holding one another, commiting how the other feels to memory. Hajime kisses your forehead. “Love you,” he says.

“Love you,” you croak back unattractively. He flinches at the sound, and props himself up to search your face. 

Eyes wide and earnest he asks, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m alright. Just processing everything,” you reply, blinking away the sting behind your eyes. Hajime doesn’t look convinced. 

“Tell me,” he gently encourages. There’s an anxious edge to his tone that you want rid of. 

“Besides the fact that I had sex with the guy I’ve been in love with since middle school and everyone is going to know when they get back?” you laugh, making Hajime’s mouth curl as he carefully manoeuvres you both onto your sides. Better. “I’m just scared about what this means for us, I guess. Are we—you know, together now? Doing the long distance thing?” 

Giving a thoughtful hum, he hooks your knee over his hip. Whether it’s to put off the mess a little longer or keep you close, you’re not going to complain. “I want to be with you,” he says. 

“Even though we’ll be…” you squint as you think and reach inward for the specific number “…five thousand three hundred and fourteen miles apart?” 

“You looked that up?” Hajime’s smile widens, dopey and fond in a way that makes your heart ache. “But yeah. We’ll take it one step at a time”. 

“Then what’s the next step?” 

“Next?” he says. Another tender kiss to your temple, a deep, pensive inhale. “Next, we use the onsen”.

You can’t be sure how long you stand there, sluggish and unblinking, fixated on the distant threads of grey cutting across an otherwise dark sky. It felt dissonant to the torrential downpour in your chest.

A warm body comes up behind you. Issei rests his chin on your crown, rubbing it back and forth as Takahiro knocks your elbows together, “Ready to go?”

No, you think. After a few beats of silence you phone buzzes in your hand and you scramble to check it. The background is the picture Takahiro took of you and Hajime by the lake, in a world of your own. A notification bar cuts across the screen. 

Hajime (03:34): I love you. I’ll call when I land. 

You swallow that thought and uproot yourself, “Yeah. Yeah I think so”.

[goddesspharo]

get to know you meme: 10, 20, 71

[fic writer asks]

10. Ctrl+f "blinks" on your WIP & copy paste the first sentence/paragraph that comes up

From The Bear (time loop? time travel? time for for Richie to get a CT because he's going insane?) WIP that may or may not see the light of day:

"It's not your fault," Fak offered because Richie looked like a mall Santa who took his job too seriously and got stuck in a chimney when he went method for the gig. Fak blinks slowly like he's trying to figure out who else would be to blame for this before suggesting, "It's the mold's."

20. Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

If a character is hot and dumb (mostly in a "God, you're SO dumb but to the outside observer and on paper, you're good at what you do" kind of way and less in an actual Himbo kind of way) and has an antagonistic relationship with someone smart and hot, I'm going to write a thousand fics about how they fell in love and it took them too long to get their heads out of their asses about it. There are certain AUs that I love (Spies! Space! Time stuff! Doomed by the narrative!) so if I love something enough, eventually you'll get one of those. I make at least one Longhorns reference in every TGM fic I write despite never having watching a college football game or having any intention to change that. Although last night when I randomly watched the FNL FYC Emmy reel as one should do once a year to be sad about it, I realized that Number One Girl Tyra Collette ended up being a Longhorn, right? Didn't she go to UT Austin on the show or am I making that up?

71. When it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, etc?

I learned the hard way that I cannot outline extensively because it zaps away all my narrative juice and then I feel like I'm beholden to the outline (that I made myself!) and get the worst case of writer's block despite every point clearly being laid out before me and just waiting to be written (aka the story of that TGM Mars AU). I rarely outline for one-shots, but I do find for longer multi-chapter fics that it's easier to have some idea of where I'm going (in the fic and somewhat in the chapter) for reasons that boil down to being able to sprinkle in foreshadowing and so that I won't forget what I wanted to do even if I eventually don't do that exactly. For those stories, I will have a very rough outline of just plot points (sometimes with an order) that I want to explore. Sometimes I also have a scene laid out very clearly in my mind with like a specific line or two of dialogue and I'll throw the dialogue in there so I don't forget. Very occasionally, I will put something in the outline simply because it's a small detail that I don't want to track back later (ie dates or anniversaries of things) or things that I don't want to google again (almost always google maps stuff like how long a road trip would take, what stops could they make along the way, the aesthetics of an Airbnb that I have googled extensively, where is the most likely highway that an alien invasion would take place, etc). My outlines are less outlines and more like the google docs equivalent of scribbling notes on post-its and throwing them up on a wall.

Overall, I'm a big picture gal when it comes to planning my fics and then let the beats of what I'm writing and/or the vibes dictate how I'll get to where I'm going and if there will be a detour to the destination. It's the only way I can actually finish a fic. Otherwise, it feels like more of a chore and less like something I'm doing for fun.

[chaos-has-theories]

🕯️ ⇢ on a scale from 1 to 10, how much do you enjoy editing? why is that?

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

🍅 ⇢ give yourself some constructive criticism on your own writing

🪲 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here

🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

HI BESTIE. Sorry that there r 1000 of these unfortunately I love asking questions and such. Also for some reason when I went to copy the questions individually on my phone it copied the whole post?? So I had to go in and manually delete all the ones I didn't want. Sad. AND THEN. When I pasted it in it registered them all as different paragraphs so I can't select multiple in a row to delete them. Hell on earth

FINALLY DOING THIS

Well, posting it; don't worry, I love answering questions, but I will be splitting this up into two posts.

🕯️ ⇢ on a scale from 1 to 10, how much do you enjoy editing? why is that?

Ok assuming 10 is "I genuinely like it better than writing and am looking forward to it the entire time" and 1 is "hates it hates it I refuse to edit if I can get away with it" I'd say.... maybe 7? I find the process super interesting (and I should hope so, since I'm eyeballing it as a real-person adult job) but it does feel more like work than the first draft flow state. I'm more likely to push it off, which might be in part because I don't have as much experience with it yet.

That said, I got an editing homework last week and just did it IMMEDIATELY because I thought it was so interesting. So.

🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

*very deep breath* Mantra: just because today sucks doesn't mean that everything sucks!!! (Note: this was written like a day after you sent the ask. Today doesn't actually suck, it's just a little exhausting.)

1. I love that I've been more confident in actually sharing my writing. It feels like the moment you make it far enough up the mountain to enjoy the view. I hope you know you played a solid part in getting me that far.

2.I've recently started doing Things again or more that I've been neglecting these past few years. Meeting up with friends one-on-one, reading books, taking classes - I'm in a swordfighting class now, something I've been meaning to do for a literal decade. I'm proud of myself for finally biting that bullet.

3. I got candy :D

🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

I think it was probably the combination "do beetles have blood" "what happens if you electrocute a beetle" "how many volts are in an overhead electric line" "how many volts are needed to kill an elephant"

It was a story about dragons.

🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

ANYTHING WORTH DOING IS WORTH DOING POORLY.

Stolen right here on tumblr, written on my wall and my diary and the advice bot on my discord server, and passed on to my friends until they were surprised to learn I didn't come up with it. Thank you, that one tumblr user's teacher.

❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

Aiyo, I've got a couple where I feel like I might not be the right person to do it.

I started writing "no place like home" anyway (trauma, trauma, and raising children with hopefully less of it). I have accepted that noone else will ever write my introspective canon-compliant TwiYor fic on the topic of sex work. I wouldn't actually want to let anyone write my modern Little Princess AU, even though I'll definitely need references if I decide to make her half-Indian on her mother's side. And there's so much more I wanna do with the Timetravel AU.

But - I LOVE my friends' writing, I love to read it and cheer it and go wild over it; but with my dream themes, I either accept that I'm my best option, or I don't know who is.

Maybe I just need to make even more writer friends.

🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

YOURS

ok like. Any. Then any that would want to talk about the silly little lore bits I like to sprinkle in. And then anything that implies that my writing is good enpugh to go deranged over it. I'm positively hooked on those.

🍅 ⇢ give yourself some constructive criticism on your own writing

Phew. Um.... I KNOW I overuse commas, and sometimes I don't even use them correctly. I THINK there might be a few too many adverbs, too. And sometimes I get too absorbed in the thinky bits and forget that things are supposed to happen.

🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

Sometimes I just DO NOT vibe with the tenses. Either they're inconsistent, or it uses present tense when for some reason when for some reason my brain insists it should be past tense. Either way - and they're other reason for this to happen, but not as often - if I'm on the first paragraph and find myself doing more mental editing than actual reading, I usually head back out.

[addisonacres]

Release week craziness and lessons learned

What a week!

The Accidental Summoning went live on Tuesday and is now available on KU and paperback. Yay!

Release weeks are absolutely bonkers. Like most indie authors, I don't have a PA (sobs how I wish I did) and so all the marketing and promo is down to me.

Of course, I fucked up several times.

First of all, I was trying to finish my reader magnet (the short story that you use to get people to sign up to your newsletter). I had to get it done since I had linked to it at the back of the book, but I had decided to make this book into a series so I had to change what happened in that short. It was a flurry of writing and editing to get that done on time, but of course, then I had to set up the newsletter automation.

I've only just created a newsletter. I'm new to using Mailerlite but I plodded through and was sure I'd figured it all out.

I had not.

After you create the automated message and set up all the rules for it, apparently you have to then turn it on. Alas, I did not see this step. I only figured it out because last night I figured I'd torture myself and visit Goodreads to see some of the reviews (since I haven't had many on Amazon). One of the reviews mentioned how they'd not been able to access the story and how annoying it was that authors make people sign up to newsletters to access those short stories, etc etc.

And I realised that my little mistake, of making it almost impossible to find the short, has potentially lost me readers of the series. Because it wasn't until feedback from ARC readers that I found there was some desire for me to continue, I hadn't mentioned in the book that it would be a series. I do, however, state in the short that I will be turning this into a series and that there will be more.

The short is now available on my website and FB page as well for people to find it easier. You can also get it here if you want to read it, but it does happen after the events of the book so you'll want to read that first.

I also fucked up a few times with formatting on scheduled FB posts. Some of it was issues with links (apparently the links don't work if you've copied and pasted from another post). I've also found that for some reason, the paragraph spacing used in the draft doesn't always work once the post is scheduled. I have no idea why and it's annoying as all hell because when the post goes live, you just have a wall of text, like an 11-year-old's first AO3 fic.

Anyway, these are things I shall fix and keep in mind for next time. If I've learned from the process, that's what counts, yeah?

I very briefly got into the top 100 of New Releases in Gay Romance and so that was very exciting, getting a glimpse of how the big kids play. I've been booted down the order to the kiddie table since, but that's okay. I wasn't expecting anything huge from this release. It was a lovely little bonus.

[dzpenumbra]

4/30/23

Last night was difficult.

I don't think I mentioned it in my journal, maybe I did and I don't remember, idk, I'm going to tell the story anyway. I was watching a Red Dead stream last night and a girl who had been a subscriber in that channel for 7 consecutive years accidentally wrote a private message into the Twitch chat. And I mean really private.

(side note - ctrl+b, which is used for bold is right between ctrl+v [paste] and ctrl+n [new window in chrome]. And the undo on Tumblr is fucked. So... just... gonna point out how frustrating and inconvenient that is if you just slightly miss the b key and suddenly you either have a new window pop up or a paragraph of text just appears.)

This chick posted about like... really bad medical news. Like organ disease news. That she got that day. And she immediately asked mods to delete it, because she couldn't. And no one did. And there were like over 1000 people in there. And then these assholes started copying and pasting her message. At first just one. Then one who spent "channel points" to actually highlight the copied message. Then like 5 more. It... was really disturbing. Like... I struggle to see any humor in it, and I have a pretty open mind about humor. It really felt like someone saying "haha look, this chick has cancer!" As though... anyone is going to laugh about that...

Now... I know a thing or two about humor. Humor used to be my primary coping mechanism. And most humor is just that, it's a way of diffusing something incredibly uncomfortable or painful, and transforming it into something funny, something palatable. Something positive, even. And sometimes that can be a... compulsion for some people, a reflex, that they're not even really conscious of. But there's a skill to doing that. It takes effort, it takes practice, it takes skill. And there is nothing... buckle the fuck up, I'm going loud here... THERE IS NOTHING FUCKING LAZIER THAN COPYING AND PASTING SOMETHING AND CALLING IT FUNNY. <catches breath> Okay, just had to get that out. People man, I just don't understand. Do these fucking imbeciles really lack the brain cells to understand that making a joke about a serious medical condition should... I dunno... maybe be handled a little more tactfully than treating it like retweeting a fucking meme or something?

Again, I am not against jokes that test the line, and even outright cross it. At all. Pushing those boundaries is important, in its own way. But there's a goddamn reason why we only had one Don Rickles. There's a reason we had one South Park. One Jackass. There is an art to pushing boundaries, and it requires skill, charisma and confidence. And these people had none of the above. They were just... schoolyard bullies, trying to impress other schoolyard bullies. They were literally grown-ass schoolyard bullies, likely piss drunk at 4AM, watching a 38 year old man pretend to be a cowboy in a video game, and stumbled across what was pretty obviously a private message between a long-standing paying community member and likely a family member... and they decided they wanted to pants her in front of class. Like... this is a fucking cartoon of schoolyard bully behavior. And people were fucking laughing! People were like... chuckling and going along with it

I... I pulled up a private message to her. And I typed out "hey, what they're doing is really not cool and I'm really sorry all this is happening to you. It's really fucked up." And... I didn't send it. Any other lifetime, I would have sent it. But I didn't. And I don't even know why I don't anymore. I definitely didn't stand up for her in chat. I didn't even support her behind closed doors. But when she put a message in chat saying it was fucked up? I immediately tagged her and sent a heart emoji, like... lightning speed, to show she has my support. I just... I feel bad. It's self preservation, it has to be. Like... I don't want this mob turning on me... So I don't stick up for the grown adult that's being bullied by grown adults. Because there are people there whose job it's supposed to be to moderate that, and they were asleep at the wheel, and... I didn't want to overstep, and they sure as shit won't respect my opinion if I don't have a sword icon next to my name.

And the streamer, when he noticed? He chuckled. And was like, "come on guys, knock it off..." Like... it was a bunch of kids playing in the backyard by throwing knives at the dog or something, and that's his response. It made me super uncomfortable. That and the shit that went down in his Discord? Blatantly saying "we're mob-mentality around here, okay?" And the Native American character he made, and how... really insensitive he was with it... and how he pretty obviously got reported several times on it but straight up lied to his audience about it and has doubled-down so many times I can't even count. "Nah nah nah, Moondance isn't going anywhere guys, I'll play him whenever I want, I just don't feel like it tonight..." RIIIGHHHTTT... I just... I'm really turned off by it.

Fuck the internet, man. The internet is very blatantly advertising directly to children, who are the most profitable demographic on the internet, if you weren't aware... and Twitch specifically has developed a wagering system with fake internet points that you accumulate by spending time watching a streamer (more time = more ads = more $$ for Twitch = more fake points for the kids). And they call them. Get this. Tell me this isn't disgustingly corporate Amazon cliché. They call them "Predictions". It's not gambling marketed towards children to keep them on a website that makes money off of feeding them ads, no no no, it's placing a wager on a "Prediction". I'm not gambling on what the outcome is, with a payout ratio identical to a fucking horse track, nope, I'm just predicting what the outcome is going to be and if I get it right I get a neat prize! They specifically market their site to children. How have they not gotten this shut down yet?!

Okay, got a bit of that out of my system. Why the fuck am I telling this story from last night? Well... I had a night terror. I got about 4-5 hours of sleep, and I had a super intense nightmare. It was very vivid, but I didn't remember much except for the last bit. And... it took me a bit of journaling (I did dream journal, so yay on that) to really start to understand what it was about. I might as well paint a picture for you, it was super vivid and deeply meaningful for me.

I was in a location that represented my parents' basement. I grew up in that house from the ages of 11-18, very formative years. My parents are closeted hoarders, they hide it well. The basement was where everything went. I was down there with someone else, I don't remember who it was. I had found a book that was for me, that I felt bad I hadn't read because, when I was down there and started reading it, it was really interesting. It was part of a series, and it was an exploration and interpretation of the Bible through historical record, plausible science and comparison with other cultural ideologies/mythologies. It was... really cool, and right up my alley. Almost like something I would write, if I felt qualified. I read the part about Genesis I and as I was reading... I got that thing I get sometimes where the mental imagery gets really vivid. And this moment was really disorienting in a dream, and is even disorienting just trying to process how it even happened, because I was... dreaming... which is my imagination, my subconscious mind... and then within that dream I was reading a text and... my subconscious in the dream was conceptualizing the text visually. It was like a Russian Nesting Doll of subconscious visualization, it's absolutely mind-boggling that that's even possible. And this visualization was... essentially an early proto-Earth colliding with a very water-dense celestial object. My brain interpreted this very metaphorically, like big blob of water. And then the combination of these two qualities ended up nurturing an environment like hydrated and nutrient enriched soil. Again, a metaphor, like... water and collision were huge components in setting off the chain reaction that resulted in... life. And... there was some part in the text that was referring... where either that water-dense body or the proto-Earth likely came from. I don't really remember the details on that.

And then... after that... I remember the person I was with upsetting the streamer (who was there with a bunch of his friends in-character), and they left. And after I read and visualized all of that, as though I had read it out loud... he kinda knew. Honestly, I'm struggling to remember it, I'm going to get the journal real quick to refresh.

Okay, it looks like even in the journal right after I woke up I wasn't sure what had upset the streamer and the people he was with. I was reading that passage in the book in the moments leading up to him getting upset and leaving. The book had this section in it that was like MadLibs... like a simple mini-test to sorta... jog and concretize your memory of what the previous passage was about, so you could sorta... use your own brain to make the connections rather than just reading his wording. So, like... I wasn't sure if I upset him, or he witnessed the surreal visual experience I had and it upset him (because it was super vivid, like panic attack vivid, and very emotional), or maybe he knew what I read and that upset him? Maybe I accidentally read out loud and didn't realize? Or... maybe the person I was with upset him... Which, with this much time between me and the dream, seems like the most likely factor... But, either way, he got upset and left. Then... I could sorta... sense through the ceiling and walls in an almost x-ray kinda way that he was like... glaring at me. In a... judgmental, suspicious, skeptical way. In a "I'm on to you..." way. In a witch-hunty Inquisition kinda way. And that set off a massive panic response that immediately woke me up.

You know what? I reflected on this when I woke up, and it's actually really well put for 4 hours of sleep coming out of a panic attack. <pats self on back> So I'm just gonna transcribe it. Fuck it.

"I felt like I needed to impress him, and like I fucked up... which was embarrassing but passed quickly... but that turned into... genuine concern that I was in danger. Like lynching kinda danger, mob violence danger. And that's because I witnessed that last night. And the chick who was being bullied? She was like me. This crowd? These streamers? I keep gravitating towards confident bullies. Andrew Santino types. They're very talented, but their skill is a coping mechanism developed through trauma and conflict. Unprocessed trauma, typically. Because the coping mechanism is their greatest gift, and really their whole life and identity are built on it. I gravitate towards that talent. Being this aware of how these people think (because I was one of them) and how much influence they have, how followers will blindly obey them and they have thousands, made me scared of... as that guy so poetically said in my Twitch chat "(being) thrown in a river with a mill stone tied to (me)." For learning, and exploring ideas that they may consider heretical. But, more specifically, sharing them and being associated with them."

So... you can imagine how hard writing a journal entry like this can be sometimes. It feels really serious and risky, and really silly at the same time. It's not like the context I'm referring to is even... heretical, really... if anything it's trying to prove the Bible's validity! But... I've just seen a lot of dark shit in my study of humanity. A lot of dark, ignorant, zealous things that people do. And seeing that mob mentality last night? It just brought me back to that same old familiar fear. And that shit sticks, and can be hard to shake.

I'm getting really tired, so I want to kinda wrap up, so let me get to the crux of all of this.

Besides the obvious, this journal and this post, why would I be so anxious about sharing my personal beliefs publicly? 1). Family-induced trauma, let's just get that out of the way, so that explains the life-shattering severity. But the focus - I made my desire path project public today. I posted it. It was my only goal for the day. And I did it.

I put it on YouTube. It currently has 3 views and no one has watched it all the way through. I fucking hate analytics and I don't want to watch them anymore. So fucking stupid, as though you have any control over whether people give a fuck about your work. Yikes.

Then, I went into this whole pros and cons list of posting the full project on Instagram. Insta won't let you link shit, and I wanted to keep my videos all on YT because... habit, I guess? Maybe because my Rimworld series is still over there and I was hoping someone might actually give a fuck about that again someday. But after a long time going over it, I decided instead of trying to direct people to go to my profile, then go to my YT link... fuck that. I'm just going to post it there in full, too. And I did. And the grand reception? I got 2 likes. And a comment from my former "best friend", my former goddaughter's mother. And I do appreciate the sentiment. It's just been hard to process those memories.

I always wanted to be a dad. And in my 20's, I got to be her nanny for most of the week when she was around 1 year old. I was working nights and inverting my sleep schedule to drive up an hour each way to watch her during the week. I still have a picture from when I got there one day and comedically, melodramatically collapsed onto the couch in exhaustion and actually fell asleep with my legs hanging in the air off the couch and shit, right next to my goddaughter who was also passed out. And she fired me. Because I didn't "take her outside enough", which she never instructed me to do or taught me how to do. Not to mention the fact that she never paid me once, and I just... didn't ask for money? Because I was trying to be nice? Because both her and her husband were like... not parenting their infant child and just going and working jobs instead, while I watched their kid for them.

Meh, enough about that. See what it does to my head though? Nostalgia is nice... sometimes... but it can be bitter, and if you have an especially dicey past, it can turn sour real quick. So... I do appreciate her sentiment, she left a really kind compliment that seems sincere. And the emotional processing from the past? That's my job, I gotta just remember... that's in the past. I just... I feel bad for my goddaughter, and I miss her. She was the closest thing to a daughter I've ever had, besides my dog and cat, of course. The closest thing to a human daughter I've ever had. And she may not have a great role model for like... healthy emotional regulation. And I worry about her. And I do kinda feel like... that's kinda part of the godfather thing, to step up and like... be there. But at this point? I was envisioning this when I was making dinner. I feel like if I ever even do that, I'm going to be the uncle or aunt figure at the family dinner that they haven't seen in 10 years and pulls the teenage kid aside and goes "you know, I used to change your diapers, do you remember me? No? It's okay, well... if you ever need to like... talk or anything, I'm always here for you." And they'll wince through the awkwardness and then go off and play something on their phone and sigh and mutter "weirdo". But like... is it worse to not even try?

That's a quandary for another day, I just went down that line of thought because I was kinda imaginatively strategizing what might happen if my former friend messaged me. To... prepare myself.

So yeah, lots of ups and downs today. Sleep deprivation, panic, nap, social media strategy, posted the video, made dinner, watched streams, Risk of Rain, journal, and off to bed we go.

Gonna try to sneak a quick shower in before bed, screw it, see if that helps with more relaxing sleep.

To end on a more uplifted note... The Path was one of the more ambitious projects I've taken on. It was very new, super conceptual, very "risky" regarding whether anyone would "get it", also very tedious and demanding. I did the 100 runs in Minecraft, with 3 screenshots per run. I hand-drew each path, twice. I animated each path individually. I composed, played and recorded 12 minutes of original music for 4 guitars, bass and drums. I wrote the script, I recorded the voiceover (on Easter day!). I hand-drew and animated the parts of the voiceover that I couldn't really figure out what to put under, as though they were being drawn on a whiteboard. I shot cinematic B-roll in Minecraft, Google StreetView and a real life National Park. I edited it all together.

And now... it's done.

Fuck crowd reception, this was months in the making. I am goddamn proud of myself.

[horta-in-charge]

Content Warning: 18+ Content! Minors do not interact!, OC fanfic, Cult, DS9 spoilers, Covenant Spoilers, Dukat being Dukat, religious jokes, general trauma from dealing with cults, mythology.

Author’s Note: This work contains OC’s (my unnamed half siren OC and Clara, brief mention). It also contains 18+ content so minors DO NOT INTERACT! It is also a bit of a crossover between Librarians (my second favorite show) but the content isn’t heavily dependent on needing to watch it. The song she hums is Lean on Me by Bill Withers. General vibes are inspired by that song, Take Me Home Country Roads, Rocky Mountain High (both by John Denver), and the backing track to All My Ex’s Live in Texas by George Strait because it came on the radio while I was writing and passed the vibe check. Of course in this case Texas is the Dominion. Please note a lot of the mythology/religious jokes were funnier in my head. The gif of Kira I wanted for this post tumblr wouldn’t let me use for some reason. I also apologize for the world building in this fic but it needed to go somewhere and was relevant. Humans consider themselves the only native evolved species on Earth in Star Trek and ding dong they are wrong. 

Tagging: @deepspacedukat​ for listening to my OC rants and for letting me use her gif.

Broken Covenant 

It started out like any other day on DS9. Get up, eat, dress for the work shift, then actually work- which was very entertaining because of all the vaccinations scheduled with one of the main infirmary computers tied up doing sequencing on a newer viral strain. Of course, DS9 had interesting things happen nearly every day before it became a front line pit stop during the Dominion War. Maybe it was because she’d used that holosuite program the Library had gifted her before she reported for duty. Maybe it was the focus on work that somehow freed another sense from its prison. Or, quite possibly, it was that the water patterns of every permanent station resident were etched into her psyche and the awareness that one was suddenly missing was like taking a brick to the head. No matter what, she was going to find out what had disturbed her mind, even if it took all of her off duty time. The replicated meal she’d had for dinner sat there, empty dishes staring back at her like banshee eyes, although not screaming, which was a good sign. 

Pushing her focus outwards, she swept through the station while sitting crosslegged in her chair, searching, taking mental note of who she could cross off her list. Something blocked her sense from entering Kira’s room. A very strange, orange vibrational pattern lingered there, draping over the inside like a viscous fog. Pulling focus back in was much easier because there was only one target- herself. The absolute conclusion: Kira was missing. The problem: she didn’t work with the Colonel, so there wouldn’t be any residual energy from exposure. Keeping her eyes shut, she went to that place in herself that was so easy to access, and in desperation, conjured up an image of Kira’s face, not unlike that of Prince Eric’s in that anti-Siren propaganda movie (so called by her seven year old niece), and willed herself to physically move to that location, hoping for a stagnant target. A warp target would leave her frozen in space. 

The sensation of landing on your ass, while familiar, isn’t a pleasant way to appear anywhere. She had a feeling she’d be sleeping face down, ass up for a day or two if she wasn’t immediately killed. Unfamiliar arms pulled her to her feet. She blinked to readjust her eyes to the dim, albeit red light of the room. Her ears needed no adjustment to know that was Dukat asking how she’d gotten there in his usual smarmy, charismatic voice. He would be behind anything to do with Kira. His obsession seemed a primary self-trait. The response that she’d been meditating and had no idea what had happened left her mouth with the honest skill of a con man’s patter. It was unfortunately a practiced skill all human-like earth species mastered young. Deceit, used correctly, was like the helmet of invisibility, which was sitting on a Library pedestal, nowhere near that Byzantine death trap she’d broken over a year ago. 

Dukat’s mention that Damar would be pleased (jealous) his good luck charm was here in the temple of the Pa’Wraiths was ignored. If he wanted to waste his breath on that, she’d let him. The hands and arms let go of her at his command, and then disappeared out the door, leaving her with Kira and Dukat, while they had a non-consensual reunion on the raised stage area of the room the three were in. This place, Empok Nor, was twin to DS9 in every way but the decor and the lower power level humming its way through the station. She was too tired after the jump, which was somewhere between wormholing and teleporting- not that she would be able to explain how it worked anyways because the math needed to combine physics and magic was beyond her level of expertise- to send herself out through the station to take stock of its occupants. Knowing Dukat, he would be the only Cardassian on the station, leaving everyone else except her, the uninvited guest, to be Bajoran. 

“I was touched by the hand of a god,” her focus snapped to Kira who was clearly not having it.

“I was touched by the hands of many gods. Some were inside me.” They both took a second to take stock of that statement, which coming from her in that tone, would register as a joke, even though she was dead serious on the matter. A goddess as well but it was probably best not to mention strong female figures around Dukat in any mood. Whenever he decided the conversation was over, she followed Kira and the Vedek, who was told to escort them to their room, out of the decidedly quarkless Quark’s Bar location that was doubling as a temple. 

As they passed through the promenade, her suspicion about the general occupancy was proved true. The Vedek gave the usual speech about life in the cult that all charismatic right hand men do, which was equal parts entertaining in the nature of its stupidity and rote nature, and eye-roll inducing. As they passed a pregnant woman, Mika, the Vedek called her, the Vedek- Fala?- began speaking about ancient Bajoran sex practices. Which screamed CULT at the top of its lungs through the entire quadrant. Being that close to the woman meant it took no focus at all to read the DNA of her child- and that child was half Cardassian. Again, CULT was screamed through the rafters of the universe itself. Determined to keep her mouth shut, because there was no possible way a human would know that information, she did, until they got to their quarters and Fala left. Kira was angry, and trying the door like there was hope of getting out that way. At least the rage wasn’t directed at her, which was good. 

“You know that child is half Cardassian.” Kira stopped banging at the door’s access panel and just stared at her. Stupid, stupid mistake. I can’t afford to get caught like this. Not at my own fault. 

“How do you know that?” The soft, yet stern questioning voice of the Colonel asked, hand still on the inside door lock.

“It’s a cult. Standard behavior is that the cult leader gets his pick of people to fuck. I wouldn’t be surprised if the other pregnant women on this station were taken by him as well.” Finding no lies, Kira tried the door again. “They aren’t going to let us out until Dukat wants us out. We might as well rest right now before we get paraded around this place at his whim. If they make us put on sheer wet silk and dance for his eminence Ezri will need to clear her schedule for the next three Dax lifetimes.” 

“Three!?”

“I have no intention of dying young. I will be a sexy rasin with a bikini clad staff somewhere on a nice estate. That’s what’s going to get me through this. Mental images of hot people.” That wasn’t what would get her through it at all. Sirens had an average life expectancy of a thousand years. A half human could expect at least five to eight hundred years (they didn’t have a lot of data to go on, so it was a guesstimate). She’d lied more in the last year than she had ever done in her life. As an atheist, she was quite glad she wasn’t an Egyptian species, because there was no way her heart wouldn’t get eaten by a crocodile, goddess given egyptian adder armband or not. 

In her own thoughts, she hardly noticed Kira sit down on the couch near her chair. What am I even doing here? Clearly not helping Kira. If I was I would have rigged that door lock to open- and what, expose myself? I have no tools! I wish I was Baird- no, I wish I had her experience. She’s over 300 years old! I wish I had the Library- not that I can solve this situation with science like they do. They don’t DO active magic. How am I supposed to even qualify for an interview for Guardian if I can’t even solve a cult? If I’m only half-human? They’d have this all fixed by now. And how do you fix a cult anyways? Therapy? I’m not Ezri but I’m pretty sure that comes after a dissolution. This is an active cult!  

The door opened and Fala stepped in. Apparently, it was time for services. What kind? Who knew? Probably not an orgy given the earlier speech about abstinence. She wondered if the ancient Bajorans masturbated. The walk there was full of anticipation but also very uncomfortable, because with all of her inner musings she’d forgotten to use the bathroom and her bladder was full. The services began with the banging of some type of Bajoran gong, and there was some opening chanting, which having never been to a regular Bajoran service, she assumed was normal. It wasn’t like she couldn’t understand what they were saying, even with no universal translator, but it didn’t sound much different than any type of service she’d seen. The problem was that it was led by Dukat which was, to use a 21st Century Earth phrase commandeered by a child missing a few baby teeth, heckka disturbing. 

Kira was standing a few people in front of her, and from the back, anyone with vision could see the anger simmering off the colonel. Herd dynamics and group mentality made stupidity contagious, and not that she wanted to insult her senior officer, it seemed highly catching. As soon as Kira was in reach of that phaser, her instinct kicked in, which was the exact opposite of what needed to happen. The display in front of her stuck her feet to the floor as she watched the other Bajorans defend a genocidal maniac cult leader. The next thing she knew, Kira was on the ground, knocked out by a blow to the upper back. Dukat was attempting to manuver through the crowd, but she got to Kira first and deadlifted her off the floor, which was no small effort on little sleep and no breakfast- was it time for breakfast yet?- distracting herself from the pain, she hummed an old earth song, well not that long, her grandmother was only in her fourth century of life at the time of release, but old to everyone else on the station. The strain was almost unbearable by the time she reached the quarters they were ‘assigned’. She assumed Dukat had stayed to administer the rest of the service, whatever that entailed. She put Kira down on the couch then quickly ran to the bathroom to relieve her discomfort and clean up. 

There wasn’t much she could do for Kira right now with such low energy levels, but she certainly was going to keep an eye on her superior officer. Dukat would no doubt try to use this to his advantage, which was something she herself was familiar with. A little too familiar considering Mika’s case. At least it was fun at the time, because according to the members of the ladies’ tea club her grandmother hosted, if it wasn’t fun then, it would never be fun at all. The enjoyment while it lasted was worth quite a lot later, although she wasn’t sure they had this kind of a later in mind when they dispensed their sage advice with oolong tea and cakes. 

A time later, which could have been five minutes or five hours to someone this tired, Dukat came in with a rag and a bowl of water. She wasn’t in the mood to fight with him about getting near Kira and he didn’t want to fight her either, so she ended up bent over Kira’s body holding a wet rag to her forehead until Kira woke up. Fortunately, the access to water did allow her to partially accelerate the healing of the bruise, but not by much. Dukat began proselytizing or just irritating Kira, it was getting very hard for her to focus. She had absorbed part of the water in that bowl too but it didn’t stop her from being dehydrated. Dukat seemed to be trying to make Kira feed herself when they were interrupted. Apparently it was time for birth. Dukat followed the messenger out and so did Kira, but hunger was no match for her own stomach, so she took the melon slices off the plate and started eating one while following them down to the infirmary. The look she received from Kira wasn’t a pleasant one, but her stomach didn’t care, and her pride wasn’t keeping her from food either. 

When she reached the infirmary with the others, her mouth was as sticky as her hands but her stomach was semi-filled. No one was looking at her, and even if they did, they wouldn’t see her controlling water molecules in the air to clean off her hands and face, because water molecules were invisible to the eyes of everyone there and they were all looking at the entrance of the room Mika was being rolled out of. 

She didn’t have to see the baby to know she was right, but she did anyway by the nature of her placement in the room, as did Kira. She caught the ‘you were right’ look from her kidnapped companion. Of course, the real entertainment was when Dukat saw the child and had to formulate a plan to cover up his cuckolding. Unsurprisingly, the people actually bought the explanation. She didn’t, and neither did Kira, but their opinions had no bearing on the events, and they most likely never would. She found the whole thing hilarious really, most likely because she wasn’t focused on her own physical needs. Maybe Kira would too if she had a sandwich or something else to snack on. 

After that, the two of them followed Fala somewhere, leaving the crowd to rejoice over the birth. Kira laid into Fala with good sense which was misplaced because he was too far gone into the path of Pa’Wraith worship. While he did make a good point about Kira hating Dukat so much she refused to even think the Pa’Wraiths could change DNA in utero, the simplest solution was usually the best, and while she had no physical proof the child was Dukat’s, her senses told her that it was.    

“It is possible to give birth while a virgin.” The out of left feild comment garnered looks from the two arguing Bajorans. “The original definition meant uncontrolled by a man. It had nothing to do with sex. The Catholic Church on Earth changed the meaning as a way to separate themselves from Roman and other ‘pagan’ cultures. In the current printing, it never mentions that there was any sex in the production of a new god. The original Aramaic says that a great light came into her. For all we know, it could have been Zeus.” The others chose to ignore the statement because she had been up for over twenty four hours. However, Fala had agreed to let Kira talk to the couple tomorrow in the hopes of proving her wrong. 

They walked back to their quarters in silence and got themselves cleaned as best they could before trying to sleep. Kira was still itching with anger over the whole situation, and was clearly mad at her for what she had said earlier.

“You can’t actually believe him. It’s preposterous.” She rolled over on the bed to face Kira. The room they were in was so tiny they’d both come to a non-verbal agreement to share. 

“I don’t, but I’m convinced that I’ll get access to the loading docks if I pretend like I do. Or at least don’t argue about not believing the swill Dukat sells as religion.” She had no idea if that settled the matter or not, because sleep came over her like a large blanket with talons and didn’t let her go until the morning. 

They were fed the following morning, that is to say they were given food, and got themselves ready to be escorted around the station. If she had her way, she would never sleep in her uniform’s undershirt ever again. Somewhere in the night, she had come to the conclusion that this entire charade was not for her. Or at least it wasn’t actively meant for her. If it was one of those unteachable lessons Si-Fu had spoken of during her training in the City of Light, that protected pocket of the Himalayas, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to learn, unless she had already figured it out. Somehow she didn’t think Kira had learned what she was supposed to either. 

They followed Fala around to where Benyan was painting, and Kira was very much herself about the situation, much to the chagrin of their guide. The three of them went on searching for Mika, and because she was still suffering the effects of unorthadox jumping through space, the range of her senses was very limited, unless she wanted to pass out. When they found Mika, the airlock was open, and Dukat’s DNA was all over the buttons. Kira closed it, and they managed to get the poor woman to the infirmary. She wished there was something she could do for her, but she had no energy to spare, and the effect of decompression was so great that any help she could have given would have been too noticeable. She was going to need to go swimming in that Library holosuite program after all of this ended, if she was still alive to see the conclusion, that is. 

Of course Dukat called it an accident and dispatched a work crew to prevent any others. Kira didn’t buy it, and she didn’t either, but as usual, everyone else did. Except for the sedated woman in public view, but she couldn’t speak. Her husband was looking forth between her and the quote unquote miracle baby with a horrified yet blank look on his face. Fala insisted they go back to their room, and so they did, until after dinner, when Dukat held a late? Possibly early? service. The concept of time here at the Empok Nor Pa’Wraith cult village was mind boggling. Dukat had seen Kira afterward while she had been getting ready for bed. Kira came in fuming, talking about the proverbial Kool-Aid capsules. At this point, there was nothing they could do for a few hours, but sit and wait for everyone else to die. Except Dukat, because while Kira knew him better than she ever would, they both were of the opinion he was pulling something. Dukat and die didn’t belong in the same sentence. Dukat and ‘confirmed dead’ did. 

Eventually, Kira got sick of sitting. They both had, but Kira began to hit the door again. Her hands were freezing, so she held them over the space heater and waited. Finally Kira looked at her, and then at the space heater, then back at her face. She drug the space heater over to Kira, who ripped the inside door lock open. Kira was a good person to get trapped in a room with, because she knew what the inner workings of Cardassian equipment looked like. She had gone to Herford Medical School (very prestidgious, they only accepted eight students a year and routinely didn’t fill a whole class, but then again they only accepted non-human species, which was not advertised anywhere except among their own population) and passed the Academy’s Officer School with flying colors. She still had a hard time telling a phase converter from a decoupler. Kira shoved one of the longer wires into the heat source and they both waited.

The mechanism exploded, or at least ruined something inside, and they were able to pry the door open. Kira was somehow less tired than her despite a lack of food and sleep, and managed to reach the temple platform ahead of her. Watching her companion jump off of it and onto Dukat was a privilege and an honor. She noticed the different pill compositions in a way Kira couldn’t, but there was no need to warn her friend because Dukat was flopping his arm about like a dead fish looking for something. The non-lethal pill. As soon as Kira opened her mouth the crowd began to murmur and Dukat’s face had a look that was enough to raise the decibels to a level a Vorta would find absolutely unbearable, if she was remembering Weyoun 5’s physical structure correctly. 

Dukat went stark raving mad, and the angrier he got, the more his need for control caused him to move wildly, until his hair looked like what she assumed would be the same as the Cardassian equivalent of Fabio. It would have been sexy except for the attempted mass murder and that his personality was more disgusting than anything in the universe she’d encountered. Even a Fae charm couldn’t counter that. She wished she could curse him with the evil eye, but that was something reserved for grandma’s- they had the talent and the experience to make it work. Instead, he escaped just before Kira’s betrayer, as she just now began to understand why he’d been their guide, swallowed death whole. 

Another Colonel had saved the day at great cost to herself. She stood behind Kira as the body decomposed rapidly. There was nothing she could do except grab her superior officer by the shoulders and march her to get something to eat, the shower, and then bed. They waited two days, along with the other Bajorans, who were forced to look at their shattered illusions and try to pick up the pieces, for the Defiant to come and transport everyone back to DS9. She wasn’t sure if Kira had learned what she needed to, but she was thankful that Quark didn’t argue with her wanting a holosuite. She pulled the datarod out of her pocket dimension (a highly useful fifth birthday gift) and stuck it in the port, then called up the program. She pulled off her clothes and stuck them where the rod had been previously, then grabbed her necklace in one hand and worried it between her fingers as she stepped into the real salt water (thank you to Clara the Librarian for figuring out how to make the holosuite operate as a portal) and let her tail form as the depths wrapped her body in comfort.  

[milktei]

Again.

Sakusa Kiyoomi x gn!Reader

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings: none(?)

Requests: Open

Also posted on ao3 Milktei

a/n : another angst post? who would’ve thought? ahhh it’s been so long since i’ve written anything i’ve deemed as post worthy and i’m still not sure of this one because i’m worried the conclusion is too sudden lol. still it felt good to write again and i hope to do more now that school is lightening up.

edit: 1000+ notes later (oh my god???? thank you???) i realize that i lost some of my paragraphs in my copying pasting process from my notes app to here, somehow the story was still great and made sense but now it’s in its best form lmao

It was different. You weren’t sure if it would ever be the same.

Technically speaking, you and Sakusa had been dating for three years. That is, if you didn’t count the four months where you had thought that he was done with you for good.

It was still jarring really, it had been 2 months since you two got back together and the both of you were lounging on your couch in your apartment as if nothing ever happened.

You still remembered the day vividly. How could you not? You were so shocked you stood at your doorway speechless for more than a couple minutes. The possibility of a second chance was within reach just when you were about to lose hope and attempt to move on from the man you thought you would marry.

When Sakusa had called your name again you eventually broke from your shock and without thinking you took him back.

It was not as if you had regretted your decision. Far from it actually. However, after such a big event happening in your relationship it would be even more surprising if nothing had changed and the two of you went back to exactly how you were before.

Before you knew it, the episode of the show you two were watching ended and Sakusa flipped his phone to check the time. “Ah it’s getting late I should get going.”

A couple months ago you would have pouted, whined about him having to leave and then try to convince him to stay. Eventually it would lead to him staying the night.

But now? You thought back to your last big argument. Where he yelled at you for being too needy, too clingy, too dependent on him and his presence when he had a busy life of his own.

That was the day he broke up with you, claiming that he couldn’t put up with you anymore. If he had done it before there was nothing stoping him from doing it again at anytime.

So you were cautious around him, making sure to prevent anything he had a gripe with from happening. Whether that be speed cleaning your apartment before he came over, only texting him when he did first, not asking him to stay just a tad bit longer. It was nearly exhausting.

You sat up and stretched rubbing at the cheek that had been pressed against his toned chest. “Alright,” you replied quietly, getting off of him so that he could move.

You weren’t looking at his face to notice, but a look of worry crossed Kiyoomi’s face.

He wasn’t dense, he noticed the way you were walking on eggshells around him. He saw you were trying nearly too hard to make sure that he didn’t get upset with you. It was quite heartbreaking in all honesty. He thought that he had made it well known that he still wanted you, and that he was wrong to look at your habits with disdain. He missed your quirks so much in those four months. He was slightly hoping that you would do you usual pout and instead of pulling away, you would hug him closer.

In hindsight, Sakusa genuinely couldn’t think of any good reason as to why he decided to split things off with you that day. There were so many other options that would have gone better, such as actually talking to you.

Instead, he let his exhaustion acquired from his busy lifestyle as an athlete cloud his judgment, and dropped the bombshell one random day.

In the period where you two weren’t together, Sakusa had learned what it truly meant to be lonely, and a month in, he was already thinking of way to ask you to take him back. Eventually not allowing his pride to get in the way and just forcing himself to do it, knowing he would only regret it for the rest of his life if he didn’t at least try.

With worry still fresh in his mind, he got up and you followed him quietly to the front door of your apartment with your head down.

He slowly pulled open the closet but didn’t reach for his jacket. “Do you want to go out for dinner after I finish practice tomorrow?”

He could see the way your body filled with excitement, but as quickly as it came, it left.

You shifted from one foot to the other “If you would like… You won’t be too tired after?“

Sakusa winced as his words were unintentionally thrown back at him

“Can’t you see how tired I am after practice? I can’t go out with you all the time y/n”

“I know Omi, I just thought since it’s been a while-“

“I really don’t have the energy to deal with this right now y/n. I feel disgusting and need to shower. Maybe next time.”

“…Okay.”

That was the end that phone call. There was no next time.

“I miss you.” He had spoken without thinking.

You looked up at him and chuckled nervously, “But l’m right-“

Kiyoomi’s frustrated sigh interrupted you, his eyebrows furrowed and he ran a hand through his hair “I worded that wrong. I miss… us.”

Your stunned silence filled the room. Sakusa sighed and reached down, gingerly grabbing one of you hands with both of his.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how different you’ve been acting.” his grip tightened and his eyebrows furrowed. “It’s all my fault.”

You opened your mouth to object but he already started speaking

“Those 4 months without you was one of the worst periods of my life, and now that I have you back it still doesn’t feel right. you don’t have to be so careful around me. I was an idiot who didn’t know how to deal with being loved so greatly by someone as amazing as you.”

Your breath hitched as you watched Sakusa glare down at your intertwined hands his hands trembling as he spoke.

“You should never have to feel as if you have to be the perfect person around me. You should never have to change, to sacrifice your mental health, and exhaust yourself just because you’re afraid that I’ll leave…again. I see how you try so hard around me when I hardly deserve it after everything I put you and our relationship though” Sakusa’s voice cracked and he abruptly stopped. Clearing his throat before attempting to speak.

“I… the way I talked down to you that day was completely unacceptable. I completely understand if you now realize that being in this relationship is too much to deal with and that you would just be better off without me-“

“Please don’t say that.” you whispered.

Sakusa tore his gaze away from your hands and was greeted with tears streaming down your face. His eyes softened.

“Oh no, no I’m sorry i didn’t mean to make you-“

He was cut off by a sob and Sakusa immediately let your hand go and instead pulled you into his arms.

“I still love you.” You sobbed “I know that you should have never been so harsh to me. But I want us to work through this so badly. I’m just scared because nothing is stopping you from breaking it off again, so I thought that if I worked on myself…”

Sakusa shook his head “Don’t blame yourself, not to cut me some slack. I have some things that I need to work on, and I will because I promise you that we can figure this out. We’ll be able to be ourselves around each other again. My desire to make things right and to be with you for the rest of our lives, that is what is keeping me from ever uttering those words again.”

You hiccuped but hesitantly nodded as best you could in Sakusa’s embrace.

“We’re both a mess aren’t we?” you said through slowing sobs.

Sakusa sighed, “This is the exact opposite of how I wanted this night to end.” he grumbled as he placed a kiss to the top of your head.

You couldn’t help the teary giggle that escaped your lips and it was like music to Sakusa’s ears. You lifted your arms to wrap around his torso and buried your face into his chest. Covering his sweater in tears and snot but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“You’re not going anywhere.” you eventually grumbled pulling him closer “not after what you said.“

Sakusa laughed and leaned his cheek on the top of your head allowing the both of you to sway back and forth.

“Never again.”

[italoniponic]

Can I request headcanons for deuce, sebek and ace getting detention because their homework had doodles about their crush like those heart initial or a chibi face on the reader or a random ass paragraph about how amazing they are (on like match homework)

𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲'𝐬 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

| Notes: Hi, anon! This was very cute to write and it has a special participation of Crewel and Trein. I managed to make each one a bit different from the other and had some fun imagining the class's subjects, especially the history one! Hope you like it! Thanks for the request <3 |

Deuce Spade, Sebek Zigvolt, Ace Trappola x gender neutral reader / headcanons / crush / reader doesn’t get too much involved / special guests: teachers + lucius / fluff / use of “you” pronouns 

Cherry’s Harvesting event 🍒 Masterlist

Detentions and Doodles

Deuce Spade might not be the smartest student in school, but no one could say he didn't try hard. Even though he made mistakes at times, he never gave up and always kept moving forward. You ended up becoming another reason for Deuce to devote himself more to his studies. After all, he wanted to impress you and show you that he could be someone worthy of being your companion for life;

A particularly tedious pharmacy class was coming up halfway through, and although Deuce spent the first thirty minutes focused on jotting down elements, measurements and druids names, at one point he started writing his initials with yours on some hearts. So he started testing the same thing on spade suits and went on a tangent;

As strange as this comparison is, scribbling initials reminded Deuce of his old days of delinquency where he sometimes marked his initials on the walls of some neighborhoods along with his gang mates. It wasn't very honorable at all but, it gave him some basic minimalist drawing skills;

In fact, scribbling the edges of the notebook was becoming an addiction over these past months. Deuce had most of his notebooks filled with your initials, of every possible size, style and shape. And it was a real ninja art considering you sat next to each other. Either he was too brave, or too foolish;

But you were such a constant presence in Deuce’s life that there was no stopping you from reigning even in his books. Like the Queen of Hearts, all paths are yours and Deuce was only too happy to serve you, even if secretly. And somehow inexplicably, you never came to suspect it. Much less the scribbles in his notebook;

Whoever saw it would think that Deuce was writing down the same information over and over again. Perhaps Ace had a better chance of finding out what it really was, so the boy never let the material fall into his roommate’s hands. However, one cannot hide this kind of thing for a long time and from everyone;

“Spade, sit down. I want to take a moment to talk to you in particular,” Prof. Crewel said when the class ended. The students were dismissed, Ace and you fell a little behind as you faced the frightened and fearful expression of Deuce who had just closed the notebook. You touched his shoulder for a moment, wishing him a quiet “good luck”;

When there was no one else in the room, Crewel approached Deuce’s place in the class and held out to him the work papers about medicinal herbs that the students handed in yesterday. “You made a very good report, I was even impressed. But you'll have to stay in detention to copy your text again, Mr. Spade. Clean edges this time,” the professor said;

Deuce took the papers and quickly identified the problem. He was working hard on this report a week ago and on the last page, he got too distracted thinking about you. Hearts spliced into suits of Spades, your names together as if you were a couple... it was a pity that he couldn’t earn points for being so in love;

Deuce gaped, looking from his work to the teacher and vice versa. He began to imagine the consequences for the future all because of this little mistake. His high school years, his relationship with you, the professionalism, the jokes, the awkward looks. All because he didn't realize he was scribbling on a homework assignment;

“Yes, sir! I'll start copying right, sir!,” Deuce promised, rising and making innumerable reverences. He was extremely embarrassed, blood rushing fast to his face as if he were fleeing from an angry army of cards. Crewel patted Deuce lightly on the head, smiling to himself. Love at this age is really complicated.

Sebek Zigvolt wasn’t known to be so easily distracted in classes and always turned in completely impeccable homework. His gaze was always sharp as a sword, completely focused on the teacher in front of him and the teachings he was receiving. Sebek would actually like to be tutored by Lilia but, he assumed that the teachers at the renowned NRC are good enough for the job — although he detests Lucius in Prof. Trein’s classes;

But on that morning of an even particularly interesting 1-D history class, Sebek wasn’t watching the teacher or even getting annoyed by Lucius’s occasional meows. In fact, he had his eyes on his own notebook almost the entire time. What started as notes turned into a tangent of thoughts that led to you;

Oh, surprise! He was thinking of you, secret owner of Sebek’s heart — or “crush,” as Lilia taught him to speak. Sebek didn't know what to do about his growing feelings for you. What began as a simple acquaintance became an interesting friendship that evolved into something more. Passion, love, devotion. He couldn't tell;

Words weren’t enough to describe Sebek's love for you. He was very well versed in literature and poems, especially the classic gothic poems of the Valley of Thorns, so he could categorically state that a twenty-page thesis about you wouldn’t be able to fully compress or express his feelings;

Somehow, between writing down about the migratory journey of goblins from proto-Pyroxene to the Fairy Valley and sharpening his own pencil, Sebek began to draw some doodles on the edges of his notebook. He began by testing the first letter of your name in various handwriting and then began to write his name next to yours;

At one point, Sebek was one step away from finding the perfect monogram for your wedding invitation. Arts might not be his forte but, with a little practice, he managed to find a way to make his “S” marry your letter and he was very happy with the result. Sebek would look at some references later to make more arabesques — and let their vines look more like leaves and thorns than sausages;

“Mr. Zigvolt? Can you take your place for a moment?,” Prof. Trein asked cordially when the class was over. Sebek looked up from his notebook and nodded, closing his notebook quickly. The room was already empty when Sebek approached Trein’s table, Lucius was lightly wiggling the tip of his shaggy tail while on top of some paperwork;

Trein opened a folder, pulled out a bundle of stapled sheets that was Sebek's last history work. The old teacher sighed for a moment, opening on the penultimate page. “Your report on the rise of the first dynasty in the Lands of Sunshine is magnificent but...,” and on this, Trein gave the papers to Sebek. “... I'm afraid you have to complete the rest because the Ramshackle’s Prefect has definitely not participated in any of these events.”;

Sebek ran a quick glance through the middle of the penultimate to the last sheet of his work, every paragraph describing your beauty, superiority, elegance and grace, things he imagined he had thought to himself and not actually written in his own schoolwork. It was very late at night when he finished that work, too distracted and daydreaming to repair this mistake;

Trein watched Sebek’s face initially turn pale white and then turn violently red, almost going up in flames. He just dismissed the student for detention and that the deadline for delivery was until midnight. Lucius meowed in Sebek’s direction — amused by his static expression — and as he got down from the table, brushed his head against the half-fae’s leg;

“I swear, professor, by my love for the Prefect and the Young Master’s honor, that I will serve my detention properly and deliver the right work!,” Sebek promised, beating on his own chest. Trein just nodded, taking Lucius in his arms and letting Sebek fall dramatically onto his desk, desolate and embarrassed. The teacher ended up laughing with the cat himself, however. Young people in love are so energetic!

Ace Trappola — despite the first name — couldn’t exactly call himself an “ace” in school. He wasn't stupid, he just got bored easy in most theory classes and for very little, he managed to keep most of the average grades. Ace was one of those people more focused on fun or sport, things that got him moving. So no surprise that he sought any other distraction during very boring subjects;

It was one of the last classes of the morning and Ace was doodling things in his own notebook. He had put the notebook right next to him, a little tilted up, but not enough for the people at the top of the stand to see, let alone the people next to him — Deuce and you. Especially you;

While Prof. Crewel was giving a detailed explanation of the basic effects of a Belladonna-based potion, Ace kept all his concentration on drawing your face in a cuter version next to his face. It was kind of embarrassing to do that, but, he was bored and he already had every excuse up his sleeve to tell you in case you questioned him about;

Ace could tell that it was a mere joke with you or that he was just training a little for art classes. And in fact, playing around with drawing your chibi face with blush face scratches and heart eyes for him was actually making him better at it! Before they were just strange polka dots with not very articulate expressions, now they were a little more professional;

He practiced a bit how to do your hair, drawing your chibi into various hairstyles and also different card suits in your eyes like all Heartslabyul students had. Obviously Ace thought the suit of Hearts suited you perfectly. He sometimes gave a satisfied smile to himself when analyzing this;

But if you turned to him, Ace would cover the edges in the notebook with his arm and disguise the fact that he was busy drawing you. You had no idea how much Ace was in love with you and these feelings were eating him away from inside in a violent mix of euphoria, energy, embarrassment and tiredness;

Ace felt ridiculous for doing those doodles — and a little frustrated that he could come off as kind of weird. It was like he was twelve years old again, childish and clueless. To make matters worse, it was an unnecessarily dangerous situation for Ace to doodle your little faces together just as he sat next to you and in the middle of class!;

But no one had ever noticed until that moment and Ace felt relieved by it. “Trappola, I need to talk to you,” Prof. Crewel stopped Ace before he could leave the room with you and Deuce. Ace swallowed hard, worried if the professor had discovered something he did — and he didn't even know what it was to prepare an excuse. You said goodbye to him and wished him good luck;

Crewel was smiling when Ace waved back at you and turned to the professor, aware that his smile wasn't a good sign. It never was. “I'm sorry to say you're going to have to spend the day in detention to hand me your homework a little fuller and cleaner of drawings, Mr. Trappola,” Crewel showed the alchemy quiz to Ace;

Ace didn't even know how his heart didn’t stop at that moment. In fact, the quiz had some blank answers but, what was that to notice when two very well drawn chibis of you were holding hands as Heartslabyul’s leader and vice — and on top of a very angry Riddle. Ace wanted to find a rabbit hole to throw himself down and disappear;

“I… a-am… I'm going to do that... t-thank you, professor,” Ace somehow managed to answer. If he hadn't finished that questionnaire in a hurry so he would have noticed the doodles he left. Crewel chuckled a little, amused by the student's bright red face and how he tightly hid the paper behind his back. Ah, young love!