#for the length

[givemeanaccountalready]

A Who-Swung-It Mystery: The Case of the Switch-Hitter (1/3)

1 / 2 / 3

Despite the humorous title, I want to be serious for a second. I am not a licensed psychologist/psychiatrist/licensed social worker/etc., and I am certainly not an expert on dissociative identity disorder (DID). My knowledge of this disorder comes from the research I have done to try and understand it. I am trying to be as respectful as possible towards the subject matter, and I sincerely apologize if I show a lack of understanding and will do my best to correct it. I want to focus on switching, since we don't really have much information on Mikoto's childhood that led to him developing this disorder and I do not want to speculate. I only say childhood and not adulthood because the literature I found suggests that it is rather rare for this already rare disorder to form past the age of ten. Mikoto could be one of those special cases, but we'll have to wait and see.

Now, before you begin violently shaking me over the length of this post, just know that I am sorry about it. I want to argue that Mikoto’s DID is a red herring. Despite his claims otherwise, John did not directly kill anyone, Mikoto did. Through the voice dramas and the music videos, we get to see both Mikoto and John's individual perspectives and personalities. From what we've seen in MeMe and Double and then heard during John Doe and Neoplasm, I think I figured out what happened the night of the murder.

Fun fact before the post cut: in Japanese, the kanji for baseball are combine the kanji for field and ball (野球) and is read as ‘Kakyu’. The number nine in Japanese is read as ‘kyu’ or ‘ku’ and our baseball-loving prisoner, Mikoto, is prisoner number nine.

Okay, now you can begin violently shaking me.

Milgram's Very Own Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde: Subverting the Evil Alter Trope

Robert Louis Stevenson's The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is a tale that lives in infamy, and here in the West, it is synonymous with dual personalities. Published in 1886, the story is meant to be an allegory regarding good and evil. Pop culture osmosis usually has it right that Dr. Jekyll accidentally created Mr. Hyde in a lab accident, but here's the thing, it's more of a happy accident than a “Well, the risk I took was calculated but man, I’m bad at math,” one. Dr. Jekyll is a respectable, older gentleman who meant to erase his "shameful urges" (the story never explains what they are exactly, just that they go against the Victorian moral code) and accidentally created Mr. Hyde. As Mr. Hyde, Jekyll is a younger, shorter man whose only identifying feature is that everyone immediately hates him. That is not a joke. People who ran into Hyde can’t really describe him other than having the gut instinct to avoid him. But more importantly, I need you to know that Dr. Jekyll had spent most of the story voluntarily transforming himself into Mr. Hyde so he could give into those shameful urges and then used his wealth as Dr. Jekyll to sweep any trouble that arose back under the rug.

Besides being physically different, the main difference between Jekyll and Hyde is that Hyde lacks Jekyll's morals and inhibitions. Jekyll delights in the freedom he can experience as Hyde, until as Hyde, he beats a man to death with a cane. A few months before the murder, Jekyll had started to realize that he did not have as much control over Hyde as he previously thought and went two months without drinking the transformation tonic. As Jekyll puts it, in a moment of weakness, (yes, it reads like an allegory about substance abuse) Jekyll takes the tonic, transforms into Hyde, and since Hyde is pissed over being locked up for so long, he exercised his frustrations on a rich man's head.

Historically, the nineteenth century is when psychologists started arguing over the existence of multiple personalities, and the public back then was as fascinated with it as it is now. And I can't believe that we're nearing The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde's 150th anniversary, and the evil alternate personality trope is still going strong! I swear to you, it seems like DID is only ever brought up in conjunction with stories involving a murder(s), and the resolution is always, the evil alter committed it. I only know one example (Primal Fear (1996)) where the evil alter didn't do it, but that was because of the twist ending!

Besides wanting the novelty of the core having killed someone rather than the 'evil' alter, I think it would fit in with Milgram's dedication to emphasizing that each prisoner is an individual with their good points and bad. No one is 100% good, or bad, or anything else (Jackalope is 100% chaotic neutral, but he is a mythical creature, not a human, so shh). They have dominant traits that may influence their actions, but as in reality, things aren't black and white. It would make sense for Mikoto and John to reflect this. Mikoto is not 100% good and John is not 100% evil. They both have good and bad traits.

I think that the first trial shows it much better than the second, but Mikoto's main problem is how he constantly denies that anything is troubling him. Es calls him out on it explicitly during Neoplasm. Mikoto’s response is, “Usually, if you just laugh and pretend, things work out in the end,” explaining that the pretending helps him cope. It may not be the healthiest coping mechanism, but it is what he does. The most recent example of this not actually helping anyone is during Mikoto’s 2023 birthday timeline conversation. Mikoto questions himself to see if John really does exist and then he angrily blames John, only for John to front long enough to yell that he did it to save them. John disappears and Mikoto tells himself that that was useless, and that he’s tired and should stop thinking so hard about it. John has repeated quite a few times during Neoplasm and in that timeline conversation that he did it because Mikoto couldn’t handle it. The implication is that it is referring to the stress that built up and led to the murder. I agree with John that Mikoto’s decision to continue putting his head in the sand and to bottle up all his stress would have led to a breakdown. Everyone has a limit, and it is clear that Mikoto was rapidly approaching his. I don't disagree with that at all. What I disagree with is John's claim that he is solely responsible for the murder, because his existence does not make him purely evil and Mikoto's purely good. To think so is to play right into the black-and-white dichotomy of morality and play directly into Yamanaka's hands.

Despite his more sadistic tendencies, John does have some positive traits. We know he cares deeply for Mikoto and wants to protect him, even if his actions aren't acceptable. In Neoplasm, we’ve even heard John express some pride over being a college graduate, something Mikoto has previously downplayed when asked questions by Amane. We’ve seen in timeline conversations that Mikoto is capable of expressing annoyance and exasperation (with Fuuta) as well as anger (at John in the above timeline conversation). John can be cruel and aggressive, but he is active in asserting himself. Meanwhile, Mikoto is considerate to others to the point of his own detriment and is rather passive when it comes to conflict. Just because Mikoto seems to have more desirable character traits than John doesn’t make Mikoto incapable of committing a violent act.

Now, onto the murder, what could lead to Mikoto killing somebody?

"Communism was just a red herring." - Clue (1985)

I firmly believe that John is full of shit. Despite the number of destroyed mannequins, there is only one murder victim: the blond fellow we see at the beginning of MeMe. And just like in the cult classic, Clue (1985), I think the motive was blackmail.

Remember Mikoto's glitched line from the second voice trailer? "DESTROY EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING!" I don't know if this is just an accepted fan theory or if it had been confirmed, but it is believed that the lines from the second voice trailer happen before the murder takes place. If it had taken place after the murder occurred, then everything would most likely reference the evidence of the murder. But this takes place before the murder happened. Sure, it could be John's need for one of those rage rooms, but if I'm being honest, I think it was blackmail that could have gotten Mikoto fired from his job. Despite the amount of stress his current job causes him, Mikoto has stated over and over again that he worked very hard to get into the best company in the advertising business, and in his Trial Two interrogation questions, he has stated that he will not leave his current job because he believes that his efforts will eventually be rewarded. Mikoto is fine with being uncomfortable if he believes it will lead to future benefit (AKA, no pain, no gain).

From what I understand about Japan's work culture, getting fired puts a black stain on your record and makes it extremely difficult to find a new job. Getting fired by a top-tier advertising agency isn't just losing his dream job, but possibly destroying any chance of Mikoto gaining any opportunity or prestige for the rest of his career. All his hard work will be for naught. There are plenty of real-world instances where someone lost their job or lost their college acceptance because of poor behavior on the individual's part. If the blond victim had evidence of Mikoto acting badly, regardless of whether it was Mikoto or John fronting, Mikoto's boss could fire him, ruining his chances of ever being rewarded for his hard work. People have certainly killed for less in the real world.

Personally, I lean towards the blackmail being something John did, although this comes from Mikoto's line from Undercover: "Don't lie about me / what did I do?" If Mikoto cannot remember anything from when John fronts and he is aware of his forgetful spells, then not only would Mikoto question whether the blackmail had been doctored but also he'd wonder if there is a hint of truth to it. Remember Mikoto's words to Fuuta, "You're a uni student, right? You can't act like that once you start working properly," as if the angry behavior from Fuuta is only normal until a certain age. Perhaps Mikoto took part in some bad behavior in the past. More likely than not, it’s John in the blackmail. T1Q11 answer states, "Yes, I am [someone who takes others into consideration]. I'm a working adult. Communicating makes work easier." It's almost ironic how his boss constantly texting him and inconsideration causes Mikoto problems, and because he is the new guy and subordinate, Mikoto can't exactly tell his boss to fuck off.

His T1Q10 answer better lays out his beef with Fuuta's behavior: "I don't think I've ever gotten angry before. Isn't it kind of disgraceful to get angry?" Now, Mikoto is a very go-along-to-get-along kind of guy and Fuuta is not. He could be telling the truth that he has never gone into a blind rage (that Mikoto remembers), but to say he has never felt anger is most likely a lie.

Here is how I think the murder went down. At the beginning of MeMe, we see Mikoto waiting in a dark, secluded area near the train tracks. His hair is mostly covered by the beanie and we cannot make out his expression whatsoever, so there is no clue to tell us who is fronting between Mikoto and John. Mikoto does not appear to have a bat on his person or around him, and it seems like he is holding his phone. The blond victim could have just been a stranger walking by, but I think that he was an old friend of Mikoto's from high school or college and was supposed to meet with him. As peers who are supposed to be working adults, Mikoto is under the impression that whatever this is, they can just talk it out. This is all just one big misunderstanding.

Maybe the blond victim even brought the bat for an intimidation factor. Maybe Mikoto brought it just in case. I lean towards the former because you would notice misplacing your own baseball bat (they can get really expensive) is hard to not notice, and the whole thing is easier to deny if you don't even own the murder weapon in the first place. Whatever the case, the blond reveals his blackmail and demands payment or else it's getting sent to Mikoto's boss. Mikoto sees nothing but red, screams at his old friend to destroy all of the blackmail, take the bat, and then swings. The first blow hits the victim's lower back, just like how it hit Es in Undercover, and it is enough to render the victim's legs useless, forcing him to try and crawl away rather than run. Mikoto raises the bat well over his head and brings it down again, killing the victim.

With no one around but his now deceased victim, the red haze lifts and Mikoto realizes what he just did, prompting the first trial glitched line, which is believed to take place after the murder, "My life... it wasn't supposed to be this way." The heartbreak is too much to bear. John takes over and is the one to bury the body, dispose of the evidence, and clean Mikoto up. When Mikoto wakes up the next day, he can disregard it as a bad dream: "All I did was dream / And that's what you found GUILTY?"

Pretty words, but empty ones, I know. Where's my proof? I'm glad you asked. :)

Switch-Hitting

Let's start out with the murder weapon: the baseball bat.

In baseball, a switch-hitter is someone who can bat left- and right-handed. Switch-hitters are prized by coaches, because batters have a higher chance of hitting the ball when they swing opposite of the pitcher; meaning a left-handed batter has a better chance of hitting a ball thrown by a right-handed pitcher than the right-handed batter against that same pitcher. There can be switch-pitchers (someone who can throw left- and right-handed), but because Mikoto's murder weapon seems to be the baseball bat, I'm going to focus on the way he swings the bat. As previously stated, during the third chorus of Undercover, we see Mikoto's silhouette bludgeon Es with a baseball bat.

Now, it has been a while since I've played baseball and softball, but I do still own a bat and I believe that that is a left-handed swing. A left-handed batter would have their left hand positioned above the right hand and the bat would have been held over their left shoulder. When they swing, they step in and turn towards their right to complete the swing. That is what Mikoto is doing in this picture. I tried to mimic the swing, but I am a right handed batter, so it feels awkward when I do it. Right-handed batters are more common that left-handed hitters, and in Double, we see Mikoto/John bat both ways, making him a switch-hitter. In the US, a switch-hitter has to pick one side to hit from during the time he is at bat, meaning that say he batted right, then swung and missed twice (two strikes, one more and he's out), he can’t switch to bat left. He can switch to bat left the next time he is up at bat, but he cannot switch positions once he steps up to the plate. I can’t find much on Japan’s rules about switch-hitting, but there’s a ton of articles about a high school player who kept switching positions for every pitch during the same at bat (pissing off the Americans in the comments section). Now, I can’t speak for professional baseball in Japan, but I guess switching positions during the same at bat is allowed at the level Mikoto played (high school). I do feel confident in stating that the Mikoto featured in Undercover has a left-handed swing. But Gimme, what does that have to do with switch-hitting? Switch-hitting involves batting both ways.

If you continue to closely watch the opening of MeMe, while Mikoto holds the bat in his left hand, but when he readies himself for the overhead swing, Mikoto has his right hand over his left, something a right-handed batter would do. I actually made a list of when we see Mikoto swing the bat, and it seems that when Mikoto swings the bat normally (like how he would in a game), he usually bats left-handed. I could only find one instance of Mikoto holding the bat right-handed as though he were up to bat.

Left-Handed Batting:

at 3:04 in Undercover

at 0:30 in MeMe

at 0:58 in Double

at 1:29 in Double

Right-Handed Batting:

at 1:26 in Double

Buuuut, when we see Mikoto swing the bat abnormally, he uses his right hand to guide the swing as if he were batting right-handed. His right hand is above his left (which is normal positioning for a right-handed swing) when he does the overhead swing in MeMe at 0:37, and when he swings the bat one handed during Double, it is with his right-hand.

Your dominant hand isn't what determines your batting stance. Generally, it's a good indicator, but it's not set in stone thanks to cross-handedness. Cross-handedness is when you use your dominant hand for certain activities and your non-dominant hand for others. But if it matters, Mikoto is right-handed. Most of his actions in both songs involve his right-hand. If you watch MeMe, the only time Mikoto uses his left hand is to move the camera at the beginning and end of the song, and then to pick up the Death tarot card at the very end of the song. In Double, the only time he uses his left hand is when he swings the bat. Also, his shoulder bag is on his left shoulder in both MeMe and Double, and generally, purses and shoulder bags rests on your non-dominant side to give your dominant hand easy access.

Like I said, Mikoto being right-handed doesn't necessarily translate to him batting right-handed. Now, I'm no baseball expert, but I don't think his left-handed swings are all that good. They look 'jerky' to me. We don't see Mikoto complete a right-handed swing; we only see him hold the bat as if he is waiting for a pitch and the positioning seems natural. And there is something that I want to point out. You can train yourself to become a switch-hitter. I am not kidding when I say that switch-hitters are coveted. I think it would be in-character of Mikoto to naturally bat right-handed but try to teach himself how to bat left-handed so that he can become a switch-hitter. He is someone who knows what they want and creates a ten-step plan to get it, (see his "I wanted this job so I chose this art college with this degree"). He also believes in hard work being rewarded, so if he successfully trains himself to become a switch-hitter, his coach will reward him with more playing time (in this case, move him up the batting list). Mikoto is also self-effacing, so when he puts himself down, it needs to be questioned. Are his claims about not being good at baseball an example of his low self-esteem affects his perception of himself, or was he just plain bad because he was batting from the wrong side? He could just plain suck at baseball, but his abnormal, right-handed swings are smooth and controlled. It makes me think he bats right naturally, and that his left-handed swings are him practicing to get better at switch-hitting.

Unlike Mikoto, John is not patient. He would not bother with a swing he is not comfortable with. We saw that in John Doe as they are quick to taunt Es and lash out at them and Kotoko. John did not try to retreat and figure out a strategy to best Kotoko, an experienced fighter, he just went for it. I can only assume he wised up during his fight with Kotoko and that's why she couldn't knock him out a second time. This impulsive, fiery temper reappears in Neoplasm, when John mock Es for chaining Mikoto and for the name they gave him, and then as Es stalls during John's prodding of what will happen to Mikoto, John begins shouting at Es to answer him. I would probably split the two this way: while Mikoto is proactive with his willingness to think ahead and shortchange himself for the chance of being rewarded in the future, John is reactive and his impulsiveness leads to short-term thinking that can screw over Mikoto.

Here's Mikoto in Neoplasm: "I wonder if it's like... some kind of sleepwalking...? After all, I've been losing sleep more and more often recently... Man... It's really troublesome, isn't it?...Usually, if you just laugh and pretend, things work out in the end, right? I'm pretty good at that. Making things work out to the best of my abilities." At this point, he can no longer deny that nothing is wrong, and Mikoto is now forced to seriously consider just what is going on when he has these forgetful spells and falls asleep. Something is wrong, and he is trying to follow his usual protocol of smiling and quietly figuring out how to make things turn out for the best. Except it is not working in Milgram, triggering John's appearance in Neoplasm.

John is surprised by Es's acceptance of the situation, and even says, "I'd just think it's a lie someone came up with to get away with murder." As he and Es continue to talk, John asks Es why they think he was born and confirms that his role is to protect Mikoto from harm. Es is the one to bring up the murder, and suddenly, the chatty John is giving short, vague responses, reiterating that he is the murderer, not Mikoto. Here's some of it, "Yeah, it's me. I killed them off... They annoyed me [so I killed them]... Just someone [a stranger] who was walking around nearby... Can't remember [how many I killed]." When Es demands to know how John can be so calm, John changes the subject to find out what will happen to Mikoto. When Es cannot give him a satisfactory answer, John repeats again and again that Mikoto is innocent and that he, John, is at fault, so please forgive Mikoto. I think John would admit to every wrongdoing of Mikoto's if that meant Mikoto's burden would be lifted. It's why I don't trust him. Not only is his confession too vague to be considered admissible, but as Mikoto’s protector, he also has a reason to take the fall. John is not an evil alter, but he is taking advantage of the trope to get Mikoto the Innocent verdict. An Innocent verdict, in John’s mind, will erase most of Mikoto’s current stress. It is too short term, and relies to heavily on Mikoto’s habit of denial. If Mikoto is found Innocent, there is a chance that he may continue to pull his head out of the sand to figure out what is going on so he can learn how to manage or suppress it so his everyday life won't be impacted.

Oh, and one more thing before I end this first part.

That Wasn't Mikoto at the End of Neoplasm, which is why Double differs from MeMe.

John is playing up the idea that he is an evil alter to get Mikoto out of trouble, and the weird behavior shown by 'Mikoto' at the end of Neoplasm is just John attempting to manipulate us. Do you guys remember at the end of John Doe when Mikoto is back in control and is confused and then horrified as to why he’s hurting and why Es is now covered in bruises? From what I’ve read, that confusion is a common sign of personalities having been switched, and so is the memory loss he has experienced. Now compare that to the end of Neoplasm, when John ‘leaves’ and Mikoto comes back and immediately starts guessing what kind of dog Es owns? And how weird that is because Mikoto had started the interview clearly worried over what is going on with him when he is ‘asleep’? I don’t think Mikoto actually came back. I think that that’s John taking advantage of Es being startled by the bell and pretending to be Mikoto and trying to emphasize how harmless Mikoto. Mikoto is just a little guy. How can someone so friendly be a monster?

1 / 2 / 3

[beif0ngs]

Over the Garden Wall 10th Anniversary stop motion short by creator Patrick McHale and Aardman Animations

[eggwishing]

I ONCE TRIED TO WASH THAT SCUFFED OLD THING WHILE HE WAS TAKING ONE OF HIS NAPS, BUT WHEN I TOOK IT OFF HE WAS WEARING ANOTHER IDENTICAL ONE UNDERNEATH! AND ANOTHER! I GOT THROUGH TEN MORE LAYERS OF THE SAME THING BEFORE HE WOKE UP. I WAS SO FRUSTRATED! WHERE DID HE EVEN GET THOSE FROM? THEY ALL EVEN HAD THE SAME STAINS!!

[angelofdumpsterfires]

how i feel about all the changes in s3

[hamletthedane]

There’s a lot of excellent examples of the difference between a million and a billion, but here’s my new personal favorite from a conversation I had today:

A million minutes ago was April 2021, the height of the COVID pandemic.

A billion minutes ago was November 121 CE, the height of the Roman Empire.

[yamujiburo]

pokeball nails!

[housecow]

i WISH t shirts looked like this when they’re tight but i gotta hold them to make that happen. anyways, another before n after :3

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF Michael refuses to be gaslit on “THE BITE OF 83”

[mostly-imagines]

Guard Dog vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka don’t fuck with jason’s gf pt. II

3 in 1 blurbs

warnings: mild standard gotham violence, in the 3rd section: attempted sexual assault and panicky thoughts afterwards from reader

“Sweetheart, this is…not good.”

You turn your head over to him, where he’s frowning, hands on his hips as he inspects your bedroom window.

You tilt your head, looking it over from your place on the couch. “What’s wrong with it?”

He sighs, “Well for one, the lock is broken. But even if it weren’t, this thing would be so easy to break.”

“It’s the lock the place came with.” You shrug. At least it has a lock. In Gotham that’s kind of asking a lot.

“Yeah, I can tell.” He frowns at the window once again, moving over to stand behind the couch. “I’m getting you better locks.” He looks to you, “I can install them tomorrow?”

You tilt your head up to look at him, “You don’t need to get me new locks, Jay…”

“Okay.” He kisses your head, “I’m getting them.”

You sigh in defeat, though your smile makes it lose its credibility. “Tomorrow’s fine. I assume you’re staying the night, then?”

He makes his way to the kitchen as he says, “Well, I’m not leaving you alone here with this piece of shit the only thing between you and Gotham.”

“I’ve lived here for two years.” You say flatly.

“Don’t remind me.” He mumbles as he moves behind the counter. “Actually, your door chain’s broken too, isn’t it?” It is, but that’s his own fault.

You had a long day a couple weeks ago and had a very long, very hot shower the second you got home. Unfortunately, it had slipped your mind to text him that you were home safe and he’d broken through the chain in one try to make sure you were okay.

You hum, “It wasn’t doing much anyways.” Clearly.

He grimaces as he heats up the stove for dinner.

You laugh lightly, “What?”

He looks back at you with a frankly adorable frown, “I don’t like that.”

You’d never thought much of it. You hadn’t had any—well, many—problems living here before, and you still had your deadbolt and handle lock.

“It’s okay. I’m safe here.”

He looks like he strongly disagrees. He comes back over, sitting next to you, taking your face in his hands. “Will you please let me set up some security measures around here?”

“Did Jason Todd just say please?” You say in faux-shock.

He rolls his eyes at you, “I’m serious.”

You sigh, contemplatively. “I don’t want my apartment looking like the Home Alone set.”

He laughs at that, “It’s not going to. You won’t even notice most of them. Just do it for me, please?”

“I’ll agree, but only because I know you’re going to do it anyways and I’d like to pretend I have control over this.” That’s not true, you’d agree to literally anything if he said please that sweetly again, but that’s your business.

“Fair enough.” He smiles, kissing your cheek.

No, it’s not fair at all.

It’s late. You’re not even sure how late but the city has calmed from its usual noises, indicating that your boyfriend will be home soon.

You’re coming up heavy on cramps tonight and according to the mockingly empty spot in your medicine cabinet, you’re out of ibuprofen. Yeah, it’s late, but the store on the corner is a three minute walk and fuck your stomach hurts. Jason wouldn’t like it if you went out without telling him though, so maybe you should wait until—

The sound of the living room window sliding open breaks you away from your thoughts, followed by a clatter of something hitting the ground.

You walk back into the dimly lit room, finding your boyfriend sliding the window shut again, holsters abandoned on the ground. He turns and collapses onto the couch face first, body immediately gone limp.

“Hey, baby.” You bite back a laugh, coming over to rub his muscled back from behind the couch. He groans into the cushion in response. “Why don’t you go get in bed?”

He hums almost imperceptibly, sitting up and rubbing his eyes roughly with his palms.

He stands and takes your hand in his as he passes by, tugging you towards the bedroom. The deep ache in your abdomen reminds you of your earlier train of thought. You pull your hand back, stopping in your tracks.

He turns back to you with a frown, wanting to know what could possibly be getting in his way of falling asleep, holding you close.

“I gotta go pick up some ibuprofen. I’ll be right back.” You say quietly, not wanting to disturb the quietness of the night for him. His frown deepens as you head towards the door, watching you.

You’ve got your purse in hand and are reaching for the handle when you hear his footsteps following in suit. “Hey, it’s okay. Stay here, I’m just going to the 24 hour store on the corner.”

He shakes his head, “You’re not going out in Gotham alone at two in the morning. Put your coat on, it’s cold.”

You do as you’re told, shrugging the coat on as you glance over at him. “Jason, it’s okay. You’re exhausted, go to sleep.”

He ignores you, throwing a sweatshirt on to cover up his armor, and follows you out the door; albeit far more sluggish than usual.

He was right though, the night air is bitter and slaps your face with every step forward you take. He lingers a few steps behind you, honest to god almost falling asleep mid step a couple times.

Frankly, you’re not even sure what kind of fight he’d be able to put up in this state. Though, he’s surprised you plenty of times before. In any case, his head snaps up every time there’s any sign of movement around, instantly on alert.

He trails behind you as you browse through the narrow aisles, hands stuffed in his sweatshirt.

As you’re standing at the store counter paying, his neck is craned forward, resting on your shoulder. You rub soothing circles into his hand with your thumb, though you’re sure it’s not doing anything to help his exhaustion.

You’re walking back home, the bite of the air a bit more forgiving in this direction. There’s another man walking down the sidewalk approaching, hands in pocket.

Jason’s too tired to bother with subtlety, glaring directly at the passerby before he could even think of trying anything. And it works, because the guy averts his gaze real quick and speeds up past you.

He continues working at his post from just behind you all the way until you’re back inside your apartment.

He takes the medicine container out of his pocket and cracks it open for you, wordlessly filling up a glass of water after. You gulp down a couple of the pills, and he takes the glass and bottle out of your hand the second you’re done, setting them on the counter.

He turns to you, eyes barely open, mumbling, “Can we sleep now?”

You smile at his fatigued state and take his hand, leading him to the bedroom.

Your neighbor likes you. You know it, Jason knows it.

The worst he’d done was flirt with you, badly, and shut his mouth real quick whenever your boyfriend emerged from your apartment.

And Jason let that go; he knows better than anybody that you’re heavenly and sweet and clever, of course this fucking guy likes you. Jason set an unspoken rule with himself, that he won’t get violent with any guys unless they put their hands on you. Something he knows for absolute fact your neighbor has not done.

At least he hadn’t until a couple of hours ago. You’d been in the hallway at the mailslots, your boyfriend nowhere in sight, when he decided it was the perfect time to make a move. Make several moves, actually.

You’re sitting on the couch, knees to chest, still trying to wrap your mind wround what had happened when Jason sees you. You stopped crying a while ago and you’ve entered the phase of…well. That happened.

Your hear keys jingling outside the door, followed by your boyfriend's entrance. He’s carrying some grocery bags and has a book tucked under his chin.

He lets the bags slide off his arms, and sets the book on the counter with them, beaming, “You’re never gonna guess what b—“ His smile drops when he sees you. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, “Nothing.” But your blinking feels off all of a sudden, and you can’t remember what you usually do with your face when you’re not lying. It doesn’t matter though, you could be an academy award winning actress and you’re still sure Jason would be able to see right through you with a single glance.

He frowns, “Don’t lie to me.” He moves towards you, kneeling down in front of you. “Please. What’s wrong?” His eyes are worried now, more than usual.

You don’t want him to worry about this. He already worries about you too much and he’s got all his vigilante stuff and…you just want to believe that this is a manageable situation and not a problem. Not something that affected you.

“It’s just…it’s not a big deal, okay? I can handle it—”

His posture stiffens and his voice suddenly goes low and serious, “What happened?”

You know where this is going. “Jason. Promise me you won’t do anything.”

His brow furrows, and his frown turns to something closer to anger. “Did someone put their hands on you? Who?”

“Jason—”

“Who did it?”

“The neighbor, b—” he immediately snaps to a stand and starts towards the door. You hurry to grab onto his hand before he can escape your proximity, “Jason. Please don’t.”

The break in your voice is enough to make his rage falter and turn back around to face you.

“Baby, if he touched you—” His eyes are pleading, begging you to let him go take care of this. If not for you, then for him.

“It wasn’t—he didn’t do anything. He didn’t get to. I hit him and he backed off.” Which is…sort of true.

He stares at you. “In the hallway?”

You blink. “…Yeah?”

He takes off towards the bedroom wordlessly. You follow quickly on his tail, watching him sit on the edge of your bed, opening his computer and clicking through it quickly.

You slide over next to him, and see that he's pulling up a file under the name of your building and today’s date. It takes you two seconds too long to realize what he’s doing, the thought only sinking in right as you see the hallway security camera footage on the screen.

“Jason—” you try to close the computer but he bats your hand away.

He forwards through the footage, as you scramble trying and failing to reach past him, various building occupants coming in and out of frame rapidly.

“—please just listen to me.” But he did listen to you, and he heard that someone tried to hurt you. That was all he needed to hear.

He stops when he sees you enter the frame, watching closely. He sees you flipping through the mail. He sees your neighbor slither out of his apartment and stand far too close to you. You take a step back only to be met with two steps forward by him. He says something to you, probably asking where your boyfriend is.

The angle doesn’t show his face, but it does see yours, and you look incredibly uncomfortable. You don’t answer him, which evidently was enough of an answer in itself.

Your neighbor tries to brush some of your hair out of your face but you snap your head away, stumbling back a little. He uses your lack of balance as an “excuse” to grab onto your waist, pulling you close to him.

Your hands are out in front of you and you’re shaking your head as he pushes towards you. His lips land on your neck and you try to move backwards, but he grabs your wrists and holds you in place.

You fight against his grip, and upon realizing that your struggling doesn’t matter to him at all, you dig your nails into his wrists so hard you draw blood. He groans in pain and his grip on you loosens.

You snap your hands away and push yourself away, locking yourself in your apartment. Your neighbor lingers for a moment, shouting something at the door before trudging back into his apartment and slamming the door.

Jason snaps the laptop shut, coming to a stand once again. His fists clinch at his sides. “That was not nothing.”

No, it wasn’t. But you feel so helpless right now. You sure as hell felt it in the hallway, and it keeps lingering in you and you’re not sure why. You couldn’t do anything then, you can’t do anything now…it feels like all the bad things in the world are closing in on you and you just have to let it happen.

“I…I don’t want anyone to die because of me…” your words aren’t quite matching your thoughts, but this is the closest you can get right now.

He pulls back to look at you, brows furrowed. “It’s—it’s not because of you. It’s because of him. Baby, if I were on patrol and saw him grab some other girl like that I’d do the same thing.”

You know that. You know that. But communication seems impossible right now even though it’s the only tool you have to stop things from closing in.

“No, I know that. I know…it’s just…” Things are closing in anyways. Alright, this is happening now. Your eyes start watering and your voice trembles.

“Fuck, baby.” His hand flies to the back of your head, other arm wrapping around your middle, pulling you to him.

You feel a bit silly, crying over the potential death of someone who tried to hurt you, in front of the Red Hood of all people.

“I’m sorry, I—I don’t know. It’s—it’s too many bad things. I can’t…”

“Okay. Okay. It’s okay. I’ll stay here. I’m staying here with you, okay?” You nod into his chest, tears dampening his shirt.

This is a temporary solution, you know that even now. But you think once it expires, it might be easier to accept whatever Jason’s going to do later.

He’s quiet for a few minutes, holding you in his arms as you sway back and forth lightly.

“Will you forgive me if I kill him?” He whispers into your hair.

You roll your eyes but smile nonetheless. “Don’t.”

“Is that a yes?”

You pull back to look him in the eyes, face setting. “I’m getting the feeling you’re going to do something regardless of how this conversation ends.” He says nothing. “Just, please, don’t kill him.”

He holds you tighter and you do the same, laying your head against his chest again. You feel him press a kiss to your head as he takes a deep breath.

You think on it for a moment, figuring it needs saying, “And don’t get in trouble.”

Your neighbor comes home late that night, trudging through the front door with a perpetual frown. He opens the door to his notably unlocked apartment. He drops his bag on the ground with a thump and flicks on the lamp next to the door. He shuts the door and turns the lock when the red elephant in the room pipes up.

“Hey, bud.”

He jumps, spinning around, “Who the fuck—oh, shit.” He freezes the second he sees him, sitting in the armchair across the room. The Red Hood nods, loading the gun in his hand.

Your neighbor stutters, “What—what are you doing here?”

He looks up at him, cocking the gun. “You put your hands on your neighbor, yeah?”

He looks fake-shocked at the accusation. “What? No, I would ne—which neighbor?”

He can’t see it, but Hood’s face drops into a deadpan. “That is really not helping your case.”

Your neighbor eyes the gun nervously.

Hood sighs, “I’m not going to kill you. I’ve been told it’s bad manners to execute someone the first time you meet.” He glances down the nail marks on his arm and steels his jaw. “No. What’s going to happen is you’re going to break your lease and move out. Within the next week.”

The neighbors eyes widen, “A week? Are you insane?”

Hood tilts his head a bit before shaking it, “Nah, you’re right. By tomorrow night.”

“This is my apartment. I live here, I’m not going anywhere. And unless you’re secretly Saul the landlord under there, you can’t do anything about it.” He crosses his arms, clearly feeling very proud of himself. Well, killing him isn’t the only option, is it?

Hood stands, making his way across the room casually. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that.” He clocks him hard on the head with the frame of his gun. He goes down quickly and loudly, clutching his head, groaning. “The alternative is getting beaten half to death and hoping whatever hospital you end up at knows what they’re doing.”

Honestly, neighbor boy is pressing his luck as is. Maybe it was a bad idea for Jason to bring the gun.

“Fuck! Fine! I’ll go!” He wails.

Hood kicks his abdomen with the side of his boot, though not nearly as hard as he wanted to. “Shut up. You’ll disturb the neighbors.”

The neighbor groans again, quieter. He mumbles something about Hood being crazy but it gets lost under the grunts of pain.

Hood crouches down next to him, patting him on the head with the barrel of his gun. “Don’t worry, bud. I’ll check up on you. And if I ever see you so much as look in the general direction of another girl I’ll put a bullet in your head. Sound good?”

Your former neighbor drops his head to the ground, hand still clutching the growing swell on his forehead.

[tizzymcwizzy]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! i hope you get to eat a lot of candy and watch a scary movie if you celebrate :D

[ciil]

what makes us any different?

[myhotplaythingsreblogs2]

[nailsandinspo]

[posalis]

▪︎ All I want... is my partner back.

▪︎ [I persist after everything you've done] because I promised you.

▪︎ We finish this together.

“To have something you can't give up on must be a kind of blessing in itself.” - Tokyo Ghoul: Days

[shouyuus]

18+, vi-shaped brainrot, mdni

consider college roommate!vi who is the star of the rugby team and just such a fucking jock about it, spends hours at the gym, has pre and post workout drinks and never closes her door when she's blasting rock music, leaves pink hair dye on the bathroom counter, stains the tub when she gets drunk and tries to redo her roots, calls you everything but your name -- sweetcheeks, dollface, cupcake, princess -- isn't shy about her hookups, doesn't even bother to apologize the mornings after another pretty cheerleader scampers out of her room, shrugs and winks when you come out of the bathroom with a tiny thong dangling off your finger that's clearly not either of yours.

college roommate!vi who does kickboxing on the weekends and teaches a kid's course at the local gym. the first time you go there to drop something of her's off as a favor, you can't help but stare at the way she laughs and chases the kids around, so gentle with her movements, so careful, guiding their punches, correcting their forms. and the kids love her -- it's so easy to see, the stars in their eyes, the color high in their cheeks, the way the girls cluster around her legs and the boys are constantly vying for her approval, how she tries her best to divide up her attention equally between all of them.

college roommate!vi who goes real quiet the first time you laugh in her presence, a real laugh, not one of those ha-ha ones you snipe at her when she's trying to get a rise out of you, or teasing you about spending all your time in the library, but one that shakes your shoulders and makes your whole face light up. who has to blink when you cock your head and ask if she's okay bc she was so busy staring at you, wondering about the weird thumping in her chest, the tightness in her throat.

college roommate!vi who's there for you when you're stressed about your dissertation, and she knew you were smart, but listening to you rant about it at 3am in the morning, she's starting to realize that... you're kind of a genius. to be so young and already doing a doctorate in mechanical engineering, and the things you're trying to do -- they could conceivably change the world one day. who freezes when you let your head drop onto her shoulder with a heavy sigh, telling her that you don't know what to do.

"you'll figure it out, cupcake. with a brain like yours? you always do."

college roommate!vi who realizes way too late that she's kinda got it bad for you, bc since when did she start getting used to the sight of you wearing one of her gym shirts in the mornings, making scrambled eggs, rolling your eyes when she yawns her way into the tiny kitchen, leaning an arm against the fridge as she looks you over before asking what's for breakfast. who's gotten so used to falling asleep to the soft clatter of your computer keys that when you leave to visit your family for a weekend, she tosses and turns and can't figure out why it's impossible for her to get to sleep, wanders into sliver of space you guys have crammed a couch and tv into to call a living room, slumping down there to stare at the ceiling, only to feel her fingers graze against something on the ground, who tugs out the thing from under the couch only to find herself staring at one of your bunched up socks with the goofy cartoon cats pattern, and she remembers (suddenly) finding you tearing your room apart the week before trying to look for it because it's your favorite pair of socks.

she finds herself chuckling, letting the sock fall again, but the tightness in her throat doesn't recede, and invisible fingers clench in her gut as she lets her eyes fall shut.

"well... fuck."

college roommate!vi who doesn't know how to act when you get back from your weekend away, when you throw yourself into her arms, your skin still smelling of the crisp fall air and something warm, and spicy -- it reminds her of the holiday market you dragged her to last year, the cinnamon and spiced apples, the hot, mulled wine, the way it burned all the way down when she took the first sip, the way it worked the most darling flush into your cheeks above your pink knit scarf.

"i've got a present for you!" you say, when you finally extricate yourself from her gasp, your arms still around her shoulders, her hands still settled around your waist.

"y-yeah? you didn't have to do that, sweetcheeks --"

"yeah, but i saw this in a store window and -- well i just... it reminded me of you," you say, pulling back to dig something out of your travel bag, and it takes everything in vi not to tug you back into her chest. so instead, she settles for knitting her arms across her front and coughing to hide the fact that her throat's just tightened over itself at your words. you? seeing something and thinking of her? gods, she was so far gone.

"here," you say, pulling a small black box out and offering it to her on the palm of your hand.

vi stares, before reaching out to take it, her eyes flickering up towards your face, only to catch you chewing on your bottom lip in a way that makes her mind frizzle out at the edges. she refocuses her attention on the box -- opening it, she finds a tiny little gemstone, set on a thin golden chain --

"oh..." she breathes, tugging out up to let the gem dangle from between her fingers.

"it -- it's an alexandrite stone," you say, your voice a bit reedy, but you push on as vi continues to stare, "it's uhm -- one of the rarest gemstones in nature, but the cool thing is it changes colors depending on what kind of light it's under --" you reach up to grasp her wrist, her lungs seizing at the contact as you tug her into the incandescent light of the kitchen. "see? it was light blue a second ago, right? and now it's --"

"violet," vi says, her voice soft and disbelieving.

you quickly let go of her wrist, pursing your lips and wrapping your arms around yourself, looking anywhere but at her face.

"yeah -- i just --" your shoulders shrug up as she stares at you, her sky-light eyes wide, "it... it reminded me of... you."

college roommate!vi who, ever since the "necklace incident" (as the rest of the rugby team likes to call it), hasn't really been the same. she's put on the necklace and not taken it off for even a second since the day you gave it to her, but now she doesn't really know how to act around you -- bc did you actually like her? i mean, the necklace is... a pretty big thing to just give someone, but what if you were just giving it to her as a friend? as a roommate? she agonizes over it to the point that the rest of the team are so, so sick of hearing about it, they lovingly tell her to just fuck her and get it over with already. but vi insists that she can't -- it's different with you.

college roommate!vi who's stunned speechless when she gets home to find you staring at your computer, your expression blank. and at first, she thinks something's horribly wrong, but then you're slamming into her, squealing about how you've done it -- your thesis defense went well, that you're a doctor now -- and she's picking you up, spinning you around, buoyed up by the effervescence of your happiness, pressing a kiss to your cheek --

"oh my god, congrats princess! i knew it! i always knew you could do it!"

"thanks -- god, i just -- i've wanted it for so long i... i don't know what to do with myself now that i've got it, y'know?" you say, still suspended in vi's arms, your feet lifted off the ground. it takes a moment before you both seem to realize the position you're in, and vi clears her throat as she lets you down, you looking away, pressing your palms to your cheeks to cool the heat gathering there.

after a brief pause though, vi chuckles, reaching out to slip a finger beneath your chin, tilting your face up towards her's.

"c'mon, put on one of those pretty dresses of yours. we're going out."

"out?"

"yeah. to celebrate."

you blink as vi pulls her hand away.

"but it's like... 4:30 on a tuesday."

vi cocks an eyebrow, a smirk twitching at her lips, "yes, and? c'mon cupcake --" her eyes catch yours and instead of looking away, she holds it this time, something flickering behind their powder-blue depths that makes your skin prickle with heat, "i'll show you a good time."

college roommate!vi who takes you to one of her favorite clubs, tugging you through the crowd, the jostling bodies, holding your hand in her's, trying really hard not to think too much about it (or the fucking insane little black and pink miniskirt you put on), telling herself that it's just to make sure she doesn't lose you in the crowd, grinning when someone knocks you into her chest, and she finds her arm wrapped around your waist, fingers scrunching the material of your skirt, your palms splayed on her chest.

she buys the both of you a round of shots, watching with a hitched breath as your tongue flickers out to lick the salt daubed on your wrist, the way your eyes squeeze shut when you take the shot and your lips wrap around the lime slice, tries to ignore the twist in her gut like a turning blade, the way her whole body flushes with heat, the dull ache caught between her legs when you wipe your lips, your eyes bright and a little blown out, your cheeks flushed with color as you giggle and lace your hands with hers again --

"come on! i wanna dance!"

college roommate!vi who is just drunk enough to let herself dance with you, to let herself lean in to the way you're twisting your body, fingers in your hair, your eyes closed, an indulgent smile on your lips, who let's herself imagine (just for a second), pulling you in to kiss you, how soft your lips might feel on hers, how silken your skin might be beneath her hands, who tries not to groan when you lean in closer, link your arms behind her neck, press your whole body against her's, who grips your hips just a little too tight, grinds you against her, sees the way you gasp, your eyelids fluttering as you eyes glaze out --

college roommate!vi who can't help how she groans at the sight, tugs you in by the back of your neck to mash her lips to yours, crushing you to her as she kisses you (finally, finally) and you let yourself he kissed -- your fingers tangle in her choppy pink hair, and she swears you make this sweet, mind-bending whimpering noise in the back of your throat that drives her up the wall and right over it --

but when she pulls back, she sees the look on your face -- shocked and little confused, but you're drunk, and she doesn't wanna do this with you -- at least, not like this.

college roommate!vi who pulls away, only to have you follow her all the way out the club, into this small dark alley, her shaking her head, feeling a strange, saltwater prickle at the back of her throat as she says --

"shit -- sorry. i didn't mean to -- i just -- you were just so -- and i -- fuck, i didn't --"

"vi -- vi -- no, violet, listen to me --"

it's her full name on your lips that makes her pause, makes her turn to find you walking towards her. your lipstick is smeared, your hair a waterfall mess around your shoulders as you corner her against the rough brick of the club's exterior. faintly, she can still feel the pulse of music reverberating from inside the club, but out here, the air is damp and cold and quiet.

"i -- i'm sorry i kissed you," she says, her voice cracking over the syllables. she bites her lips as you frown up at her, your eyes searching her's before you let out a soft sigh and a scoff.

"well. i'm sorry you feel that way. cause..." you take half a step back, your arms curling around yourself before you glance back at her with a hard, determined light to your eyes as you press back into her space, your cheeks bright with color.

"i was really kinda hoping you'd do it again."

vi's breath punches out of her chest; it takes a few seconds of sputtering before she gathers herself enough to speak.

"wait -- what? you..."

you crinkle your nose, rolling your eyes, "i -- i thought i was making it obvious -- i mean, with the whole necklace thing -- it doesn't take a genius to figure how i feel about --"

you squeak as she pins you against the opposite wall, her lips seeking yours out, her fingers rucking up the material of your top, making you hiccup as they tease under the wire-rim of your bra.

college roommate!vi who can barely control herself when you sink your fingers into her hair, tugging lightly as you gasp out a breath, her lips tracking fire along the side of your neck, intent on making you whimper again, just the way she likes, grazing her teeth along your collarbone even as you jerk at her hair --

"vi -- fuck -- vi, not here --" you swallow around the burgeoning desire, and when you glance down to find her looking up at you, her eyes so dark they're almost black, you fight back a groan, cup your palms around her cheeks and pull her up for a long kiss.

"let's --" you suck in a breath even as vi whines at the loss your lips, "let's go home --"

"holy fuck," vi swears, somehow managing to pull herself back just far enough to taste the misty night air. she stares at you, your chest heaving, a daisy-chain of hickeys blossoming along the long expanse of your neck, your makeup good and smeared, your hair a mess, your eyes bright and so full of love as they flicker over her face.

vi smiles, helpless to the loud, uncertain drumming of her heart as she says, "y-yeah -- let's get you home, princess."

college roommate!vi who barely waits for the elevator door to close in your building before she's got you shoved up against the wall, hoisting you up, her fingers seeking out the softness of your skin, tugging up your shirt, her other hand dipping into the waistband of your skirt, her mouth open and hungry as she kisses your neck, bites down at the junction of your shoulder just to hear you moan.

college roommate!vi who's way too good at undoing your bra with one hand the second you get back to your apartment (if you were more coherent, you might've thought it hot), the door slamming closed, the pair of you toppling onto the room, breathy laughs and panting whines as she hoists you into her arms and carries you to your bedroom, laying you down so gently, kissing up your stomach till you're whimpering, your own hands pulling your top off your body, leaving you in an undone-bra and a miniskirt, your cheeks flushed. you push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as vi peaks up at you from between your legs, shooting you a wink before she's tugging down your skirt and panties all in one, an eyebrow ticking up at the lil lacey thing you had on beneath the skirt all along.

"all this for me, pretty?"

you press your lips, eyes cutting away as she looks between the bra dangling off your shoulders and the panties caught round your ankles. her lashes flutter.

"oh, a matching set," she cocks her head, running her palms up your thighs, pinning them open again as you try to press them closed, feeling suddenly much too seen (bc you'd be straight up lying if you hadn't put it on in the vague hope that the night might evolve into something like this).

she clicks her tongue, shaking her head with a cocky, shit-eating grin that makes your heart skitter in your chest. her drops a light kiss to your inner thigh, savoring in the way you whine again.

"nope, keep 'em open princess."

college roommate!vi who takes her time with you, bc rly she's been waiting way too long for this, has imagined it one too many times, but nothing can compare to the way your hips jerk up against her mouth, the way your fingers tighten in her hair every time she licks up the seam of your cunt, the way your breath catches on her name over and over again, like you can't quite get the word out even though it's just a single syllable. she groans against you, too lost in the taste of you to care about what a mess she must look like, with her tongue fucking into your desperate hole, her nose nudging your clit, her fingers digging crescent moon marks into your hipbones.

she's sure that if this were an old-fashioned cartoon, there'd be big, balloon hearts popping out of her eyes. she can't get enough of you like this -- moaning her name, your legs on either side of her face, your skin littered with the remnants of her. she has the eye-rolling thought of you the next morning, of how all these marks will still be there to remind you of her every single time you see one of them.

college roommate!vi who doesn't expect you to flip over after she's literally eaten you out seven ways to sunday, to tug her in for a soft kiss (though she really does like pressing your own taste back into your mouth with her tongue), before your fingers are inching down the length of her body to tease at her hips, trailing circles down the lines of her abs, toying with the thin line of hair that leads into her black boxer briefs.

"what are you --"

you shoot her a look that has her mouth going dry.

"what? didn't think i can give as good as i get?"

college roommate!vi who's literally going to lose her mind with the way you're fingers (at first sight so thin and delicate, but gods are they stronger than they look) are pressing into her, curling up with the kind of precision usually only associated with doctors, and then a voice in the back of her head reminds her -- oh, right, you are a doctor now. but logical thought dies after that, bc you've somehow worked your way between her legs and are looking up at her with those big dark eyes of yours, smiling sunshine bright before you drop a kitten-lick against her clit and she's twitching, keening as she cums all over your fingers.

"jesus fuckin' christ, doll -- is that what you're learning in those engineering classes?"

she's breathless, cheeks flushed, and honestly just a little embarrassed at how quickly she came, but she has to bite back another groan as she watches you lick your fingers clean, grinning sweetly up at her as if you didn't just get her off in record time.

"no, but i did do my dissertation on human-based robotics, which included a lot of late nights memorizing anatomical models so..."

vi pulls you in for a kiss, laughing against your lips.

"you're amazing, y'know that?"

college roommate!vi who can't really believe how much she's lucked out, sharing an apartment with her girlfriend, who literally cannot shut up about you, but the rugby team all agree that they'd rather have this than the months of endless pining. who brags about her genius gf to anyone who'll listen, and looks for you in the stands of all her practice matches when you can make it, who kisses you in front of everyone even when you make a show of trying to wiggle away bc she's sweaty (you don't really care).

who loves telling the story of how you guys met bc she still can't quite believe it herself, and the story always starts with --

"well, actually -- we started off as roommates."