#hell even oppose me if you have a point you want to share

[jellybeanium124]

So like, asexuality right. 1% of people are asexual. Many adults are asexual. I think a lot of people don't really understand what asexual means even if they can rattle off the dictionary definition.

Anyways this post is probably going to share too much about me but I want to explain my personal experience as an asexual adult. Tumblr necessary piss on the poor disclaimer: I am not every asexual adult, and the experiences I write about reflect only my own experiences.

Anyways, what is that dictionary definition of asexuality again? Asexuality refers to a person who experiences little to no sexual attraction. What is sexual attraction? Based on what I have gleaned it's really really really wanting to have sex with a particular person. It's a feeling inside you and you know it when you have it. I emphasize "particular" because you can be horny without experiencing sexual attraction. You can want sex without experiencing sexual attraction. You can have/want sex with someone without experiencing sexual attraction to them. Horny art can make you feel horny without sexual attraction being involved. These are all experiences I have had.

The point I'm trying to make here is, is that allosexuality is not a prerequisite to horniness, engaging in sexual activity, engaging in kink/having a kink. The idea that asexuals would be opposed to any of these things is ludicrous. Hell! You can have a nonexistent libido, be sex repulsed, and never dip your toes into kink and still not be opposed to those things existing!! Asexuality is not even remotely linked to sex negativity. They are independent of each other. Stop using me as a prop in your puritanical war. I love horny art. I've sought it out, and I've created it!

[uc1wa]

hiii i loved that lil fic u wrote at Jaime Reyes x reader!

was wondering if u could write something were he's been hard/needy majority of the day and he's been too shy or embarassed to ask the reader for help, but he later on figures out bcz he js begins to either avoid her or follow her around a lot?

i think i got the jist! so glad u like my jaime :3

18+ minors dni

it was getting frustrating at this point. hadn’t jaime been obvious enough? he hasn’t left you alone, not even for a second. he’d spent the lazy sunday sitting beside you when you traveled to the sofa, practically laying on top of you and looking at you with wide eyes when the bed felt more comfortable, and sat on the counter you two owned while you cooked the both of you a late breakfast and dinner.

there wasn’t exactly a reason for why he’d woken up needy, why he’d woken up physically begging for your attention. it wasn’t like you two hadn’t had any action that week—and it was frustrating him even more to even think of a reason for why he wanted you so bad.

the sun had set, dinner had been eaten and you two were back on the sofa, some sitcom mindlessly playing in the background. "yeah, baby?" you ask, noticing his wide, puppy dog eyes looking at you while his hand soothingly rubs over your arm.

his voice isn’t loud, and there’s an apparent low in his demeanor. "nothing," he sighs, upset that you can’t read his mind to know that there is something wrong and it’s something you can help him with so easily.

his body moves away from yours, his skin losing contact with yours and knees coming up to his chest, his arms hugging them.

now it’s your turn to move your body to face him, your hand moving to rest on his knee, soothingly rubbing circles on the skin. "jaime, baby, what’s wrong?"

his bottom lip is pouting outwards, his eyes looking straight and not at you. "i’m fine," he says, but the feeling of your touch on his knee makes his eyes dart. this is what he’s been wanting all day, for you to touch him and act like you care for him.

your eyes follow his, and you’re figuring out what his problem was. you two hadn’t been distant today—hell, it was a lazy day and you’ve been inseparable. but, that still wasn’t enough for your touchy boyfriend.

"want you," his says quietly, like it’s a secret. and you have to chuckle at that, tilting your head with a pout. "that’s what you’re upset about baby? you want me to touch you?"

he rolls his eyes and his cheeks turn a dark shade of red as he nods, your expression completely opposed as you’re smiling and relishing in the fact that he’s upset because he hasn’t had enough you for the day.

the hand that’s resting against his knees moves to his thighs, pushing them down so that there’s a seat for you on his lap. your thighs extend around him till you’re facing him with a grin, one hand on his shoulder and the other brushing his hair to the side so you can see his pretty eyes.

"papa, i can’t understand you when you don’t talk to me about what’s bothering you," his gaze continues looking down until you tilt it upwards with a finger under his chin. "can’t make you feel better unless you ask me to, y’know that, right?" you say in a teasing tone, and jaime’s eyes grow wide.

"’m sorry," he says, his hands finding their way to your hips and the hard on beneath you is painful for him. he can’t help himself but to move upwards.

"i’m gonna get off of you," you warn, and he’s quick to shake his head, hands tightening around your waist. "please-i’ve just been missing you all day," and despite the fact that neither of you have left your shared apartment that day, you understand.

"please make me feel better, wanna feel you so bad," his voice is starting to turn into a whimper, and you nod, giving your boyfriend exactly what he wants and filling your living room with the sweetest moans and groans till he’s out like a light.

[gotholdladywithadhd]

Unpopular opinion, probably.

So I've read many metas, and thought a lot about it and have come to my own personal conclusion about the final 15.

I'm taking it at face value.

Because it was the most human Crowley and Aziraphale have probably ever been and I think that is at least part of the point. Love makes people stupid and they are navigating a very human thing in very unhuman circumstances, and it's hard enough to do as a human in human circumstances!

I think Aziraphale believed the Metatron about Crowley bc he was expecting the worst when TM mentioned Crowley but instead got the one thing he wanted most (him and Crowley together and safe, not Crowley being an angel. ) Crowley was absolutely the carrot here. (and no I do not think Crowley would have been safe or happy, but that's besides the point.) I can't tell you how many times I've believed patently ridiculous things because I wanted to believe them so badly even though if I was looking at the same situation objectively from an outside POV I would see how ridiculous it was, so I totally get it. This isn't to say I think Azi had a real choice to go to Heaven or not and I think he did understand that as well, but I get the temptation the Metatron threw out to him, I really do.

As for Aziraphale literally saying all the wrong things to try and get Crowley to come with him? Um yeah been there done that too, the nerves take over, the brain shuts off, the mouth goes into autopilot pulling stuff out its ass, and "WITAF did I just say?" happens.

Crowley not taking any of it well and only hearing what he expected to hear (I'm not good enough for you bc I'm a demon and you only really want me if I can be an angel) *and* also being more able to see through heavens bullshit bc he has lived it, and can see it from the outside, *and* all whilst being the most honest and vulnerable he has ever been with Aziraphale in 6,000 plus years (or in fact possibly to anyone, ever. the closest before this admitting he was lonely to Azi during the Job minisode,) *then* hearing what he took to be the same Heaven will save us line from Azi was enough to trigger a massive bout of RSD and a broken heart. Everything was supposed to "vavoom and sorted! " and instead the stupid awning broke and everything went wrong. I think I've said it before that at this point Crowley can't hear anything over the sound of his heart breaking into a million pieces.

That's a whole lot to pack into the brief moments before Azi has to leave with the Metatron (who let's be honest was rushing him before he could change his mind) esp when neither of them are used to discussing their relationship openly. They didn't have time to think, to ask questions, to share information, (like hey guess what really happened to Gabriel?) Crowley tried to communicate as much as he could about his feelings with the kiss but Azi didn't have the time to properly process all that and said the wrong thing again and Crowley was rejected (he thought) again and it all just went so very wrong. You can't fix a 6,000 year relationship in 15 minutes, you just can't no matter what the story books say.

It's about two people wanting the same thing but not being able to get it (yet) because of circumstances and personalities. All of S2 was about them seeming to be closer than ever (and in many ways they were) but really they were opposed at almost every turn. (in RL not the minisodes, those actually showed them working together and coming out okay mostly, if you don't count wee Morag or Crowley getting dragged to hell) The way they both handled the Gabriel situation, how they both worked to solve the mystery, even how they tried to make Nina and Maggie fall in love were all either done alone, or in opposite ways. I've said it before and I'll say it again, as it was pointed out right in ep1, their exactlies aren't the same and until they are, they aren't going to be able to be together. The one time they did work together in the season, they produced a 25 lazuri miracle. That is the point of the final 15, and the whole season 2 in my opinion.

They'll get there in the end though!

[shadowed-dancer]

Villains and Their Fates - A Tragedy Would Have Been Fine By Me

I've seen a lot of people who try to write off frustration with the league's fates by saying "you just wanted them to survive" or "you're just upset your favourite character died". And while that may be true for a few people, I know that it's at least not true for myself (which must mean there are others who feel the same way). So today I'm here to share my thoughts. Despite liking the villains and wanting them to be redeemed, I was also willing to accept a well written ending if they died. I just wanted to ramble a bit about the three main villains (mostly Toga) and how I felt a tragic ending could have been improved.

The only villain I felt should have lived is Dabi, but that's more because of the awkwardness his unconfirmed death caused for Shoto (read this beautifully written analysis for more). If Dabi had to die, he should have died on the battle field OR in the hospital surrounded by family where he gets a few last words in. Leaving his fate unconfirmed leads to the ruined Shoto arc, but is also just weird for a character who has existed for so long. You're telling me that even Overhaul gets a confirmed ending but DABI doesn't?

I've also talked a bit about how Endeavor's survival ruins the subplot, and in 426 he continues by making Touya's final appearance about him (rather than the two brothers) but that's something I've talked about too much. If Endeavor has to be alive and hogging screen time, the least Hori could do is imply Touya will survive rather than die, so at least Enji isn't literally stealing time from his other family members to have some interaction with Touya.

If Touya has to end up in that machine, an ideal ending would have been the doctor saying "it will be a gruelling and near-impossible uphill climb to recovery" and then Shoto can smile and say "he's done it before". Boom. Simple as that. Leave it open, but at least on a positive note so we can assume that the family will have plenty of time to reconcile, as opposed to an unknown (but limited) amount of time that Enji vows to use to talk to him (yeah I know it's supposed to be a sweet gesture but even Touya calls bullshit on it). Let Shoto and Touya eat their soba, damn it!

For Shigaraki, my grievances extend to the writing of the entire final battle between him and Deku. As such, I don't have much to say aside from that because it really is just a product of poor writing. Neither were really allowed to talk before the big moment (hell, the vestiges were narrating Deku's emotions half the time like "he must be upset, this quirk meant so much to him". Why not let him tell us???) and the back-and-forth of Shigaraki being destroyed and then not only to be destroyed again was too much. It felt sloppy and hard to follow, and once you figured it out it just felt dumb. It's as if each chapter needed some massive reveal, but the story had done it so much at this point that it just felt tired and like it was happening "because Hori said so", and that should never be what drives a story.

Speaking of "because Hori said so"...

Oh Toga. Out of all the villains, I actually liked her confrontation the most. (Lies. If Dabi vs Shoto was the end of Dabi's fight, THAT would have been the best. But the Endeavor fight ruins it). Despite having limited screen time, Toga and Uraraka had a surprisingly well-built dynamic. Their few interactions were actually meaningful and created a strong foundation for a fight, and at the very least they had more of a personal connection than Deku and Shigaraki ever did. I think that Toga giving her blood to someone she loves (as opposed to drinking/taking their blood like she had said the whole series) is a beautifully tragic end to her character, but still something that could have fit.

To me, the problem comes with how she died. Let me replay the scene for you: Toga stabs Uraraka in the stomach and Uraraka bleeds too much because she keeps moving around. Toga then realizes she doesn't want Uraraka to die. To save her life, Toga has to do a blood transfusion with herself as a donor and she dies because she has to give ALL her blood.

Now... sure. Ok. Fine. Yeah. Maybe by real-world logic this makes sense. I guess. Whatever. But within the world of MHA, this setup is laughable.

Here's a list of things characters survived (or at least, they survived LONG ENOUGH to get to a hospital rather than dying on the battlefield): Deku shattering his bones with 1 million percent, whatever happened to Best Jeanist when AFO attacked him, Nighteye getting a massive spike through the torso, All Might with "his entrails strewn across the ground", Bakugo becoming Swiss cheese, Grand Torino being punched so hard a crater forms beneath him, Touya being a literal flaming skeleton, Bakugo's heart exploding, Edgeshot becoming a worm. Mirko getting a limb ripped off and then running full speed at Shigaraki. That's just off the top of my head, I know there's probably more.

But you want to tell me that Uraraka getting stabbed and then moving was a fatal wound that required ALL TOGA'S BLOOD? ALL OF IT? The reason Toga's death bothers me is that the setup cheapens the actual moment of sacrifice. It feels preventable, so when she tells us that Uraraka is going to die without her blood, all I could do is roll my eyes because I'm not allowed to use critical thinking skills, I have to just accept what Hori says and take it at face value.

If the author wants you to live as Edgeworm despite saying you were gonna die, you can. But if the author needs a stab wound to be fatal and require ALL of someone's blood? Well tough luck bud, that's just how it goes. Mirko can run and move all she wants after having a limb ripped off, but moving a bit after one stab wound is fatal. Why? Because I say so.

If Uraraka's wound was actually serious then this ending would have been a beautiful tragedy. But as it stands now, the ridiculousness of her wound makes it all feel preventable.

Oh, there's also the fact that Toga switching blood types when she transforms was never established, but I've rambled enough.

That's it. Thanks for reading!

[darin-nidk]

Shut your cakehole.| Vox &. sibling!Reader.

Content: Older brother Vox having beef with his younger sibling, Reader, once they got to reunite in Hell. Childish bickering.

▪︎ To be fair, Vox hadn't expected his younger sibling to be in Hell. Sure, they were not by any means an angel aaand Vox had recluctantly covered their ass and fuck-ups when they were alive, sometimes taking the blame for either the thrill of a savior complex or because he did care, not that he was going to show them that. Fucking no.

▪︎ So who the fuck would be giving a shit that one of the oh-so-called prophets, that Vox as a 'god' had, was none other than (Y/N).

▪︎ Still, when Vox didn't find trace of his parents in Hell, it was somewhat a bummer. Not exactly something he was looking forward to, but he wasn't opposed to the idea of, you know, having some sort of relative lingering in the back of his mind to visit or whatever it is that healthy families do.

▪︎ He didn't want to think about the very much real possibility of them getting killed before he got here.

▪︎ Nonetheless, when one day Valentino showed up at Vox's room, the one that was surrounded by security cameras (and even cameras that did not have any real purpose other than him being a creep) with a demon way too familiar to the point it was uncomfortable (what's with having an oval-shape head that was actually a LED screen. It was creepy how they shared similar expressions to Vox himself)... Yeah, Vox connected the dots. Unfortunately.

▪︎ "I had never been religious but I did pray to God that I would not cross paths with your sorry excuse of an ass", (Y/N) whined at the sight of their older brother who shared that TV trait, or more like technology theme. They groaned loudly and hid their face on Valentino's fur, and nuzzled there for a moment before straightening their posture. Making their way over to Vox, standing before him. "You looked more handsome in your coffin".

▪︎ "I was much happier when that freak accident killed me before I got home to your cooking". Vox was quick to reply at that jab, both tech-demons staring wordlessly at each other before breaking into a smile and soon it turned into laughter.

▪︎ Valentino was confused.

▪︎ Velvette was unamused when she walked into the Vee's tower and witnessed that scene. Turning on her heels to leave ASAP.

BONUS SCENARIO.

"So today in— fuck, (Y/N) stop, stop doing that!". The TV demon hissed, trying to supress his poorly hidden smile before he gave up and chuckled, hiding a majority of his screen behind the printed script that his claws gripped tightly. Thankfully, this was rehearsal and not an actual LIVE.

The reason for the ever 'everything needs to be perfect' overlord's laughter was his sibling — (Y/N) was behind the camera, displaying funny videos on their face-screen to distract Vox.

[drenched-in-sunlight]

Your genuinely one of my favorite elden ring artists, what would you say is your favorite aspect of elden ring just in general

this might be a big revelation but i think my favourite part about Elden Ring is i... actually don't really like it until the DLC.

the way the base game presented a kinda basic and fragmented story, one i'd even say i were underwhelmed about. because i went in expecting Sekiro-level of character driven writing (they did promise that in an interview) and what i got... ehhhh. that's why my fanarts for the base game is literally just fluff pieces and shipping Malenia with another character altogether that isn't even in the game. meanwhile my AC6, Sekiro and Bloodborne art... i think you can tell i have a very deep emotional connection to those games from the kind of work im putting out for them. (hell, before the DLC i actually was thinking "well i'll probably only draw some general fanarts after the DLC then go back to draw more JJK stuffs lol" famous last words)

but holy mother of God the way the DLC completely blew everything tf up.

sorry Fromsoftware, i were not aware the Sekiro character-driven part is actually about the DLC. im sorry im still not familiar with your game yet 😭

(this turns into a mini rant so imma put it under cut OTL)

before, i were pretty "...." about Elden Ring female cast. i think Melina appears too little, i think NPCs like Fia and Roderika... i can't figure out the significance of them within the narrative at all. and it kinda upset me because it feels like they regress back to the helpless / fanservice maiden trope that was usually seen in DS franchise for no reason. i don't like how Rennala ends up as and i don't like not knowing why Radagon did that to her (which turns to me not liking the way it became a popular fanon that he actually loved her he was just bound by duty etc etc...i mean what?), i actually don't even really like how Malenia's barely-there story turns out (but that's a rant for another day).

as standalone characters, sure, i'd say they all have their own merits, but if they don't play any role within the narrative... what's the point then?

but all of that is because back then, we literally did not know what's Marika's deal either.

and so she became this cardboard that everyone pins all the crimes and bad things in the world on, which is... fine? makes sense. but the following line of reasoning that she did all that because she's just...like that drives me up the wall. if i want another "woman bad" story i'd just replay DS2 😭

and that line of thought also distance her from other characters in the game. those stories are not lining up, so we literally see no point in anything.

but by giving us Marika's story in the DLC they:

shine light on the possible division between two Numen factions (Anna & Jolan story + Sword of Light & Darkness // no one is left in Marika's home (those embraces Light/Gold/ Greater Will and its Stars children) vs the Numens in Eternal City (those embraces Dark/ Black Moon/ opposing GW and its children)

the discontent with the Moon and how there are those who will never accept it as being equal to the Stars

the other half situation

the Marika's eye colour possible reveal (link her to Roderika - Roderika as a reflection of the maiden Marika once was and probably still is deep down)

give Godwyn more agency in his ending (his personal knights are on a quest for Age of Duskborn) -> link Marika to Fia (Fia as a reflection of the mother Marika is)

draw direct parallel between Messmer - the child carrying Marika's vengeance for the past, to Melina - the child carrying Marika's hope for the future

Marika as a God full of human flaws >< Miquella as a God devoid of all human emotions. both are bad in different ways. but share a same gentle origin of a simple wish for a kinder world.

the DLC singlehandedly swipes clean every problem i have with the base game. like im actually in awe they managed to do that so efficiently 😭

all that is to say. my favourite aspect of all is truly how one's perspective of this one character could alter the entire story.

i still dislike the interpretation that Marika is cold and heartless or that's she's cruel for no reason, but at the same time, i can see how ppl viewing her that way affect how they see other events in the game. just like how my view of her changes my entire view of the story itself too. and i just love how the writers pull that off really skillfully. man. and i think that's sth so unique to videogame storytelling. it's amazing!

[velvetvexations]

I got this comment on my antigonism explainer and I asked for permission to address in it's own post because I think it's good feedback:

I appreciate your support of transmasc and transnull people more than you can ever know. I, however, think coming up with a phrase that distincts “transmasc friendly transfems” is deeply divisive- and will further the divide and discourse between transfems and transmascs We don’t need a speciality phrase to denote people who are friendly towards us since those that are AGAINST us are the loud minority- the majority of real world trans people (transfems especially) are in unity with transmascs I think that this may just worsen the divides that are already starting to exist, and will further perpetuate discourse where it isn’t needed. Transfems can just say they support transmascs and transNB people, you guys don’t have to come up with a special title. I mean this all with the upmost love and sincerity. Transfems who support transmascs are the majority of transfems, yes there is an issue with TIRFism online But that is not the majority of transfems on the internet- and especially in real life. We should be focusing on greater unity and talking about what makes us similar- not dividing ourselves even more into subcategories to be policed or pointed to. From a transnull who is just as deep in this discourse

I'm thankful for your perspective and that you've given thought to the issue, and wanted to share your thoughts in a way that I feel is really sweet, which as someone with NPD I appreciate a lot. This is something that's been expressed to me about the idea previously.

I disagree, though. Are transfems who support transmascs and other non-transfems the majority? Yes, absolutely! But when the vocal minority is as loud as it is, they need to be loudly shutdown. That kinna thing takes megaphones. They're going to go away on their own and I want there to be a way to take an active stance that throws oneself out there as someone opposed to that shit.

Already it's just taken as a given that transfems are all TRFs.* If we don't go further, we're letting the vocal nature of the minority take up more and more space and become more and more accepted. Because like, they are super aggressive about it. These things get spread around on posts with thousands of notes every day. TRFs do nothing but bitch about non-transfem trans, intersex, and GNC people, and in doing so make spaces an increasingly less safe place for them.

And the signaling is a really important issue too. A lot of the responses to antigonism from transmascs in particular have been saying that it makes them feel safer. I've gotten messages from people who feel really bad about the paranoia trans radical feminism has caused them to feel around transfems they don't know, and that sucks! I'm so not interested in dismissing that as people who need to be less online or something, especially since I've heard a lot of stories of IRL spaces being hostile to any expression of masculinity as well. These are people who are, at best, facing a massive bullying issue, and at worst being driven out of the trans community entirely. It's cruel and I'm not going to shame them for having this expectation hammered into them, especially because I've also constantly been let down over and over and over when I see a post about transmisogyny or the transfem experience that I really like, only to be gravely disappointed when I see they're a TRF. It constantly happens. It sucks. It sucks so unbelievably much.

Hell, a lot of TRFs are self-identified TMEs, and in fact, most of them are! Every time they do one of their polls trying to prove some dumbass point, it's overwhelmingly "TMEs" who respond. It's like, a relatively small number of transfems kicking around a little cult of sycophants, many of whom are weird as fuck in their own ways but also many who are just trying to be good allies. They should also be signaled to that, hey, when I tell them they actually didn't need to drop a headcanon of a character that gave them joy because a transfem said so, I'm not the freak anomaly I get painted as. Like, I've responded to things asking if something so not an issue was transmisogynistic, or what the problem with TMA/TME was, only to immediately have multiple TRFs zoom into the replies like "don't listen to velvetvexations, she alone has those opinions because she hates all other transfems."

And what about transfems who also need to have it made clear TRFs aren't normal, too? Who need to be gently caught before they get indoctrinated into this shit?

When you see a trans woman saying she thinks it's bad to call non-binary people slurs, identifying as an antigonist gives the messages she's not a random confused baby bird brainwashed by Big Transmisogyny to hate her sisters. She is just one of many who feel that way.

And like, is making it a "faction" like that divisive? I don't think so because holy hell, this discourse is already divisive and toxic as fuck. The intense vitriol that gets thrown at one side from another is already radioactive. What's going to make things worse than it is now? TRFs will have to put up with seeing that other transfems are enthusiastic about disagreeing with them? Those other transfems will feel an us vs. them mentality regarding radical feminists?

A friend of mine put it really well last night:

it isn’t enough to just be ‘normal’ about transmascs and intersex people, actually you do need to be actively working against the now baked in harmful ideologies that have gained traction

I don't want to be normal about these things, I want to be actively anti-transandrophobic, actively anti-intersexist, etc. in a way that sends a clear message to everyone. Being normal about these issues is only normal until it isn't. And even if it forever remained a minority with no threat of growing larger than it is today, TRFs should still have the door slammed in their face until they learn to play nice. If transfems who are Normal really are "normal", then make TRFs feel like pariahs rather than having the unmitigated gall to declare that transmascs invented the transmisogynistic concept of transandrophobia because "2024 is the year transfems united under the banner of transfeminism."

Should we let them have that, and just say oh, well, it's obviously intuitive we're the normal ones and they're the weirdos, we can just quietly continue to consider ourselves the default model of transfem while radical feminism continues to cause more and more division entirely on it's own?

*not that they use that language

anyone may reblog this!

[stardust-and-snickerdoodles]

you're not in the dark; but far from the light pt. 1

fandom: The Mandalorian

pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

summary: After a bounty hunt gone wrong, Din must take care of your wounds and watch over your recovery. Things get dicey, buckle up!

tags/warnings: angst, injury, blood, fevers, hallucinations, hurt/comfort

word count: 2848

a/n: i've been writing on ao3 and suddenly remembered i have a tumblr. here you go.

That whole thing about your life flashing before your eyes before you die is bullshit.

You didn’t think you’d ever be in a position to make that conclusion, but considering you were working with the most fearsome bounty hunter in the galaxy, it wasn’t too far-fetched.

It was foolish to think that the two of you would get off scot-free, with the fact that the quarry you were hunting was a bounty hunter herself. Despite the considerable skill shared between you and Din, she’d managed to get the drop on you and now had you running on a wild goose chase around the galaxy. In fact, it had gotten to the point where even Din was wondering if she was worth it.

But then, just as it seemed you’d be chasing her around until the Empire came back to power, she holed up in a remote corner of a remote planet hardly occupied by anyone else. Part of you sensed that it may be a trap, but you were so eager to get this over with that you didn’t voice your concerns to Din. Perhaps if you had, you wouldn’t be in this mess.

Now, Din is crouched behind a large boulder with you, engaged in what seems to be a never-ending exchange of blaster shots.

“We can’t do this forever,” you shout to him over the noise.

Din lets out a grunt of agreement as he rises to fire off another shot. “Any ideas?”

You breathe out a heavy rush of air and rack your mind. “Alright,” you start, tapping a finger against your blaster anxiously, “I’m gonna run out there and draw her fire. After that, you go around and get an angle behind her. Hopefully she won’t notice you with me distracting her.”

Din shakes his head. “Absolutely not,” he insists, his voice as harsh as it can be through his helmet’s modulator. “If anyone’s running into the line of fire, it’s going to be me.”

“I’m a smaller target,” you counter, trying to match his persistence. You rise to fire off a few quick shots in the direction of the quarry before sinking down again. “I’m faster and I can get to cover more easily.”

Din is silent as he considers this. He knows you’re right; he just doesn’t want to admit it. Finally, he gives you the briefest of nods. “You get to cover as fast as you can, okay?” Is that a hint of worry tinting his voice?

You nod back. You have no desire to be shot today. “On my count,” you say back. “One, two, three!”

If perhaps you had been listening instead of discussing your plans with Din, you would’ve noticed that the opposing blaster fire had stopped in the middle of your conversation. Or if you’d waited another few seconds, the quarry would’ve come right to your hiding spot as she’d been planning to do. If you hadn’t been distracting Din with your talk of strategy, maybe he would’ve heard the approaching footsteps.

Instead, you stand and race out into the open clearing, only to come face-to-face with your quarry. Before you can even be surprised, she’s drawn a long blade from a sheath on her thigh and sunk it into your abdomen.

Your knees have hardly hit the ground before Din fires off three shots into the quarry’s chest. In tandem, both you and the quarry fall to the ground limply. The blade is still embedded in your torso, blood leaking sluggishly from around it. Your breath comes out in quick, short bursts.

The adrenaline stops you from feeling most of the pain, but it still hurts like hell. Now is when you imagine life might flash before your eyes, since it really does feel like you’re dying.

Instead, you find yourself watching the sky disappear behind Din’s helmet. The sun bounces off the shiny metal and nearly blinds you.

“Y/N?” Din’s voice is panicked and rushed as he slides to his knees next to you.

You say his name in a small whimper, hands grasping for anything to hold on to. Eventually they find purchase on a bit of fabric under his chestplate, and you try desperately to pull him closer to you.

“Dank farrik,” Din murmurs as he notes the blade still sticking out of you. “I’m so sorry, cyar’ika, this is going to hurt.”

You don’t even have time to ask what he means before Din’s hands are on you, applying heavy pressure around the wound. You let out a gut-wrenching cry as you see stars, the pain suddenly overwhelming. Your head spins as you weakly scrabble against his hands, trying to relieve the pressure.

“Ni ceta, ni ceta,” Din’s voice is broken but you hardly hear him over the ringing in your ears.

You beg for him to stop, the pain overpowering your rationality. If you were lucid and comfortable, you would’ve understood how vital his actions were. Right now, though, all you know is that what he’s doing is hurting you, and you want it to stop.

Din is hardly holding it together as it is, but hearing your agonized cries is almost enough to do him in. On the one hand, he desperately hopes that you remain conscious so he could assure himself of your survival. On the other, he wants nothing more than for you to pass out so he doesn’t have to hear you beg anymore.

 “Cyar’ika, I need you to hold pressure for me,” Din says, trying to pull himself together.

“No, please,” you plead, “it hurts.”

“I know, my love, I know. But I need to stabilize the wound so we can get back to the ship. I can’t do that with my hands here.” Din looks at you intently from under the visor, hoping to convey his desperation even to your pain-addled mind.

“Can’t you just take it out?” You whimper.

Din shakes his head as a wave of anxiety consumes him. Usually, you’re good with this type of thing, injuries and the like. It isn’t like you to consider taking out a penetrating object without the proper supplies. He knows the pain must be affecting you more than he initially thought. “You’d bleed out. We have to wait to get back to the Crest.”

His words seem to get through to you because eventually you suck in as deep a breath you can muster and lay your hands over his.

“Hold tight, I know it hurts. But you need to hold it as hard as you can.”

You nod and press down, suppressing another strangled cry.

“Good girl,” Din whispers as he reaches for the medpack in his bag. He opens it and is grateful he doesn’t have to hide the disappointment on his face when he notices its sparseness. Fortunately, there’s just enough gauze that he can stabilize the knife, and he knows there is more aboard the Crest.

Instructing you to remove your hands, he pads the sides of the blade with rolls of gauze before wrapping around them with another. He tries to dissociate from your pained cries as he manipulates your torso to wrap the gauze.

“Time to go, love,” he says, cupping your cheek with a gloved hand. Your eyes are half-lidded and Din knows that you’re running out of time. He needs to get this blade out and close the wound fast.

With his heart in his throat, Din reaches under you to cradle you in his arms. You let out the most heartrending scream yet as he lifts you. With each quick step Din takes, the pain blossoms throughout your abdomen.

“Stay with me, cyar’ika,” Din murmurs as he finally approaches the ramp to the Crest.

“’M right here,” you slur, blood loss making you feel lightheaded and airy.

“Good, that’s good,” Din reassures, more to himself than to you. He sets you down on your cot in the cargo hold, being careful not to jostle your wound more than necessary. He tries not to feel so anxious when you hardly make a noise to register the movement. “I’m just going to get some supplies; you hang in there.”

“M’kay,” you murmur, barely even recognizing what you’re agreeing to. Your eyes slip closed for a moment before you remember that you’re supposed to be awake. Wait, are you supposed to be awake? It would be so nice to sleep… But Din. Where’s Din? “Din?” You call out, eyes suddenly wide with panic. “Din!” you cry and the pain reappears in your abdomen.

Heavy footsteps approach you quickly and you try to turn to see who’s coming but the pain prevents movement. “What is it?” Din’s voice is a welcome relief.

You let out a long rush of breath. “I thought you left me,” you whisper.

“I told you I was getting supplies,” Din says, doing his best to keep the worry out of his voice at your forgetfulness.

“Right,” you nod slightly, the memory slowly coming back to you. “Din?”

“Yes?” Din replies as he sets up supplies to remove the blade from your abdomen.

“Did we get the quarry?”

“Yes, love,” Din takes a moment to cradle your cheek in his hand again, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. You notice he’s removed his gloves and can’t help but lean into his soft touch just a bit. “Don’t worry about that anymore. Let’s just focus on you.”

You nod your agreement as best you can.

Din talks to you in a gentle voice as he goes about ensuring he has everything he needs: more gauze, bacta spray, antiseptic, water for you to drink. He sets the cauterizer aside just in case, but prays that his own less-than-stellar suturing skills will satisfy. With slow and careful movements, he snips through the gauze around your abdomen to clear the field.  Once he can no longer delay the inevitable, he looks at you through the visor of his helmet. “I need to remove the blade now, my love.”

You nod again, watching as his hands settle around the handle of the knife. “I trust you,” you murmur, meeting the approximate location of his eyes behind the helmet.

Nothing could have prepared Din for the blood-curdling scream you release as he extracts the blade. He works quickly to pack the wound, which now rushes with fresh blood. Before he’s even finished, your head lolls and your eyes drift shut.

Din panics for a brief moment, reaching with one hand to wrap around your wrist and feels for your pulse. It’s weak, but there, and Din goes back to treating your wound.

…

You wake only a few minutes later to find Din applying a bacta spray to your now barely bleeding abdomen. The feeling is warm and tingly as your frayed cells attempt to knit themselves together. “Din,” you mumble, eyes still half closed.

Din’s head shoots up and he puts the spray aside. “Y/N,” he breathes, your name like a prayer on his lips. “I stitched you up. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you reply honestly. The pain is diminished now, and you feel grateful that you’ve missed the suturing, as it’s always made you uncomfortable.

“Good.” Din’s shoulders relax as some of the tension leaves his body. You’re nowhere near out of the woods yet, but at least you’re not bleeding out anymore. “It looks like the knife missed anything vital but it’s still a fairly sizeable wound. I’ll need to keep a close eye on it.”

You reach up toward him but with the confusion and the blood loss, you have no sense of direction. Din senses your desire though and captures your hand in his own. Your fingers are cold in his warm palms. “Thank you,” you murmur.

Din leans down and rests his helmet against your forehead. “Sleep now, cyar’ika. I’m right here.”

…

The next time you wake, it’s to Din holding a cup of broth beside you. He helps you sit up and gently coaxes you to take a few sips, insisting that you need to regain your strength. You manage to swallow down a bit, but the pain prevents you from staying upright for long. He reassures you that you can try again later.

The next three days pass in quick flashes of wakefulness. Each time, Din is there, changing your dressings or offering you more broth. By the morning of the third day, you almost feel a bit of your strength returning, and even manage to finish the whole cup of broth.

Unfortunately, when it rains, it pours.

…

It’s unbearably cold when you wake in the middle of the fourth night. Your entire body is wracked with shivers and your teeth chatter against each other uncomfortably.

Din is by your side in an instant, pressing a bare hand to your forehead. “Dank farrik,” he grumbles, rushing to retrieve the medpack.

“Din,” you slur as he returns. “’M so cold.”

“I know,” Din replies, hastily ripping open the medpack. “You have a fever. I’m guessing your wound is infected.”

“Oh,” is all you can manage to reply before you drift back off into a restless sleep.

…

When you come to again there are voices in the ship. One sounds vaguely like your mother. She’s urging you to wake up.

“I’m awake,” you grumble, trying to swat away the bees that are crawling around your face. “Leave me ‘lone. Wan’ sleep.”

“Cyar’ika,” your mother says, “you’re dreaming. You’re safe. I’m here.”

You never knew your mother could speak Mando’a.

For a while, the bees don’t let you fall back asleep. You want to reach out and swat them away but someone holds a firm grip on your wrists.

“Get the bees ‘way,” you whine, pulling weakly against their hold.

“Shh,” your mother reassures. “You were hurting yourself. I have you.”

 The other voices are all jumbled and you can’t make out anything in particular. Everything feels hazy and unfamiliar. The only thing that comes through semi-clearly is the burning ache in your stomach.

…

A while later, something cold rests on your forehead and you reach to remove it. It’s uncomfortable and you’re already cold enough.

“Leave that,” one of the voices murmurs. You think it may be your mother again, but she sounds like a man. Your hand falls from your face and you drift off again.

…

There is an ocean in your head and in your ears and behind your eyes and you think it might be nice to go take a swim in it. It would be so nice and cool.

…

When lucidity finally claims you again, it is with the sudden realization that you’re hardly dressed. You’re still clothed in a pair of shorts and a tank top, but it’s definitely not what you wore when you were injured. You feel reassured by the fact that there is a thin blanket covering you, but you question the change of dress anyway.

“Y/N?” Din’s voice comes from close beside you. “Are you with me?”

“Why am I naked?” you mumble by way of response.

“You had a very high fever from the infection. I had to cool you off quickly.”

You peek open your eyes slightly to see the Mandalorian sitting next to you on the floor of the cargo hold. “Am I gonna be okay?” you whisper.

Din squeezes your hand in his. “Yes, my love. Your fever broke last night and the infection seems to be calming down.”

“How long was I out?”

Din is silent for a long moment. You figure it must have been bad if he’s like this. “Three days,” he finally replies. You can hear the tiredness in his voice.

Silence stretches between you, the weight of his words hanging in the air. “Have you slept?” you ask.

Din huffs out a laugh. Leave it to you to be concerned about his wellbeing while you’re recovering from a stab wound. “I’m okay, cyar’ika. I can sleep now knowing you are on the mend.”

You hesitate to speak as he moves to rise from your side, but the feeling of his hand leaving yours is too much to bear. “Lay with me?” you ask shyly.

Din looks down at you and, not for the first time, you wish you could see his expression. Before you can apologize or overthink your request, he crouches back down. “Not here,” he murmurs, before reaching under you to carry you to his own bunk. You nuzzle yourself against his chest and notice the absence of his beskar armor.

He lays you down gently on the bed first, leaving enough room for himself. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs and you comply. You hear the familiar hissing sound of his helmet releasing, before the warmth of his body is behind you. He fits snugly around you, one arm resting across your waist but being careful to avoid your wound.

You let out a sigh of satisfaction, feeling secure in his hold.

“Rest, cyar’ika,” he says, chest rumbling against your back. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

>>>

part 2

[milaisreading]

Of arguments and kiss-cams

Author: I am sorry that some requests are taking time, but I am struggling to find some good plot to them, but I will do my best to do them in the next few days, hope you can understand 🙇🏻‍♀️ for now I really hope you like the stories I did post and thank you so much for reading and for the nice messages 🩷 stay safe 🩷

Pairing: Michael Kaiser x manager!Reader

Warnings ⚠️: reader uses she/her. Requests are open

⚽️Blue Lock belongs to:Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

Noa was used to a lot of shenanigans Bastard München members would pull, especially the younger ones. From constant arguments with teammates to the opposing team, he saw it all. Lately the Bastards got new recruits from Blue Lock, who were surprisingly a little tamer, until a certain blonde opens his mouth. One of their newest additions was the new assistant manager, (Y/n), who kept Isagi, Kunigami, Hiori, Kurona and Yukimiya in check. And as much as Noa was grateful for her help, he had issues with her at times too. Mostly concerning any interaction she shares with their start player Kaiser.

"Did anyone tell you how annoying you are?" (Y/n) asked with a tight smile as the blonde asked her another random question. Kaiser, enjoying the annoyed look, smirked and moved closer to her.

"Only for you, Cutie~"

"Your nicknames are as corny as your face."

"You sure? Because I might need to get you some glasses to see properly."

"I am already suffering enough."

The team watched in amusement and annoyance as they  kept on arguing. Ness kept standing to the side as he watched the two bicker, since he said he doesn't mind it if (Y/n) disrespects Kaiser. Kunigami and Isagi got up from their spots and separated the two, growing worried that Neol might yell at everyone. Also the closeness was bothering them both.

'Stupid Kaiser and his big mouth.' Kunigami thought as Isagi and the said boy started arguing instead, which caused Ness to intervene.

"That's asshole..." (Y/n) muttered as Kunigami patted her back.

"Calm down, he isn't worth getting in trouble for. What did her even say?" Hiori asked as he approached them, Kurona was meanwhile busy pulling Isagi away. Blushing a bright pink, (Y/n) shook her head at the boy.

"Nothing... Just something stupid... the usual." (Y/n) answered as Noel finally inserted himself to separate them.

'The blonde is so annoying! Why does Ness like him so much?!' The girl thought as she looked at the blonde boy.

Later that day (Y/n) was waiting outside the stadium for her friends, to go back to their dorms together. She sighed, tired and hungry from all the running around and arguing with Kaiser. (Y/n) was growing more and more frustrated as each day passed, it seemed like the blonde was growing annoying for the hell of it.

'I just want to do my job-'

"If it isn't my cute manager!"

'God...' (Y/n) held back a groan as she felt the boy's arm around her shoulders.

"Why so cold? I think I was a little nicer today, wasn't I?" Kaiser snickered as (Y/n) tried to move his arm away, but his grip only tightened.

"What do you want now? Didn't you make my life a living hell enough, Kaiser?" The girl asked, causing the boy to mockingly think it over.

"Hmm... no! I think if anything I bless your day."

"We sure have different definitions of 'bless'... where is Ness?" (Y/n) suddenly asked, surprised that the magenta-eyed boy wasn't with him. Hiding a annoyed look, Kaiser pointed at one of the entrance doors.

"He is still changing. Why are you so concerned anyways? But enough about Ness, how about I take you out for some dinner."

"No thanks. Go ask a fangirl of yours." Finally pulling herself out of his grip, she saw Kunigami walk out. Kaiser watched as she looked through something in her bag and took out a scarf?

'That looks familiar.'

"My friends are here, can you please give this to Ness when he gets out?"

"Ness?" Kaiser wondered, feeling the familiar tingle of jealousy.

"Yeah, he gave me his scarf the other day and I finally remembered returning it."

"(Y/n)! Are you ready to go?!" Kurona yelled as the others stared intensely at Kaiser.

"Sure!" She yelled back, giving the clothing item to the blonde and running to her friends.

Kaiser looked at the girl and then down at the scarf, anger bubbling up inside of him as the image of (Y/n) wearing it hit him.

'What does Ness even have?! He has half of my talent, if that even, half of my fame, half of my looks... yet she is so fixated on him.' Kaiser gripped tightly on the item.

'I am not losing to that loser.'

"Is he out of his mind?!" (Y/n) yelled as she watched Kaiser argue with Rin over something. It was the day of the Bastard München and PXG match, so she can understand that the tension was high, but not to the point were they are close to beating each other up.

'He is like a child.' (Y/n) facepalmed as Kaiser was called to sit down and for Ness to switch with him. She watched the magenta-eyed boy run onto the field and Kaiser went to sit down on the bench. (Y/n) too his water bottle and a clean towel and walked over to him.

"Why did you even go off on Rin? He didn't even do anything."

Kaiser looked up at the girl and took the towel from her to wipe his sweat off.

"None of your business. Why are you even here? Wouldn't you loovee to watch your lover boy play instead?" Kaiser asked. The tone was a genuinely upset one, a tone (Y/n) was not really used to from him. Sighing, she turned to look at the field as it was still timeout and looked back at Kaiser.

"You are really acting like a child, Kaiser. This is an official game, you arguing with someone for no good reason is not a good look on you or on the team. Think of the others as well." (Y/n) glared, leaning a little forward.

"You care too much."

"Of course I do- you are impossible! Off and on field!"

While the two were having their argument, the announcer said it was time for the kiss-cam moment, alerting the audience. The players watched passively, waiting for it to be over.

Karasu made some jokes, which prompted Loki and Rin to give him a scolding.

"Can this be over- Not like that!!" Hiori yelled as he saw on who it landed.

"Oohh!! Looks like our star player Michael Kaiser and his manager (Y/L) (L/n) got lucky this time!!"

"What?" The duo looked up, freezing up when they saw the kiss-cam landed on them. (Y/n) looked around in embarrassment, praying her friends will save the day, but all the while Kaiser was over the moon. The blonde smirked and grabbed (Y/n)'s chin, turning her head to face him.

"So~ the sooner we are done the better, don't you think so?"

"Shut up! This has to be against the rule-"

"Can you two get it over with?! We want to play!"

"Shut up, Shidou! This is against the rules..." Rin yelled, growing at the crowd annoyed.

'Why are they cheering them on?!' Karasu thought and looked at his horrified friends from the opposite team.

"Do something." He mouthed at Kunigami and Yukimiya.

"Should we start a fight?" Isagi offered.

"Punch me!" Kurona added.

"You remember how I told you we will eventually kiss." Kaiser asked with a smirk. Rolling her eyes (Y/n) grabbed his collar.

"Let's just get this over with."

The crowd's cheers grew even louder after they kissed, leaving certain boys horrified and pissed.

'Ah... so she does like Kaiser then?' Ness thought with his usual smile, trying to ignore the ache from his heart.

[junedenim]

2009

beneath the boardwalk, part 7 (series masterlist)

secret door

warnings: a tad angsty, a tad fluffy, a tad smutty, a sweet tooth, etc.

word count: 10.5k

Alex and I shared his childhood bed. I spent Christmas and New Year's with my family in Bath, but I made the trip up to Sheffield on the 4th of January for Alex's birthday on the 6th. It was a rather unremarkable birthday but it remains one of the coziest. Alex and I thought about going out to drink but his mum made him a cake. After we ate the cake, we were too tired so we played a game of Cluedo with his parents and went to bed.

After this birthday, I realized I enjoyed Alex's birthday more than my own. My birthdays have had the long tradition of ending in dramatics or sadness or just plain boring. The simplicity of Alex's birthdays has always brought me comfort, maybe because he doesn't want a party. He doesn't want to do anything. He just wants to relax and play Cluedo.

When we went to bed that night, we were practically stacked on top of each other. He offered to sleep on the floor because, although we had done the twin bed shuffle before, it never equalled the best sleep. I denied him and said I would. He denied me so I laid half my body on top of him to not fall off the bed.

I combed his hair back. It had grown out in the desert but was softer than ever. His mum made him get a trim, which tamed up the hair, making it fall perfectly as opposed to his faux sideburn days. "How's 23 feel?"

He shrugged and reached a hand up to push my curtain-like hair behind my ear. My hair was getting long too, which I was thankful for because I didn't want to resemble Alex too much. I had grown my fringe out in the desert. My hair looked shaggier than ever but I kind of liked the roughness of it. Maybe that was the part that resembled Alex's hair. "No different than 22," he said.

"I guess we've passed all the fun ages," I sighed. "We're truly adults now."

Alex smiled softly. "That feels weird. I know we've done all these adult things, but actually being referred to as one is still weird."

"I can always account for you being older than me. That's all that matters."

He shook his head, amused by me. "Those 3 months mean a lot to you."

"Yeah, they must have been the worst 3 months of your life."

"Why?"

"'Cause you were living in a world without me."

He kissed me and then said, "That would truly be." A kiss to the cheek. "Hell." A kiss to the neck. "On." A kiss to the right collarbone. "Earth." A kiss to the right breast.

*

In the latter half of January, the band went on a small Australian & New Zealandian tour. I went because what else would I do? The majority of the tour was for the Big Day Out Festival which was hosted in Sydney, Melbourne, Gold Coast, Adelaide, Perth, and Auckland.

Their first show back in Wellington came with the debut of some Humbug songs, which I had already known of through recording and rehearsals. But seeing "Pretty Visitors" live for the first time ever was life-changing, even if Alex did stand awkwardly with his hands in his jacket's pockets. Like Pinocchio came to life, still not adapted to his new body.

I used the label-comped airfare travel to explore rather than attend most of their concerts. The dates were compacted close together so I was the only one out of our crew that got to defrost from the British winter in the Australian sun.

In February, the band was due to return to California to finish the album. Late one night in Perth, Alex asked me, "Are you coming back?"

It had been a deflected point like most things. Pushed off until someone or something made the decision for me. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to go back to London alone. I didn't want to be in California alone. Ultimately, the business card from Opal stuck in my wallet tipped the scale.

"I think I want to finish it out," I told him.

Excitement flashed in his eyes but he stayed still. "Are you sure? I'll be back before you know it. Everything will be fast. You won't even miss me."

I tugged at him. "Of course, I'll miss you. And you'll be off on tour soon and I like the idea of going with you but you know I can't do a whole tour with you. I have to be independent."

The greatest accomplishment in my life might be Alex's pride in me. I don't know how I earned his belief in me. It was there right from the moment we met and it never dissipated, even when we broke up. His smile flashed with pride then, small, but always proud in the stances I made for myself.

"I know," he said. "And I love being with you but I like hearing what you get up to when I'm away. And it'll be more flexible this time since you're out of school."

"And, maybe, I could get some work out in LA. Just freelance or something. I feel like I just gave up last time and didn't bother with a job. You know, me and complaining."

"Shush, you're opinionated. It's how I like my women."

"Women?"

He corrected, "Woman."

I chuckled and slotted my head on his shoulder. "I think maybe I'll get in touch with Opal. Maybe one day write for the LA Times. Would that make me a traitor?"

"No," he laughed, "just maybe a red coat." The skin near his eyes crinkled up, pleased with his joke. I prayed to make those wrinkles become permanent, for him to live in a lifetime of laughter, specifically from my jokes but I do get a special funny feeling when he's laughing at his own humor. It's like he's patting himself on the back, something he does physically do.

There was a question of giving in too much to Alex. I was chasing a boyfriend through the world, which was okay because I was traveling and exploring too and I wanted to be with him but I always worried about my association with him—clinging too tightly, representing an image of somebody who lived off of him. At times (and eventually), it consumed me.

*

In our rented LA home there was a bay window, which didn't look out on much other than the road and the opposing house. While Alex was at the studio, I sat there and wrote. By that point, I had compiled my essays in a file I called "LA Times." My intention wasn't to submit the works to the LA Times—I had yet to hear back from Opal on any openings—but it was simply something in the works—a digital diary of those past few Californian months.

I had begun submitting work and didn't hear back. I thought of getting a part-time job or babysitting gig, but it felt like a waste of my degree, and Alex had plenty of funds to go around.

Opal and I went out for drinks and it was the first time I went out in LA, independent from Alex. It was fast fun. Opal talked in excessive sweetness but was snarky in response to any disparity toward her.

She seemed so worldly but had never lived anywhere outside of LA. She wasn't any form of a writer but she worked with writers all day and asked if she could look at my work. I was shyly reluctant but she tugged it out of me. Some small 500-word piece I liked.

She gushed about it (and still does) insisting on me giving her more of my writing. I slowly trickled more pieces to her before she accumulated enough to give to her friend, Jackson Ferrera.

Opal began coming over to our house. If Alex was out late, we'd have dinner together. We drink together most Friday nights. We smoked a joint together once and she laughed so much she peed herself.

Opal and Alex had an interesting relationship. Opal paid compliments to his appearance like she did with everyone but it never verged on sexual or romantic. She was an observer like all of us, but she didn't write about it.

She'd also mock him as most girls do together behind their boyfriend's back. All remaining affectionate and loving. The kind of way I talked about Stacey. She was my pestering little sister who was also my youthful partner-in-crime.

"I love your hair, hon!" She said once to Al after he returned home to us watching Glee on the couch.

"Oh." He patted down the sides of his hair as if he forgot it was on his head. "I guess."

He left the room and Opal turned to me and said, "That man can not take a compliment."

I laughed and shrugged. "I've tried my best. I think he thinks you're lying to him."

"Why?!" Opal's mouth lay agape. "I'm not a liar."

I stared at her speculatively. "Everyone's a liar."

"I'm not." She placed her hand on her chest, insisting to me, "My mom told me to never lie."

I don't know if Opal has ever lied, not expansively. Not even little white lies. If you asked her how her day was, she'd tell you honestly. Maybe she fibbed and told half-truths, but she'd never fake compliment you.

She was judgy. On the other side of her kindness was someone who would honestly tell you that you look ugly in that dress. Her job seemed like her destiny, paid to have an opinion because she wasn't designed for fake niceties. I appreciated and needed the quality. It was a confidence boost and a humbling force.

*

For my birthday, Alex took me to Big Sur. We flew up to San Jose and Alex drove us down to our lodge where I fell asleep and woke up 23.

In the early morning, we walked along Pfeiffer Beach where the water was too cold and dangerous to swim in and the wind blew so hard it blinded us. We abandoned the beach, had lunch, and walked Point Lobos, which felt like we'd walked into a dream. The water waved its blues and the wind waved through the trees just right to create the perfect breeze.

"You know," I said, "this is the first trip we've ever been on. Just you and me."

Alex bowed his head and said, "Suppose that's my fault. At least we've done Wicklow."

"I know, but it doesn't really count. We probably wouldn't have gone if we weren't in Dublin." We both walked with our hands in our pockets and it was easy to think of all those talks we'd had before with our hands stuffed into our jeans pockets.

Alex smiled, his eyes covered with sunglasses, and his hair framing his face. "I'm making up for it now. Best I can." He placed one of his hands on the small of my back; a reassuring touch. Alex often felt insufficient and I wasn't the best at combating that doubt. I know he's carried guilt for self-claimed selfishness. If we were both older I wouldn't have tolerated this in the manner I did at that age. I never cared that he wanted things because he wanted me to be a part of them. However, there was always a sense that Alex had to "make up" for what he had done. I don't know if that hurt me or pleased me.

When we finished the trail we had to go back to our lodge because Alex had slipped down a hill and cut a hole into his jeans. Believe me, very funny, I wish I had it to submit to Funniest Home Videos but alas...

Alex drove for the majority of the trip. I wasn't very good at driving in America. It confused my brain. I reached over, brushing a chunk of his hair behind his ear like he had done for me countless times. "You think you're going to keep it long?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Do you think I should?"

"If you like it," I permitted.

He glanced over and gave me a look. "Does that mean you don't like it?"

I hummed. I had never really thought about it. "No. I like it," I decided. "It makes you look older. I think if you had the same cut as college you'd still look like you were 17."

"You don't think I've aged at all?"

"It's hard to tell. I've never been away long enough to notice a difference. What about me? Do I look older?" I batted my eyelashes.

He chuckled at my brazen show. "You look 23 to me."

*

I got a call from Jackson Ferrera a week after my birthday. I didn't know who he was and almost didn't answer the call when it rang at 10:30 AM, still in bed. Alex had left an hour or two earlier, kissing my forehead and unintentionally waking me up. We mumbled, "Bye, baby" to one another before he left and I drifted back to sleep.

I was in the shower when Alex returned home. It was somewhere around 5 PM and a Wednesday and I hadn't left the house once. I was in the middle of washing my hair when I heard the bathroom door open and my worries about this becoming a scene from Psycho dissipated when Alex said, "Hey, honey." Isn't it cute? We call each other honey now. It originated from Opal. We imitated her calling everyone "honey" with one another until we actually just ended up calling each other "honey" all the time.

"Hey," I called out over the shower. Alex discarded his clothes and joined me in the shower. We had started doing that more often too. We didn't often have sex in the shower either. I mean, it did happen, but we decided to shower together more in a chaste quality. Alex has the ability to wash your hair in the same way it feels at a salon. It's complete bliss. "How was your day?"

He was my little dog with his long hair getting wet in the shower and sticking to his face. He let the water run over it completely before pushing it back and out of his face. "Good. Fine," he answered. "I feel like I've been hunched over all day." He pecked my lips, a domestic greeting.

I reached down for my conditioner and told him, "I'll rub your back before bed." We might as well be the old married couple with aching backs and a stay-at-home woman willing to soothe them. I don't like to view us as old-fashioned. We were unconventional. British desert Californians, who were a musician and a pretend writer.

Alex took the bottle out of my hand, taking the conditioner into his hands, acting his role of hair masseuse. "You're my savior. I'd have a humpback if it weren't for you."

I shrugged as I turned for him to rub the product in my hair. "I like taking care of you. Shall I have dinner on the table too?"

He scoffed, "God, no. I'd be dead of food poisoning if you did that."

I laughed because I wasn't offended by not having any cooking skills. Alex understood that and has never forced a change on that. "You can't blame me. My parents don't know how to cook either."

"Your parents don't know how to do a lot of things you can do. Excuses, excuses." He clicked his tongue and I giggled as he squeezed one of my butt cheeks. "What did you get up to while I was gone?"

I sighed, turning back around to face him, a big smile plastered on my face. "Okay, well, don't freak out because I don't know anything yet."

Alex immediately grabbed my hands, nearing a panic. "What?"

I pushed his hands down. "Calm down," I instructed. "It's not that big of a deal." He relaxed and awaited an answer. "So, I got this call from someone Opal knows. A guy named Jackson Ferrera—"

"Oh, god, Janie, you're leaving me, aren't you?" Alex joked, turning his head away in dramatics, pushing me away, unable to bear the sight of me. "I always knew it."

I slapped his arms away. "Will you shut up? Listen." He looked at me normally and nodded his head. "Opal gave him some of my writing and he's this literary agent and he wants to talk about maybe him representing me—"

I was interrupted by Alex's excitement. "Are you serious? Like a book or something?"

I was reluctant to say anything, not wanting to get his hopes up, my hopes up like speaking it aloud would cancel out any possibilities. "I don't know yet. I haven't even met the guy yet."

"But you're going to?" Alex clutched my waist, his grip filled with giddiness.

I nodded, trying to fight this big smile. "This Friday at noon. And I don't know what it would be yet. He could just recommend me for some stupid literary agent job."

Alex quickly shook his head. "No way, Janie. You're going to make a book."

"I'm not going to make a book," I insisted.

But he fought back, confident as always, "You're going to make a book."

"Don't jinx anything. He might just help me submit some of my pieces to some higher-up magazines. Who knows, by the end of the year, I could be in the New Yorker?"

He scoffed, "You're better than the New Yorker. They'll be begging for your work."

I bumped into him. "Don't say that. I'd love to write for the New Yorker. I'd be happy writing for Playboy at this point."

Alex wiggled his eyebrows. "They do have some really good articles."

I pinched his side and told him to shut it. He wrapped me up in a hug and a dramatic rain—well, shower—kiss. Everything felt like it was landing in place and California did really seem to be a place where dreams came true and all that nonsense that I'll make fun of for the rest of this book but for this one moment, I'll believe to be true. Then, Alex got shampoo in his eye.

"Ow! Fuck, fuck, fuck." He clutched his left eye and doubled over. The water and shampoo suds still pouring down his face.

I grabbed his shoulder and asked if he was okay. He insisted on being fine but his hand remained on his eye and he grinded his teeth down before I managed to pull him out of the shower without tripping.

I sat him on the toilet seat, dripping wet, and shampoo still a mess in his hair. "Let me see," I said, drying his face off.

He waved me off. "No, no, I'm fine." His hand remained on his eye with a refusal to remove it.

"Al," I said and tugged at his wrist. He dropped his hand and slowly opened his eye, bloodshot and pink. "Oh, Jesus."

"What? Did it fall out?" He joked.

I snorted a laugh and began searching for eye drops. "It's dried up, that's all."

Then came the struggle of actually getting the eye drops into Alex's eye because he refused to keep his eye open. He kept muttering, "Ow, ow, ow" as each eye drop flooded his eyeball.

Later that night, after I fell asleep in front of American Idol, Alex must have moved me to our bedroom or I slept-walked there. Alex said I did that a few times. When I woke, the red digital clock on my bedside read 2:32 AM. I dug my face into the pillow, pissed I had woken up in the middle of the night. I turned my head and came to the realization Alex was missing if he was ever in bed, to begin with.

I padded across our cold wooden floors barefoot in the dark before I saw the back patio light on and the faint shadow of Alex. I stepped one foot out and saw him, notebook in lap, cigarette in hand, gazing out onto the dark backyard, deep in thought.

"You shouldn't be smoking with your eye," I said hoarsely.

His head tilted back to look at me and he had a soft smirk on his face. "I'll live. Just needed something to relax."

"Take an edible then."

He vibrated off laughter and tapped the ash off his cigarette. "I'll find a different excuse."

I kept one foot outside and one inside, asking, "Do you want some company?"

He shook his head, insisting, "No, no. You sleep."

I was hesitant to move. "You sure?"

Alex nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Just finishing up some writing. I'll be in soon."

"Okay."

I returned to bed and fell asleep before Alex came back but when I woke up in the late morning he was asleep beside me. I wondered what Alex wrote. The beginning verses to "Stuck on the Puzzle" or if he never picked up his pen to begin with? Maybe I read too much into it but Alex never had qualms about me keeping him company while he wrote and our late-night smokes were ritualistic at that point. I believed he thought about something else. Me. Something too personal to share.

With both of us, those secrets that we kept from one another were exclusively worries. I can't help but think Alex knew what was eventually to come from my contact with Jackson. I can't help but think he worried. He always worried, suffering in silence. I screamed about everything and he sat with it, let it stir and brew for days, months, years. It was a habit of our 20s. But Alex always seemed to know, a habitual psychic and I was the palm in his hand.

*

It didn't end up being a book, not at first, but we did a trial period in which I submitted to Jackson who began shopping my pieces around to publishers. I was terrified and didn't tell anyone other than Alex and Opal for fear it would fall through and fail. Jackson felt confident and I supposed that helped, although I couldn't comprehend a world where I wrote a book, even though, for years, I had already written books in my notebook.

I tried not to think about it much. We were coming up on Alex going back on tour again and the question of whether to stay in LA rose, which was really just whether I would. I didn't like the thought of being in LA without Alex. I found the city rather unappealing but I didn't know where I'd return to. London was an option but I don't know how at home I would've felt there. It's cheesy to say Alex is my home because he's a person and I found that statement to be rather exaggerated. In those days, I just felt more comfortable wherever he was, maybe because I was so aimless myself, but I knew that I finally found a direction to go in.

One of my pieces did end up in The Village Voice. Alex paid to have a print copy sent, and he framed it. It embarrassed me so much that I stuffed it into drawers when we had guests over.

One night, we went to a party on some random Monday and sat on the uncomfortable fancy chairs, drinking cocktails. Alex had an Old Fashioned, I had a Cosmopolitan. It was an affair with some elegance, though I can't remember what it was actually for. We both vowed not to get drunk because we couldn't be hungover on a Tuesday.

I had my hand on Alex's knee and he had his arm around the back of my chair. I think the dinner they served was chicken but I don't remember. It wasn't very good either way.

"Do you think I should get my Master's?" I asked Alex.

He sipped his drink with his left hand and lightly tapped my shoulder with his right. "Why would you do that?"

I shrugged and picked up my Cosmo, trying to be Carrie Bradshaw in hopes it would get me a job as luxurious as hers. Or maybe just the clothes and the apartment. "Something to do. I like the idea of going to school here."

Alex's brows furrowed as he looked over at me. "But you hated school."

"That's not true."

He chuckled. "J, you complained about it all the time."

Maybe I did. I don't remember. It's like when people have babies and they forget how hard labour was so their bodies trick them into having more kids. "I liked the structure of it. Plus, a Master's would allow a more flexible schedule and you'll be away on tour soon so it'd be something to do."

Alex shook his head. "I don't think you'd like it."

I frowned. "Maybe I would."

"I mean..." Alex searched for what to say. "I just think you're getting somewhere with your writing and you're running away from it."

I rested my head on my hand. "Maybe."

Alex reached out and pushed my hair out of my face. "Whatever you do you'll be great at. Just do what you love, okay?"

His smirk put me on edge and I raised my eyebrow. "What? Like you?"

"Huh?" His face looked puzzled, worried that he had offended me somehow.

"I love you so you want me to do you?"

He threw his head back in laughter. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Janie."

*

The whole Master's idea felt foolish. So, I decided to do it, except it was March and way past the time for applications. In the meantime, I tried to figure out what I would do while Alex was away. I felt I should have wanted to leave Los Angeles after all my bitching and moaning, but something drew me to stay. There was a new friend in Opal but I didn't have any job prospects through her or Jackson. Freelance could fit but I didn't want it to fit. The idea of me writing a book burrowed more inwardly to my mind as Jackson stopped mentioning book deals and directed me more toward staff writing jobs to get my name out there.

But I felt that LA had wrapped its warmth around me and suffocated me long enough to want to stay. I liked America and I liked the city, but I also had a visa to worry about. I was over on a tourist Visa and since all work I had done was freelance, I was paid as if I was located in England still. I could fly back and stay for another 180 days or I could get a work visa, which meant getting a job.

That's when Condé Nast appeared. Jackson had unofficially become my unpaid job seeker, doing it solely for me as a favour. I suspected he felt bad for not achieving a book deal and decided to help me out. The Condé Nast position was for a product writer and reviewer. The issue was I had no history with a full-time writing job, but either Jackson had connections or they felt pity for me, too, so I got the job.

So, it wasn't LA, it would be New York.

Alex loved the idea and boasted about it to everyone, kissing my cheek after each statement, and squeezing me to his side. As for New York, he simply said, "It's your turn."

He would be away on tour anyway, so it didn't matter much other than that he would crash at whatever housing I picked in New York. We flew to New York in June. I had never been to New York in the summer. I had never been with Alex in New York.

Usually on our excursions, I dragged Alex around the town and up the hills. In New York, Alex dragged me to the Strand, Chelsea Hotel, the Mudd Club, the Transit Museum, and, most importantly, the turtle pond in Central Park.

Beside the box turtles and red-eared sliders, Alex and I rested against a rock as they padded their way shoreside. He wore a baby blue shirt and picked at his jeans, his mannerisms the same as when I spotted him across the room. "Do you remember when you used to have writing on your jeans?"

He looked up at me, smiling, pushing his hair behind his ears, pounds of fluff. "Yeah."

"What was written on them?" Those blurs of red markings and my wish to know those depths of his soul as if what he was really thinking was written on the knees of his jeans.

He shrugged and almost shamefully said, "Just song lyrics. Strokes and stuff."

"You wrote on them?"

"Yeah."

"I always figured that your mates had written on them. My Converses used to be covered in Joanie's handwriting and hearts." I hadn't thought of her for a long time. Nothing in America reminded me of Wakefield and so Joanie never came to mind.

Alex broke me out of my thoughts, asking, "Can I write on your trainers?"

I raised my eyebrows. "On my new shoes? Can I write on your jeans?"

"Sure." He pulled a pen from his pocket and handed it to me. His quickness made me hesitate but I pulled the pen from his fingers and thought of what to write. I could've drawn a penis but I wasn't that cruel. The black pen was faint against the dark blue denim but I repeated my sketching until the letter was clear enough. I wrote my name because I couldn't think of anything else. What's more beautiful than a person's name? Gross.

Alex seemed to like it, a grin upturning on his face, and an eyebrow raised against me. "Why don't you draw a heart around it?"

I rolled my eyes. "Do you want me to put an arrow through it too?"

He laughed but said, "Sure." I didn't add the heart or arrow. It would be too cheesy and ruin my beautiful cursive name. I returned the pen to him and he tapped his hand over the writing. "With me every step of the way."

I giggled, both embarrassed and charmed. "You gonna get it tattooed?"

I joked but he took it shockingly seriously. "Do you want me to?"

I bolded my eyes and tilted my head. "Stop," I chastised him. "I'm not trying to brand you. I won't even let you write on my shoes and you're willing to get me permanently on your body?"

"Those are nice shoes," he countered.

"You've got a nice body," I argued.

"It'll add to it."

Whether it was sweetness or idiocy, it did feel like love. I raised my legs and plopped my feet in his lap. "Alright. Write away on them then." They were just trainers anyway and his name in a heart with an arrow through it was worth much more.

Afterwards, we toured an apartment. Previous apartments we had toured had been far above my expected salary. Alex had this need to contribute to the apartment's rent despite not getting a break from touring until late October. I had a need to pay rent for myself. I never lived on my own and I felt this apartment should be my apartment, even though Alex's stuff would be there. 

Alex understood all of this, although still pushed to contribute some to the rent and, well, I'm never one to deny financial assistance so we made a deal that he would pay me for storing his stuff while he was gone and I would pay for the rest. This all meant those apartments next to Central Park were out of the question. So, we headed downtown, Petula Clark style. 

"You know, this area is called SoHo too?" I asked him as we walked down Thompson Street. He shook his head and I explained, "It's because it's south of Houston Street. So. Ho."

He chuckled and nodded. "It'll be like a little piece of home with you."

It turned out to be. I found a place on Prince Street for a reasonable amount. 1 bed. 1 bath. Windows that drenched the floors in sunlight, a big closet, and—the thing I was most excited for—a bathtub.

On our first night there, Alex and I attempted to do the romantic having-a-bath-together thing. I purchased a bubble bath solution from Target and Alex got a bottle of wine from Wine and Spirits. We felt very American in both stores. 

"I can't remember the last time I took a bath," Alex said as he sank into the warm oasis.

"They used to just spray you down with a hose, right?" I joked as I sipped on my wine.

Alex cupped his hand in the water and sent a splash my way. "Hey! You got water on the floor. And in my wine." I frowned at the bubbles resting on the surface of the wine.

"I'll get you another glass," he said as he stood.

I reached out and grabbed his leg. "Don't leave."

At my request, he sank back into the water. "Here. You can have mine." He stuck out his half-full glass. I leaned forward and kissed the back of the hand that was holding it. My version of thank you as I took the glass from his hand. 

He stretched his legs out and we kept poking each other until I took Alex's feet into my lap. I lightly rubbed on the left one, his big toe sticking out above the water. I felt sinking in myself and refused to look at him. I was becoming too soft. "I'm gonna miss you."

Alex sighed. I knew he hurt more than me. I missed him and we loved each other the same but I knew he had to deal with two kinds of pain. His and mine. We had to deal with missing each other and he had to deal with the guilt. I always told him it was ridiculous to feel guilty because I never held any resentment toward him for going away. But I guess we never properly addressed all that ugly stuff from the past, only in fights, and we never concluded properly, just in exhaustion.

But I think we both knew that communication would be the difference this time. The band was more established. I was more established. I think I would have hated being alone in our LA house without Alex but something about New York, feeling it was mine, made me feel a little freer.

"I'm sorry," he said.

I shook my head. "Don't apologize. I'm proud of you."

"Proud of you too." I looked up to see the big smile on his face. You know, it heals anything.

I slide deeper into the tub, the water covering my neck. I was bare-skinned and my insides were beginning to feel the same. "I'm nervous."

"We'll be fine," he assured.

I shook my head. "I know. I'm nervous for me. Being alone and the new job."

His hand found my leg in the water, stroking it. "You'll make friends in no time and you're a whiz."

"But what if I hate it?" I sounded wobbly like I was about to tip off the edge.

Alex, the calm force dragging me through life, said, "Then, on to the next thing."

I held a smile to him. One he returned. "My mother would say I'm being picky."

"Your mother who drinks for a living?"

I held offence when Alex spoke of my mother. The things he said were true but my whole life I’ll feel the need to protect her. At that age, I still felt destined to unknowingly become her. In that way, Alex was insulting future me. "Hey! She does other things. Probably."

Alex laughed and pulled his feet from me, curling his legs. "Alright. I'm cramping here." He rose from the tub, swishing the water around, peeking at the edges.

I gasped. "Even if the foot rub I gave you?"

We moved out of LA pretty quickly but yet again transporting all your belongings from one side of the country to another was a pain. We enlisted the help of friends but in New York, we were on our own for the most part, other than some hired movers. We weren't getting that couch up the stairs.

The band did a few festivals in Europe in July before returning for a New York show at the beginning of August. I was only a few weeks into my job and it was the fulfillment and structure I needed, although I wasn't doing much writing. I was fine with working my way up, setting an achievement, and moving forward. It was a mostly new idea for me.

After their concert, we did the ritual of bar hopping. I invited my new friend, Tasha, and her boyfriend to join us, however, her boyfriend ditched her after the show, which led her to get very drunk and weepy and therefore pulled me away from any time of catching up with the group. Although, they seemed very consumed by the drama.

"I don't mean to put this all on you," she cried to me. "But he said he was gonna buy me a drink tonight and I—" she was taking away into sobs.

"I'll buy you a drink," Matt offered.

"Really?" It was in fact her fifth drink. She had quickly consumed the first 2 from the rounds and pulled the other 2 from me. "I really liked him, you know. I love him, I think."

"We know, sweetie." I felt bad for her but all the crying was becoming quite tiresome, especially with a girl you had only known 2 weeks in the setting of an office space.

She sat up straight, wiping away that wetness on her face when Matt arrived back with a drink. For the time being, she calmed her waterworks with a gulp of liquor. "You wouldn't do this to Jane, would you Alex? Why can't I find a guy like that?"

I chuckled, "Alex ditches me all the time."

To the side of me, Alex's head snapped to me. "What?" His face was etched with a furrowed brow and a frown.

I turned to him wide-eyed and confused. "What?"

"I don't ditch you."

My mouth created a slight opening in bafflement. "Yeah, you do. Or did." I turned back to Tasha. "Either way, they're all assholes, you just have to find the asshole that fights you."

"Ha. Asshole." Jamie laughed.

While Jamie found humour in the situation and Tasha found slight comfort, Alex found offense. "You think I'm an asshole?"

I turned back to him. "Yeah. Don't you think I'm a bitch?"

His eyes were wide at the word like we were kids taught to put coins in the swear job. His response was quick. "No."

I tried my best to give it to him in an explanation that would placate him. "Okay. Well, I get on your nerves or whatever. Either way, you just have to find the guy that fits you. Now, I think we should get you a cab." Tasha nodded with a sniffle. 

After I stuck Tasha in a cab, I stayed outside to have a cigarette. I had a weird feeling in my stomach that I wasn't sure if it was from the alcohol or something emotional. I had a rash on my left leg that I labelled as being from stress but I wasn't sure what it was stress from. I felt a pressure on my chest and the perfect solution was a cigarette.

It wasn't a smoke signal for Alex to join me although I should have thought that considering our history and the perfect view from our table out the window to the street. He came out halfway through the ash and walked with hair in his face and hands in his pockets.

When he stepped in front of me, I reached out and brushed his hair out of his face and wondered if he felt this way—this feeling of caring, uncovering someone for your gaze—every time he did it for me. I tucked it behind his ear and peeked the small smile underneath that shaggy head. It tickled me, exposing a silent laugh from my lips. 

"You really think I'm an asshole?" He asked. His tone was playful but I knew he was worried I considered him to be one of them. That breed of man who brushed women off after they got their goods as if he hadn't loved and cared for me since the moment we met.

I held my palm over his cheek, holding my hand over his fire, rubbing the lobe of his ear. I just wanted to hold him forever and I felt like crying at the thought I couldn't. I don't know where the sudden emotion came from but I suppose by this point it isn't shocking to find myself crying, especially after 3 drinks outside a bar. I couldn't speak so I shook my head and kept the overwhelming pathos at bay by the rhythmic stroking of his ear. 

"I missed you," he said.

I cut any further words he had off with a shake of my head, a dismissiveness I needed. "I don't want to talk about missing each other anymore." The gates fell and I dropped my arm away from his shoulder, picking at my nails as my voice quivered. "All I talk about is missing you."

"Jane."

Exasperated with myself, I shook my head and looked away not to cry. "I just want to enjoy the night." I looked at him, listening attentively, eyes trained on me. "I don't want to think about you leaving tomorrow night and I'm fine, trust me, but I feel this ache all the time and I don't want to feel this ache while you're here and I don't want to talk about this ache because I know it's mutual so let's stop talking about it and pretend that this is just any other night in our lives and we're in Sheffield, grabbing a pint with our mates or something." 

I laughed wetly. He reached out to me and brushed my hair behind my ear and it made everything feel alright. "This feels pretty Sheffield, doesn't it?"

"What?"

He shrugged and took out his pack of cigarettes, plucking one, and placing it in between his lips. "Light me up, Janie, would ya?"

A smile tugged my lips and I dug into my purse one-handed for my lighter. He leaned forward, the end of it so close to me I could take a bite of it. I lit the flame between us and then to his cigarette. He took a puff before stepping back to exhale, his eyes stuck with mine. 

"I love you. I feel like we don't say that enough," I told him. He stood away from me but I felt so close to him like we had wrapped ourselves up in a fort of blankets, not standing in the humid August streets. 

"You don't have to say it for me to know it. Hasn't that always been our MO?" In wordless whispers and those longing stares, we had always spoken with some underlying language that didn't even make perfect sense to us, it was just there. 

"Yeah. Still, I want to remind you."

He chuckled and stepped closer, hooking his arm around my neck, and pulled me beneath his chin with a long gaze down at me. "I love you too, Janie. And all the rest."

"The rest?" I questioned.

His Adam's apple bopped and he looked up at the sky for a moment as if God was giving him the all-clear. His eyes reintroduced themselves to me. "There's this weight of love inside me that I'll never be able to express to you. It's just there, a consuming being that flares up whenever you're near me or I think about you. It's this constant. I've had it since I thought your name was Jeanie and I still don't know how to talk about it or what to call it—all this unexpressed love."

"It seems like you did." I tried not to sob. I thought of Tasha, likely crying in a cab, and I know I've always been a fortunate girl and I've been called lucky since birth, but I never felt like I truly won anything other than meaningless games until I was brought to Alex. I thought of all those missteps I could have taken to have never met Alex about how many things had to go a certain way for me to be at that first gig. How—I guess—I have to thank Matt, although that part is reluctant for me to say (a fear it will go to his head). But I kept it all inside and didn't tell Alex this because I think this is part of that weight of love I still can't fully express. "Are you sure it's not a tumor?"

He laughed at me and kissed the top of my head. My cigarette had been scuffed out against his jeans so we shared the rest of his before Alex suggested, "I think we should head home." I had never confessed how romantic I thought the idea of going home with Alex was to me but I have a feeling he just knew because he always just knows.

He took me by the hand and took me back inside the bar where we said goodbye to our party of people and I smacked a kiss on the cheek to each of them. They've always felt like brothers-in-law to me but I found as we grew older and closer, they were my friends too.

We headed back to our apartment, taking the A train. Alex held my purse for me and we sat in a sweaty, non-air-conditioned subway car, and it felt as though we were in London on the tube, praying for a gust of wind to come in through the little window and provide momentary relief. 

It was too hot to touch each other's skin so we held a small space between us and knocked knees with one another. Alex sat hunched over, his hands sitting on the top knee of his crossed legs. I leaned back against the plastic orange chair. The train was mostly empty but we filled its quietness with laughter. Halfway through the ride, that sentimental fuzzy part of me took a picture of him. I still owned a flip phone for the sole purpose of having a slideout keyboard, not known for having a good camera, and the photo was mostly unrecognizable to anybody but me, which might be why I liked it so much. 

I’d take these photos often and flip through them occasionally when I was waiting for the subway. I printed some out and pinned them on the walls because I didn’t want to buy picture frames. I folded one up and put it in my wallet because I always loved that Alex had a photo of me in his wallet—a tiny crushed-up photo of my graduation portrait, ugly, but he had pride for it and me).

Without Alex, the apartment had succumbed to my mess. There were clothes tossed in the corner of the bedroom, the desk was covered in papers, books, and more clothes, and the kitchen was dealing with a major dishes problem.

The hour was late but we were both determined to soak up as much time with one another as possible. We undressed from the day and dressed for bed, but sat on the edge of our bed over the covers, talking, talking, talking. Two frogs croaking at one another from across the pond. All we needed was Charlton Brook and we'd be our old selves again. 

"I never thought I'd like work. I'm not in love with this job but I come home and my feet ache and I love it. I like feeling I worked for something," I told him. "I think I need firm direction in my life otherwise I turn into a mess."

Alex looked pleased but all-knowing. He knew all these parts of me before I did. "You were raised without it so you crave it in other aspects." He leaned back on the bed, putting his arms behind his head, so casual in every sense of the word.

"Who needs a therapist when I have you?" I asked. He laughed but I was serious (both good and bad). He's an observer, he just knows these things from one look at you. He reads you completely and then acts like it's nothing. I feel I know Alex well, better than anyone, but not like he knows me. I've always felt there was a piece of Alex that was off-limits to everyone, even himself sometimes. There's a corner of him I will never reach. For him, my thoughts have always been a nude model on full stark display.

Alex turned onto his side and reached a hand over to me, clasping it with a tight squeeze. "You happy?" It was a quick check-in, the reassurance he needed that he wouldn't leave me totally screwed up and alone. Alex often had the feeling of needing to "rescue me," which was partially true but he took too much on sometimes, bearing the weight of both our emotional states, an overwhelming thing that put so much consequence on the question he asked like I wasn't just answering for me, I was also answering for him.

I squeezed back to ease his anxieties. "Yeah. You?" He stayed silent and looked around the room once, startling my heart. He tugged on my arm once as a smirk spread on his face. "What?" 

He tugged again, this time harder. I stared at him quizzically until he pulled once again, yanking me down to lay on top of him. He communicated with his lips, both silent minus gasps. He turned us, hovering over me, flat on my back. We got under the covers.

*

The following night we stayed in and ordered a pizza before having sex on the couch. After, I laid on Alex's chest, our nude bodies up against each other and I do apologize to anybody who sat on the couch after, I swear it wasn't that dirty. His hands were solid on my back, studying the lower curve of my spine, hitting a spot that made me stretch like a cat after a nap.

I sighed as the tension released from my back and laid back down on his sternum. "We're awfully vanilla," I said.

Alex snorted this big ugly snort of laughter that I find so cute like a baby learning how to breathe. "What, like chains and whips?"

I laughed and raised my head up, my chin pressed on his skin, staring up at his tucked head, awkwardly propped up on the armrest. "No. Georgia just told me this story about doing it on the roof of her building."

An amused Alex asked, "You want to head up on our roof now?"

He motioned sitting up but I pushed him back down. "We have an exposed roof. I'm not getting the cops called on us."

"Where's the fun in that if there isn't a little risk of indecent exposure?" He joked.

I giggled and thought of making a joke about getting visas revoked for public nudity, instead, I told him, "We're hiding tonight. Besides, I don't need all that for sex to be fun with you."

He bucked his hips up against mine. "'Cause I'm so good in bed?" He raised an eyebrow and wore a taunting smirk that made me want to slap and kiss him. How infuriating to be so intoxicated by him.

"'Cause you love me," I teased, tapping his nose. I slobbered a kiss on his cheek, which made him groan in disgust like it was his mother doing it in front of all his friends. "And you're going to take me to get ice cream because I'm thinking about vanilla ice cream now."

"From Morgenstern's?" He asked me, even though he knew the answer.

I sat up from him, noting his eyes on my exposed breasts (sometimes, it's nice to know a man is still a boy), and hummed, "Yes, sir." Morgenstern's sat two blocks up on Houston and in the past few months, I had developed an addiction to their bourbon vanilla ice cream and considered it my special treat after a day of work. Alex was partial to salted chocolate, which I always thought was a good balance with mine, especially since he'd let me steal scoops off his cone and mix it with my cup of ice cream.

Alex went out in jeans, a T-shirt, and his Doctor Martens. I went out in sweatpants, a camisole, and my flip-flops. It was 11:40 and only 2 blocks away! 

I was charged up and kissed him behind his ear as he paid for the ice cream. We must have been foul to look at with our hair unbrushed and a careless woman hanging off her good-looking man. I often had little care about how I looked at night in New York. Everyone in New York, one way or another, was loathsome to watch at night so I had no problem with the idea the cashier might have hated us for coming in right before closing, dangling around as we waited. Besides, Alex left a tip.

My hands clawed around Alex's shoulders and I bounced on the balls of my feet as they scooped our ice cream. We ate our ice cream on the small bench they had outside the parlour. Alex ended up with smears of chocolate on the corners of his lips. It was pleasurable to see him so untidy, it would make you laugh and kiss his lips, transferring some of the residue onto you like lipstick.

Alex chased me up the stairs of our apartment building with the menace of pinching my ass to coerce squeals out of me. We caused a ruckus, loud off of our sugar high, but, at the very least, not stumbling drunk up the stairs like some of my other neighbors. Alex caught me at the apartment door. I had no escape, he had the keys. He cornered me and gave a hard pinch working his way up from my butt to my stomach where I was ticklish.

"Mercy! Mercy!" I surrendered. He called off his attack, ready to head inside for some explicitness. 

He put the key in, turned it, and then it snapped. He held the bow, the shaft lodged in the lock. "Fuck," he cursed.

Panic set in as Alex fiddled with the doorknob with no luck. "Fuck. Are we locked out?" I asked.

He picked at the lock, muttering, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..." 

It soon became clear that we were stuck. It was nearing 1 AM, I desperately had to pee, and Alex had to leave in 6 hours. "Can we kick the door in?"

"Are you suggesting either of us is strong enough to break the deadbolt?" Alex stood up straight, tossing his head back in exhaustion.

I shrugged. "I don't know. You're pretty fit." He was proper chuffed by this, a slight puff in his chest. "I could try."

"With your flip-flops?" They were the cheap kind. I bought them at 5 Below. "If we break the door the whole building can walk in."

Not knowing the number of any emergency locksmiths, I called 911 and waited at the bottom two steps of the staircase facing the front door. "I guess this is what I get for eating too much ice cream," I quipped.

"No such thing," Alex excused. 

Shrouded in quietness and a reputation of lacking patience, I laid my head on Alex's shoulder and would have fallen asleep if my bladder wasn't prepared to burst. Alex tapped a beat on the denim-covered knee and we didn't talk, just stayed close, two beings huddled together for survival and companionship.

Firefighters came and had no luck removing the broken key so they busted into the apartment. We couldn't lock it but we could at least close it. I rushed in for the bathroom. I laid down on our bed and waited for Alex while he used the bathroom. I fell asleep before he returned.

In the morning, Alex nudged me awake. He was fully dressed and by the light stumbling in through the window, I knew what it meant. "I fell asleep. Why'd you let me?"

"Figured if you fell asleep while I was in the bathroom you were pretty tired." Over the covers, flip flops kicked off the edge of the bed, in the two minutes he was away.

"'Kay." I was still fiddling out of sleep when Alex tapped my arm, an insisting action to make me stay in bed. "Let me walk you out."

"No, stay in bed, it's fine." He kneeled beside the bed, forcing my hand.

"You sure?"

He nodded. "I'll see you in a little. Yeah?" He kept it short. It was the easier way.

I rubbed my eye, knowing I wouldn't be going back to sleep as much as Alex hoped I would. "Yeah. I'll try to get off sometime in September."

"Don't feel pressured. I'll see you in Philly, right?" That would be over a month away, 30th of September.

I nodded because it was easier than speaking. "Call me when you get to Boston."

He donned an assuring smile, leaned down, and kissed me. He left and I made myself a cup of coffee and drank it and sat with silence.

*

On a Wednesday, after a day of work, I took the train down to Philadelphia. I had never been before and part of me wanted to enjoy all the tourist things about it but I had limited time between 30th Street Station and heading to the Electric Factory. 

However, I made a pit stop along the way, getting off the subway, and meeting Alex at the Reading Terminal Market for a late lunch/early dinner. It wasn't the Art Museum or Independence Hall but it allowed a cultural indulgence of the city. 

Alex wore a jean jacket and didn't look like a man about to front a sold-out show. We bumped shoulders with passersby as we made our way through the narrow passageways. Alex got a cheesesteak, which I found disgusting. I ate a soft pretzel and assorted candy from a Pennsylvania Dutch candy shoppe.

We managed to find a table wedged between dad with his two kids and a group of high schoolers. Safe to say, we had trouble hearing each other over the chaos but we communicated through shared observations, reacting with a stare at one another as the father began to yell at his son or a laugh at the high schoolers mocking one of their teachers.

We hadn't really spoken until we left the building, stepping out into the beginnings of a crisp autumn evening. Alex bought me ice cream from Bassetts (as if I needed more sugar) and gave the change to a group of busking drummers by the door. 

I grabbed Alex's attention at a stoplight as I dragged out, "So..." 

He chuckled at my solicitation, dragging out his own, "So..."

The light turned green and we stayed in step with one another. I initiated the conversation but I had no follow-up for my So-ing. Sometimes, I just wanted to look at him but walking and staring is a difficult practice. "One of my pieces is going to be in this magazine n+1. Something I wrote back in LA, Jackson submitted forever ago."

"Is it going to be printed?" He asked.

"Yeah, but I think you can read it online."

Quickly, he shook his head. "I want the physical thing."

I laughed. "Always one for physical media, Al." It was clear with the record collection I was storing in a small New York apartment. You had transferred this habit onto me as I went out to purchase the New York Times from a street kiosk instead of reading it online.

"It'll be easier. I can read it on a plane, on the bus, on the toilet."

I hit his shoulder light-heartedly. "Alright, I'll get you the print."

*

At the end of October, Alex returned from Tokyo for a small tour break. We fell into a cycle similar to that of our London days. I went to work, Alex stayed home. We went out to dinner sometimes, and we occasionally went out for drinks with my work friends, but more often, we just stayed home. It was a cocoon and I think we both preferred to stay still with one another after distant months apart.

I drank coffee in bed one morning, a Saturday or Sunday with no rush for any obligations, fine with retiring to a day in our shoebox. We were both still in our pajamas. Alex sat on the edge of the bed, facing me, strumming his guitar. I was on my laptop, scrolling through someone's blog, but mostly watching him.

These unguarded moments with his head slumped over his guitar. His hair covered his face almost completely, only able to distinguish his nose from the rest of him. The ends of his hair held these perfect curls that I envied. He's been perceived to be a cool, uncaring person but I've found Alex, especially during these early years, held such a concern about coming off a certain way, whether considered cold or cool. A long-held hatred for unwanted watching, even from me.

His muscles had suspended into relaxation finally. I found he acquired this rest most often with a guitar. He held a light strum, sometimes humming along, sometimes writing a note in his little notebook.

I thought I was catching an unaware Alex working away, much like our first year of knowing each other. Then, he looked up and said, "If you're going to stare at me, you might as well help me." He tossed me his notebook with dashes and scratches that to the untrained eye looked like a chicken scratch of nothing.

I read it and this time I could feel him watching me. I poured over the words as he had done with his writing and when I finished I said, "I feel so inadequate next to you."

"Shut up," he insisted, both through his support of me and his own insecurity.

"It's a beautiful song." I handed the notebook back to him. "A very beautiful love song." I crossed my arms, smiling at him.

"Well, you know."

"Yeah." Because I always did. This loving, hideous, unspoken language of ours.

 "Good inspiration. You gave me the title." Alex took months of crafting before giving something exposure, like formulating a fine wine. 

"Well, you wrote the rest of it," I reasoned. "Is it for the new album?"

He shrugged and examined his own work. "I don't think so. Maybe just for you and me."

*

a/n: this is pretty much for goblinontour. the next parts will come much sooner, we're approaching the thick of it... oh, and if you see any mistakes, no you didn’t.

[doink-boink]

Finally drew my interpretation of Zach's parents!

Have had these fellows in the works for a good while!

Really had to lock in when doing the writing here lol - my handwriting is normally a weird hyper mix between cursive and print. But messier. Hopefully its legible! Enjoy some more yapping about these guys below the cut >:D

Must mention this is within my own AU! My interpretation of Zach specifically is a trans man. So uh! No way in hell Arthur is supportive in that regard. He is a miserable man whose only concern is furthering the family business and his public image.

Really looked to both Moral Orel and Bojack Horseman as inspiration for how these two would be. Did not intend for Arthur to share a name with the character he is inspired by lol - but uhm! He specifically is like Arthur Puppington when Clay was a kid: Distant, cold, though not physically abusive. Emotionally? Oh brother, you bet.

Regarding Kim and Arthur's relationship, that was really dead in the water. Kim is a self published author, or rather, an ASPIRING self published author. She mostly writes crime novellas/dramas, though needed some outsider input regarding the legal side of her stories. So, of course, she decides to reach out to the biggest law firm in the area.

It is initially a short and sweet interaction: "I ask you questions, you give me answers and insight when you can." However, she grows to enjoy Arthur's company, falling for him quickly. VERY rushed marriage ensues! Good god! (Of course not ASAP, within a few months time of dating/correspondence) Not too certain as of right now where Zach comes into the mix, but definitely in that honeymoon stage of a relationship where you don't quite know the person yet to really gauge if things will work out or not.

I mean, things absolutely do NOT work out in the end, but they don't know that yet. Arthur I feel is the type to want a family ASAP. Need that sweet sweet heir to the company. Will accept nothing less than a son. Sucks for him, doesn't end up coming to fruition until much later! AFAB child, disappointment on Arthur's behalf, compassion on Kim's. Like a night and day difference - even after Zach does eventually transition (his mother is deceased by this point) his father refuses to accept it until he dies. By until I mean: "You still are not my son." *flatline*

Kim was there for Zach until the day she died, which would probably be around late middle school to early highschool? In that age range. Old enough to have fond and in depth memories. Which! Arthur is the one who discovers what had happened. Busy writing a novel when wham, sudden cardiac arrest - alone, as she tended to keep to herself. Entire family dynamic changes from then onward, though the abusive aspects of it were ever present. Arthur is generally unsupportive of Zach's endeavors, frustrated that he is going into science and robotics as opposed to law. (Though I do think he'd have been trained or prepped for a career as a lawyer throughout his teens-adolescence)

Zach is the closest to his mother, with most of his fashion sense coming from her. Gotta love the turtleneck sweater! @novazentryx came up with the idea that he inherited his early black sweater from Tazzy Chris from her after it shrunk in the wash, loved that so y'know what! This totally applies here. Not only did he inherit the sweater, but also her V-necklace! (Which, if you have seen Zoey, is where she gets it from! As well as she looks strikingly similar to Kim. On that front I think that was a surprise from Aviva, knowing how close he was to her)

Spitballing with this one, but I think it would be interesting if Zach had assisted in pitching ideas for Kim's stories! What aspects of it I do not know, but maybe names for the characters. Mayhaps that is where he gets ZACH from? Don't ask what his deadname is, haven't thought of that and would prefer not to lol

I think that concludes my rambling! Do not really have anything else that is coming to mind at the moment, so feel free to ask questions or leave suggestions about these two! I will more than likely respond ^^ (To asks or replies) Thank you for humoring me and reading all of this if you're here lol, I really appreciate it!!

[1moremilgram-enjoyer]

is everyone in milgram just dead

Okay I'm making this post because while I'm not sure how much I believe this, it's a possibility that's been eating at my head for a while, so I gotta share it somewhere even if it's not the most solid theory in the world.

So anyways, hello members of the jury! Today I want to discuss the weirdly recurring theme of the prisoners in Milgram possibly being dead, and Milgram being some sort of afterlife thing. Given the fact it clearly has some supernatural elements, it certainly isn't impossible. So let's get into it!

CW Death, murder and suicide, abortion, child abuse, drowning, cults and indoctrination, waterboarding, gang violence

Yuno and the Allegations

The biggest hint that at least some of the prisoners might be dead is the in Yuno's second VD, Absolute Zero.

Yuno: Oh! Also, that reminds me, there was one thing I'm curious about. Es: What? Go ahead and say it. Y: Am I…really alive? E: That's…what do you…. Y: Hm…if you don't know, then it's fine. E: Yuno…. Y: Hey, it's time, right? E: Y-yes. Prisoner number 2, Yuno. Sing your sins.

Weird thing to say, really. So, presumably, she has some reason to believe she might be dead. Which is especially worrying because Yuno is one of the most intelligent and perceptive prisoners in Milgram, and might even have higher awareness of some of the more supernatural/meta elements of the series, as seen by images from both her cover songs appearing in Umbilical and Tear Drop.

All this is to say, if Yuno has reason to believe she might be dead, we have reason to believe so as well.

There are two points of Yuno's story were I feel she could have died. One is during her abortion, given a question from Trial 2.

(T2) Q20: Did you hate the person you killed?

Y: It was too much of a pain to for me to think about anything.

So her abortion was painful, which likely means it wasn't done in a hospital, as professional abortions typically don't cause too much pain in the moment (source), even if they can cause cramping or discomfort in the recovery period. If it wasn't done professionally, and it hurt a lot, it's very possible she may have died while performing it.

However, because of a few things we'll talk about later, I'm not sure this is very likely. The answer I find more likely is that, unfortunately, she may have committed suicide by jumping off the staircase we see her standing on in her Undercover silhouette shot.

For one, because what the hell would this shot even be otherwise. I've seen people suggest infanticide as opposed to abortion, but that wouldn’t cause physical pain (you could argue that answer is about emotional pain, but I'm not sure how much that works), it doesn't match her kill-shot in Undercover, and she herself has claimed her "muder" was abortion (and I don't see reason for her to lie about that). It also doesn't seem likely she would get pregnant more than once, seeing this question:

(T2) Q10: If you could turn back time, would you commit the same murder once again?

Y: I'd make sure that I won't have to commit it. That's it.

So, then, what the hell is up with that Undercover shot? Usually they say something important about the prisoner or their crime, but it really doesn't seem to have anything to do with anything.

This is where I bring up that Yuno falls off a staircase at the end of Umbilical.

Like, obviously this is more meant to be metaphorical, as in Yuno "slipped up" and now has to avoid falling by grabbing the balloon, which ends up destroying the staircase which had previously been related to the mixing of DNA (long story). But... she still is falling from a staircase. That is what is happening in the video. This is a silly argument, but it does exist.

Now, there's a few other things which could imply this, but that will have to wait for a moment. So while there is very little evidence for now, I'd say this is the most likely reason for why Yuno believes she may be dead. Especially given she might have depression (check out this cool post by weather-cluddy), her comitting suicide is sort of the best guess we can make I feel.

Nevertheless, no matter the reason why, Yuno believes she may be dead, which opens the door to other characters, if not all of them, to be dead as well. Let's take a look at the other prisoner most likely to actually be dead in my opinion, and see if we can establish a pattern.

Haruka's Worrying Situation

I believe, even if no one else is dead, it is highly likely Haruka attempted suicide. I am not going to go too in-depth in here, because moibakadesu already made a really good post about it, which is where I got the theory from in the first place. In fact, the idea Haruka may have at least attempted suicide has existed ever since Trial 1, check out this cool post by Venus from thinkin-bout-milgram. Here's a summary of what the main points of the theory are:

-The repeated motif of water and drowning could indicate the way Haruka killed himself, especially since he lived in Naogaka, Niigata, known as the "city of water."

-Haruka repeatedly attacks and even strangles a younger version of himself in Weakness, in one occasion alongside the lyric "I've become a victim, I've become a victim."

-The young girl in Weakness might actually be a representation of the "ideal Haruka", as he's stated his mother wanted a daughter instead of a son (I don't actually agree with this part, I do think the girl is a literal girl Haruka killed, due to several lines from his VDs, such as him saying Amane "brings back bad memories." However, it's still a possibility)

-The nonchalance with which Haruka speaks of comitting suicide in his second MV, Metamorphosis of the Weak, could imply he's already done it once.

-The line "if with one click, and I can reset everything" in AKAA can be more directly translated to "if with the push of one button I could be reborn", which paired with butterflies being symbols of death and rebirth and being connected to Haruka because of the name of his second VD, could imply Haruka died and was reborn.

-Haruka standing on a chair in AKAA as his shadow lines up with the shadow of the bars in the window to create the ilusion he has a noose around his neck.

-At the end of AKAA, Haruka is surrounded in what looks to be formaldehyde, which is used to preserve the corpses of dead animals, while the aforementioned "I could be reborn" lyric plays.

As you can see, there's a lot here, which is why I think it is highly likely Haruka comitted suicide.

There is an issue with bringing this theory in, which is that part of the theory is that Haruka's silhouette in the Undercover shot doesn't have white noise, which separates him from the others and could imply he's a victim like Hinako and Mahiru's boyfriend, who similarly have no white noise. The problem for our purposes is that this theory assumes a lot of the other prisoners, such as Yuno, may have committed suicide as well, creating an inconsistency with this point. I don't have a good answer for this, beyond a really odd, Hamlet-esque "Haruka is a victim of his own madness" kind of thing which doesn't work very well, so unless any of you have another explanation, it's best for this theory to just sorta ignore the white noise thing.

So, now we have two prisoners who very likely died before Milgram. This vaguely establishes a possible pattern: what if all the prisoners were taken right as they died?

Muu’s Mysterious Memory Mishaps

Es: You said you wanted to go back home, right? And, "suppose" we did let you… Even if you were to leave this place, you'll then have a brush with the police, won't you? Muu: *Surprised* E: I mean, you've killed someone anyway, so are the police not making a move in regards to that? M: Well, I don't know. As of now, I don't have a clear memory of what happened after I did it. And then before I knew it, I was here. E: Is… that so? M: You guys should've known that, being the ones who brought me here after all.

This line from Muu’s first VD has always intrigued me. Muu doesn’t have a very good reason to be lying here when seen in full context, so she’s likely telling the truth. But, why? Why doesn’t Muu remember anything clearly after her crime, and why was she taken so quickly after committing it?

First idea is that perhaps all the prisoners are simply taken right after the murder they’re in Milgram for; even in the case of multiple murders, you can say Milgram just decided to take them for the last one exclusively.

However, Shidou serves as a counter example, because of the ending of Throw Down.

It’s a pretty simple logical progression. Shidou has no reason to kill after the flower person dies, so their death is after his last murder most likely, and yet he does remember it happening. Thus, Shidou has a memory of something which happened an undetermined amount of time after his final murder.

That means the "fuzzy memories" thing isn't universal. This can also be vaguely inferred by the attitudes certain prisoners have regarding their "murder(s)", like Kazui for example.

Now, you could argue Muu simply doesn't remember well because of the Trauma, and she just happened to get taken shortly after her murder. However, there is a chance now that there is a reason she was taken shortly after her murder.

You know what this post is about. You know what I'm about to imply. So I'll make the observation now:

In It's Not my Fault, one of Muu's shoes is off after she kills Rei. And we have seen this imagery of "one shoe off" to represent suicide before.

It's common in Japan to take both shoes off before comitting suicide, but if you want to read into only one of the shoes being off, you could argue it represents they're "half-suicides", as Milgram also considers them murders. In that sense, you (or Muu) could argue were Muu to commit suicide after killing Rei, then she would also become "Rei's victim", the same way Hinako and Mahiru's boyfriend are Kazui and Mahiru's victims.

This idea that Muu might still be a victim in the situation could also be implied by the lyrics here:

[It's Not my Fault] It’s not my fault after all, after all. Everyone wants me to be innocent. What a relief. Can’t be helped. I’m always meant to be pitied!

(Btw I'm using the fan translation in the wiki because the English subs in that video are... odd)

Yes that sentiment is repeated a lot during the song, but Muu does shout "I'm always meant to be pitied" ("I'm always the drama queen") at the top of her lungs here.

Now, the shoe thing isn't quite like that in After Pain, but we never actually see Muu's shoes in the real world, only in the blank inner world with the broken hourglass, and there are other inconsistencies with reality there, namely Rei's body's position.

You can see her right shoe is on there, but again, this scene isn't real.

The concerning thing is that apart from that, After Pain does not help Muu beat the suicide allegations.

In particular, look at the scene of the photo I put there. You can see there's a bunch of people judging Muu for her murder, as it's usually not considered a socially acceptable thing to do. But, hold on, didn't Muu say she didn't remember anything after her murder? Correct! That means she doesn't remember this "judgement" happening, but she imagined it would. Perhaps that's what the one line means:

[After Pain] Counterattack being a suicide note

Counterattacking Rei, killing her, is social suicide. For obvious reasons.

...

But it's still called a suicide note, which is not a good look. And yes, I do think the Japanese lyric explicitly references death, though take that with a lot of salt since that's just Google Translate and DeepL talking.

In fact, that entire set of lyrics is pretty odd.

[After Pain] Let’s meet up inside the pain, a place just for me Postmortem makeup to hide my heart, how to solve it is a secret The stabbing of the little devil’s voice, counterattack being a suicide note “I love YOU”

"Meeting up inside the pain" probably refers to hurting Rei, so now they're hurting together. The "stabbing of a little devil's voice" is probably referring to dangerous impulses, so murderous thoughts. "Counterattack being a suicide note", already explained. "I love YOU", because Muu is a girlkisser.

But the "postmortem makeup" is odd. You could argue the "death" which happened before the "makeup" was applied was the "death" of Muu's reputation, her old persona. Rei "killed" "that Muu", and now Muu is hiding her real feelings with "postmortem makeup."

But then, why would the method to solve it be a secret? Who is she keeping it secret from? Rei, and all of Muu's old 'friends', all know what lies beyond that makeup, they all saw what Muu was like before Rei stepped in.

That means there's another interpretation. If her real feelings are a secret, there's only one person they would be a secret from. Es (and us by extension). In a way, After Pain is hiding part of her heart, the less sympathetic parts shown in full in It's Not My Fault. Muu being a bully was already implied in After Pain, mind you, but it was still relatively "hidden", at least compared to It's Not my Fault.

And if that is the way we're meant to read that line, we run into the allegations again. If the makeup is for Milgram, and it's "postmortem" makeup, then Muu is already dead.

And that's without mentioning how much After Pain seems to imply suicidal tendencies in general.

[After Pain] If I was gone, If I had just disappeared I overheard, I found out How much I’m not needed There’s no special meaning, I got the short end of the stick I overheard, I found out How much I’m not needed

I don’t want tomorrow to come, I want to forget yesterday I was miserable, someone please help me

Maybe I’m done Just one more time before saying goodbye I’m just kidding, please forget I said that

The only lyric that doesn't seem to imply it is:

I want to feel “alive”, is it ok if I breathe?

But feeling alive and being alive isn't quite the same, right? You can be alive without feeling alive, and if someone doesn't feel alive, it's possible they're not a very good state of mind.

So, what could this all imply? If we're going with the idea of murder-suicide, it's possible Muu was very worried about how people would hate her after the murder, as implied by After Pain, decided she didn't want to deal with that, and unfortunately made the decision to kill herself.

One small thing which could serve as a counterpoint is her Trial 1 Voice Reveal distorted line.

Fufufu... It's your fault... for doing horrible things to me.

She seems pretty sure of herself here, and it's very likely this is after her murder. But it's perfectly possible she said this initially, then thought about the social consequences, and that's when she started to feel bad. It's also worth noting the only time in It's Not my Fault where Muu seems to hesitate is right after her murder.

[It's Not my Fault] Wait, wait, just as a hypothetical. What should I do if I’m actually a bad girl? Don’t ever hate me, and don’t look for what lies “after and from” the pain.

This is immediately after the murder, when she comes out of a caccoon, presumably her arriving at Milgram. So, she was initally confident, that's when she says "I’m always meant to be pitied!" in It's Not my Fault and presumably her Voice Reveal line, then hesitated and started to feel awful as we see in After Pain.

... Well, there's also the way more uncharitable reading where Muu killed herself so people also pitied her instead of just hating her for killing Rei, but that's a bit too dark and in bad faith for my tastes. It is there, though.

So, yeah, Muu may be dead too. And she brings with her an interesting implication; the prisoners may not have clear memories of the events leading up to their death. So, even if some of them committed suicide, it's possible they simply don't remember ever taking the decision to do so, explaining their behavior in the prison.

And it also could explain away... one apparent contradiction. One which exists outside of this theory, but that this theory could explain.

Amane and the Voice Reveal Trailers

As most of you know, the Voice Reveal trailers for all these characters contain certain distorted phrases which in general seem closely linked to their murder. And as pointed out by blueepink07 in this post, it seems the First Trial Voice Reveals are things the prisoners said after their murder, while the Second Trial ones are showing a point before their murder. Check out Kazui's, for example.

(T1) "I'm so dumb... Why did I have to dream?"

(T2) "Hinako, I love you more than anything."

There's also Muu's, since I've already brought it up before.

(T1) "Fufufu... It's your fault... for doing horrible things to me."

(T2) "Hey..why don't you listen to me...? I'm telling you... Hey...HEY, I'M TALKING TO YOU"

The second being right before she killed Rei.

That works well enough for all the prisoners... except Amane.

(T1) "Ahh! I'm so sorry...! I'm sorry...! I'm sorry for breaking the rules!"

(T2) "Father is a very praiseworthy person. Once [my/his] virtue increases, he'll come back home, right? It's a little lonely, but I'm fine!"

In theory, Amane would have been punished before her murder, as we see happen after she heals the cat in the taser scene. Meanwhile, if she's lonely without her father, it could perhaps be because her mother is dead after Things Happened (yes I'm going with Mother!Victim theory on this one).

But that's not the case. Following the pattern, the line about her father coming home at some point is before her murder, and apparently, she was punished for breaking some kind of rule after her murder. The implication here, horrid as it is, could be that her father returned home after she killed her mother and punished her for doing so.

Thankfully, this is impossible. After all:

(T1) Q18: Do you regret your "murder"?

A: No. It was a natural obligation.

(T2) Q3: State the name of your victim.

A: There is no victim. Only the punished.

(Taking some liberties on the translation of Trial 2 since the questions are still coming out as I write this)

So Amane genuinely believes she was following her cult's principles to a T when she killed her mom. As much as that likely isn't the case (long story), if she had gotten punished for killing her mom, then she wouldn't think like this. If she had been punished for it, she wouldn't think her murder was a "natural obligation", but rather a mistake on her part.

What this implies is that Amane doesn't remember being punished by her father.

...

Amane... doesn't remember...

Fuck.

Yeah, remember when I said it was possible the prisoners don't have clear memories of the events leading up to their death? Going by the "T1 after - T2 before" logic the Voice Reveals seem to follow, we can infer Amane was likely punished for killing her mother, but we also know she can't remember it happening, otherwise she would regret it. And based on what we learnt from Muu, we do have a way to explain how that could happen. If Amane died while receiving the punishment the T1 Voice Reveal alludes to, she wouldn't have a clear memory of it.

And the thing is, it does seem likely Amane received this punishment. Think about it. Interrogation questions are one thing, since the creators don't fully control them, but why mention her father would possibly return home in the Voice Reveal trailer? Unless he did. Hell, you could argue we might know the exact moment he returned. Amane does look at the entrance of her apartment at the end of Purge March, though that could simply be for dramatic effect rather than being a literal thing which happened.

But there's more. Because if her father returned home, we might actually have an answer for another one of the mysteries surrounding Amane's situation. The Undercover prisoner card.

The image on her card seems to show a bathroom. It is widely assumed the images on these cards are the location the murders happened in, but to my knowledge, this isn't 100% confirmed. However, this creates a small issue with Amane. Just looking at the murder shot in Purge March is enough to confirm that.

I made a more detailed theory on her murder on this post, diagrams included (scroll to the bottom if you're only interested on the murder), but for now, there are two things to note here. One, there's a trail of water which seems to come out of the door with the light on, as the puddles are bigger the closer they get to it, implying that room is the bathroom. And two, the room the murder actually happened in seems to have a window/door behind a curtain, which isn't what Amane's bathroom looks like.

Adittionally, there isn't any blood outside of the murder room, implying the victim's body wasn't dragged there.

All this seems to imply Amane's victim didn't die in the bathroom, which is sorta a problem considering the previously mentioned commonly accepted theory. But this idea that Amane may have died while being punished, perhaps while being drowned as we know that's one of the accepted methods of punishment in her cult, brings up a different possibility.

What if the images in the prisoner cards aren't showing murder location? What if they show the last place the prisoner was seen in, the place they died?

Kotoko, Mikoto, and the Prisoner Cards

So, first, is there any indication either of these might be dead? For Mikoto, not really. Sure, there's the whole Death card at the end of MeMe thing, but that doesn't have to be taken so literally.

Kotoko has a very little potential hint in the fact she's shown alongside a wolf at the start of HARROW, but by the end the wolf is by itself. If the wolf represents a potential partner (long story), then maybe Kotoko died?

Though you can easily argue the wolf is slightly different and thus is meant to just represent Kotoko.

However, the reason I'm bringing them into this is because their prisoner cards are completely nonsensical under "murder location" theory for the images shown. Let's start with Kotoko.

It shows an alleyway, which at first seems like it makes sense. We do see her attacking a man in an alleyway. However, after that happens, one of the pieces of background text says this:

◆ A wanted thief was assaulted by an unknown assailant Early yesterday morning, a nearby shop employee reported hearing screaming and seeing a man lying on the ground. According to the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, the man had lost consciousness after being beaten on his face, stomach, and other areas, and was taken to the hospital. The police are currently trying to identify the suspect. [...] According to previous investigations, the male victim was wanted throughout Tokyo for theft and assault charges and was identified as the suspect, Mikio Oshii.

(Translation by Maristelina)

Mikio Oshii is the name of the man Kotoko assaulted in the alleyway. It seems odd to me that we would learn he was taken to the hospital if he later died in it somehow, especially because Kotoko didn't want to kill him. We can clearly see this because of a crucial difference between her attack on him and her attack on the serial killer who likely is her victim.

She covers her face while attacking Oshii, because she doesn't want to be recognized. She is committing assault, after all. However, that only matters if she's planning to keep him alive. Conversely, she doesn't cover her face while attacking the serial killer, because she knows he won't be a witness. She went into that warehouse planning to kill.

Of course, she could have accidentally done too much damage, but the issue there is that she would probably express some remorse in that case. She doesn't, and the fact she only ever talks about one victim-

[TASK (T1 VD)] I did kill someone. [...] I don't have a single regret.

-it really seems like Oshii was able to survive her attack.

That creates an issue with her prisoner card. It shows an alleyway, but her only victim died in a warehouse. As confusing as that sequence is, he did die in the warehouse.

You know when we do see an alleyway again, though?

But she's not wearing her face covering. And if this was the alley with the one sign about a car accident that shows up over and over in HARROW, I'd imagine we'd see the sign, even if it was obscured in some way. So once again, a silhouette shot which seems to have nothing to do with her murder or her general situation.

So, is it possible she died in this alleyway? That's the only other reason I can imagine why it'd show up in her prisoner card, so. As for what exactly happened, I imagine she may have been murdered at the whim of her victim's father?

Shocking revelation: The heinous criminal behind the crime is the privileged son of a high-ranking official!

(Article referring to Kotoko's victim)

So, she got found out and immediately assassinated? It's a bit out there, but it would explain both her prisoner card and her attitude in the prison.

And then there's Mikoto.

As you can see, his card shows a street. The issue with Mikoto is one of format. The cards only ever show one location, but we know Mikoto has at least two victims.

[Text: To the right, the Subway Murder, which clearly has a ceiling. The murderer has blood on his right cheek, his left cheek is hidden. There's also the bathhtub scene, where the right cheek is hidden, but the left cheek has blood already trailing off, which doesn't quite fit what we see in the other murder if you think about the bath chronologically.

To the left, a murder out in the street, with an open sky. The murderer has blood on their left cheek, but not on their right. This is seen in both the crime and the shower scene]

So yeah, at least two. You could argue the bathtub murder is actually a third one, which... huh. Two things that absolutely exist and a Secret Third Thing, the existance of which is disputed? Trikoto vibes.

Point is, Mikoto has two different murder locations at least. The street, yes, but also the subway. This creates a problem with the "images in the prisoner cards are murder locations" idea, because it only shows one. You could try to gymnastics your way out of this by saying maybe Hostkoto committed the street murder while Orekoto killed the other victim(s), and because only Hostkoto is considered a prisoner by Milgram, only his murder is shown? But I feel that raises more questions than it answers.

Instead, if we assume the images to be death locations, the ambiguity disappears, because Mikoto as a system can only have one death location. The issue is you have to explain how Mikoto died in the middle of the street, which is a bit difficult.

The best guess I can give is related to the subway victim. It's been pointed out before that guy looks a lot like a stereotypical Japanese delinquent, which could imply he was part of a gang. If that's the case, it's possible the killer angered the wrong people by killing him, similar to Kotoko, and thus was later murdered himself. We know that street isn't very safe, on account of one of the alters getting away with murder there. It's a pretty large stretch, and has like zero evidence, but it's physically possible at least.

Let's take a quick look at the other prisoners and see if their images can also be explained by the "death image" theory.

We know Muu would share a death location with her victim if she really committed suicide as the theory states, so nothing weird there. Haruka's a bit more awkward, because it shows the forest he very likely killed the girl in, but I'm not entirely sure if the forests near Nagaoka has bodies of water deep enough to drown oneself. There is the Shinano river, which has... trees, around it.

This was taken from Google Street View in Nagaoka. Again, not sure how deep it is, but assuming it's deep enough to drown, it could work if you ignore the trees don't look too much like the ones irl. Maybe Haruka threw himself off the bridge?

Alternatively, Nagaoka borders the sea, and it seems like there's forest almost all the way up to it. So maybe that could work? Unsure.

Worst comes to worst, we can maybe change it to saying Haruka didn't drown himself, but killed himself in some other way in the forest. Point is, I think Haruka's isn't too big of an issue.

Fuuta, Mahiru and Kazui don't have a lot of evidence towards what the hell would have happened, but the best assumption I can make is they all committed suicide because of guilt. Fuuta in his room, Mahiru in the suicide forest (likely also where her boyfriend committed suicide), and Kazui by jumping off a building like Hinako. As for their evidence...

>Fuuta burns at the end of Backdraft, which is the same thing that happens to Killcheroy, so you could argue that's meant to show he's dying. It's not great, it absolutely is just meant to be metaphorical most likely, but it is there.

Additionally, he's also an outlier for the "muder location image" theory, since what one would consider his "murder location" is very ambiguous. Is it his room, where he sent online hate from? Is it Killcheroy's room, where she assumedly died? Wouldn't it be the front of Killcheroy's house, where Fuuta took the picture to dox her? Again, death location is less ambiguous.

Fuuta's attitude during Trial 1 could be seen as a bit weird if he was suicidal, but I'm not sure we can comfortably say that with the limited information we have.

>Mahiru in I Love You goes to sleep after seeing her boyfriend dead, which could be read as her committing suicide. You know, if you're insane like me.

Especially given this question from Trial 1:

(T1) Q20: What do you think about smoking?

M: I've never smoked before, but I might copy him if who I love smokes.

That, alongside a lot of the bg text from TIHTBILWY, implies Mahiru likes the idea of copying her lover. Not the greatest quality to have when your lover commits suicide.

>Kazui has this:

Where the smoke of his cigarette turns into a noose. Of course, that's meant to represent self-destruction in general, but it could also be taken more literally. He... doesn't have much else.

Thus, everyone else vaguely fits the idea of "death image"... except him.

Our favorite headache inducing doctor strikes again! His card shows a hospital room, which is a very strange death location, but perfectly fits his murders. You could argue he runs into the same issue as Mikoto, but it's actually possible Shidou just killed all his victims in the same room, so.

Yeah, Shidou's probably the biggest counterargument for this theory. Because while it's possible he died in a hospital, there is zero evidence for it, beyond the image itself. Hell, neither Throw Down or Triage ever seems to imply he died in the first place, which is an issue. This theory's already heavily dependant on the extremely flawed "you can't disprove it" argument, but at least most of the other ones have some kind of logical progression which gets you to how they died.

So, to complete the theory, we have to make the pretty big jump that Shidou died inside a hospital room, without knowing how that happened.

... Wait, inside the room?

Wait wait wait, show me Fuuta's and Amane's again.

Hmmm... 0308... hmmmm... 0308... I totally didn't just do this to put the two together... hm...

Yeah, same thing. They both show the inside of a room. Which, along with Shidou's, shows that these images can show the inside of buildings, right?

But, then... why is Yuno's outside?

That very clearly isn't the inside of a building. But this generates a problem for the "murder location image" theory, because Yuno's "murder" was abortion. Even if it wasn't done professionally, she would have still done it inside, presumably. This creates an inconsistency with Fuuta, Amane and Shidou. If their murder locations are shown from inside, why is Yuno different?

However, this inconsistency disappears if we assume the images to be death locations. I previously established if Yuno died, she likely committed suicide by jumping off a staircase, which does vaguely fit this image. It's similar to Kazui's in that way.

Now, I don't want to get too ahead of myself here. Murder location is still absolutely the more straightforward answer, but it does come with its issues. As stated, Fuuta's image would face some ambiguity, Mikoto's would face extreme ambiguity, Amane's seems to contradict the evidence we're shown in Purge March, Yuno's is wildly inconsistent with the other images, and Kotoko's is straight up nonsensical.

Meanwhile, death locations physically work with all the cases, even if Shidou's case is extremely weird, but it requires huge assumptions and stretches. It relies heavily on how impossible it is to disprove, which is not a good sign. Russell's Teapot, and all that.

Summary of the Theory

>Everyone in Milgram is dead, and their prisoner cards in Undercover show the place where they died.

>Prisoner's memories of the events leading up to their deaths are extremely fuzzy, explaining why only Yuno seems to even suspect it.

+Haruka: Committed suicide by drowning himself, possibly in the Shinano river or the sea. [Most likely to be dead]

+Yuno: Committed suicide by jumping off the staircase we see her standing in on her Undercover silhouette shot. [Most likely to be dead]

+Fuuta: Committed suicide in his room out of guilt. [Very little evidence]

+Muu: Murder-suicide, she committed suicide after killing Rei. [A bit more evidence than others]

+Shidou: Died in a hospital room [???]

+Mahiru: "Copied" her boyfriend by killing herself in the suicide forest. [Very little evidence]

+Kazui: Jumped off a building, like Hinako. [Very little evidence]

+Amane: Drowned by her father as "punishment" for her murder. [Unfortunately, sorta likely]

+Mikoto: Murdered by one of the members of Subway Victim's gang. [Sort of filling in the blanks here]

+Kotoko: Murdered at the order of her victim's father. [Very little evidence]

Conclusion

Do I believe this theory? Honestly, I don't know. It makes a few too many assumptions for me to fully believe it, but I do think it's a decent possibility, so I wanted to share it with you all. In any case, that's all I have to say for now. If you have any thoughts about any of this, feel free to share! Also I didn't even touch on Es but you can try to fit them in somehow if you feel like it.

Anyways, if you made it this far, you deserve a hug, this post was depressing. Take care!

[proffesionalalpaca]

I need more theories about Avatar 3 because I'm going to go crazy until the premiere 😭 I'm so curious how Spider will react if Quaritch really joins Ash's na'vi or worse kidnaps him again and forces him to join too

Let me just get my hat on *rustles of foil*

-

To put it simply I think if Spider was to find out Quaritch had joined the Ash clans, he’d be a mess of conflicting emotions: both pride at the fact his ‘not-dad’ is capable of connecting with Pandora and the Na’vi like that but also, from the nature of the ash people, be disappointed in who he has decided to connect with.

But for comedic effect here’s the initial reaction:

‘Quaritch joined the Na’vi’

Spider: YES!

‘It’s the Ash people’

Spider: FUCK!

-

Quaritch would, in my mind, definitely try to make his ‘totallynotmyson-son’ live with him, because being accepted by a group of Na’vi is what Spider wants right? But of course spider is a gentle person whose closest friend maybe the embodiment of Eywa herself, he wouldn’t want to be apart of a culture that values cruelty like severing and wearing kurus as trophies, or potentially having any affiliation with the RDA/human side of the war - who the ash people may be allying with.

I feel like the Metkayina will be where spider finds himself as a man and their pacifistic way of life being antithetical to his biological father would only attract him further.

The ash people will likely be the Opposite to everything the reef people & tulkun represent, much like their opposing elements - and while spider is a warrior at heart with an ever burning fire that may endear him to the ash people, I just can’t think he would be on board, though he would again feel conflicted if they were completely ready to accept him despite of all his differences. Everything he wants if he leaves behind who he is.

If Quaritch forced Spider to join the ash clans (which I don’t think it’d get quite that far but not for lack of trying on Mile’s part), Spider would resent his father for making him join the clan that’s trying to kill his ‘people’ (kiri, Lo’ak & etc…). It would, from in spider’s point of view, be little different from being forced to join the RDA directly.

-

Extra theory:

Themes of this film will likely be about war, forgiveness & rebirth.

War - obvious reasons but specifically about the cycle of violence of being wronged so you must take revenge which then creates the feedback loop of conflict that never ends. The ash people were likely on the losing side of a conflict/ many conflicts a long time ago and they still hold one hell of a grudge - which is why they’ll join the humans to defeat their ‘shared’ enemies.

Forgiveness - this is Neytiri’s theme, she needs to learn to let the past go in order to achieve inner peace and move on in her life without holding onto all that pain and anger. Especially towards Spider, where she’ll see that the ash people are the result of this blind hatred for the actions of one’s ancestors being put upon an innocent party. How petty & pointless it really is, especially how it can poison a person’s soul overtime. She doesn’t need to forget but to recognise that Spider and many humans are not all guilty of the crimes of a few terrible people. Maybe this will even aid in her journey to understanding humanities plight on Earth?

Rebirth - I’ve said before with project phoenix and the cultural symbolism of fire, there are huge indicators for rebirth to be a major theme and I think that will be Quaritch’s theme going forward as he sheds the identity of the human Quaritch and becomes the Na’vi man he lives as now, whether that is with the ash people or not is another matter but I think they will be crucial in finding his connection with Pandora, with Varang as a key point in this journey.

I also think from the leaks of spider that rebirth will be apart of his character arc, overcoming the limitations of his human body to truly be apart of Pandora. And kiri who could be reborn as the Avatar of Eywa herself.

[gojos-thot-patrol]

what are the guys reactions to being spoiled with a spa day, fave foods, etc?

ooo, interestinggg I like it. ok ok,

Now Presenting...

Starring Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, and Ryomen Sukuna.

Satoru Gojo

Early in the relationship Gojo is apprehensive. 

He’s not used to being spoiled, he’s used to doing the spoiling. 

But, as he gets more comfortable with the relationship Gojo loves to be spoiled!

He’s babygirl god damn it, and he LOVES to be treated as such! 

Hell yea he wants to go get facials! Yes, lets get manicures, he wants his nails blue 💙

He comes home and you’re making his favorite food? What did he ever do to deserve you?

Now, of course he’s going to repay the favor. You give him a day all about him, he's going to give you a day all about you

But on his day he’s basking in it! 

Honestly it just makes him feel loved and wanted. Like, he can do all of this himself, but the thought of someone else wanting to spoil him is intoxicating for him

Being spoiled makes him feel like you actually listen to him and pay attention, because you have to to know how to spoil him! It means you actually want him for him

Does it make him a little bit emotional? Yes. It’s ok though because he can be vulnerable around you

His love language is gift giving and acts of service, ok? This literally sings to his love language

In conclusion: Yes, Spoil Gojo

Suguru Geto

“No no darling, let me cook for you!” “Let me put a face mask on you, you deserve it” “Let me paint your nails instead, that color looks better on you”

Suguru straight up won't let you spoil him. He’s going to spoil you first.

Genuinely, being showered with unending affection and love makes him feel a little bit uncomfortable. He thinks he doesn’t deserve it

So any of your attempts to spoil him, he’s going to take over to try and spoil you instead

And this DOES. NOT. CHANGE. Even late into the relationship. 

Even once he’s comfortable with you, and knows you love and cherish him. Then there's no need to spoil him because he knows you love him!

He still spoils you though because at this point it’s second nature to him and he thinks it's nice to remind you how much you mean to him.

Yes he knows he’s a hypocrite.

No he doesn’t care.

If you really want to spoil him, just spend time with him. It will honestly have the same effect on him, minus all the other feelings

And maybe make him a spotify playlist

Spoil him with music, that he will let slide.

I feel like so much of my Suguru characterization is rooted in the fact that he loves music but I CAN’T HELP IT!! He reminds me of So Many People I‘ve seen in the scene, I can’t see him as anything other that a music loving metal head LMAO

Kento Nanami

Nanami is not opposed to being spoiled but it has to be on his terms.

What I mean is like, It has to be in small doses so he doesn’t get overwhelmed, not a whole day of spoiling

And if it's something like a really expensive gift, he’d want to talk about it first. He’d rather not have a lot of surprises. 

If you can do that, He’d actually rather like being spoiled

I feel like it makes him feel appreciated

And for almost everything you do for him he does something to match is I promise you lol

Nanami is a caretaker at heart, but that doesn't mean he isn’t willing to be taken care of

The best way to spoil him is with food though

Nanami is a foodie, cook him his favorite meal and it would make him feel really really special

Or sharing a nice bottle of wine with him. That's another way to make him feel special and loved, spoiled if you will

Honestly I don’t think Nanami would necessarily crave or need to be spoiled

But I do think that he very much appreciates it and appreciates you

It just makes him feel all warm and fuzzy

Ryomen Sukuna

Don’t. Don’t do it besties DON’T

Ryomen DOES NOT TRUST being spoiled, AT ALL

If he comes home and finds you cooking his favorite food, he’s going to assume you're poisoning him. “No, You can’t give me a facial, but I can give you one.” You ask to do his nails and he just holds up his black talons like “They’re already done.”

Sukuna has no idea how to love. He thinks love is possession, and as a wicked person he loves wickedly. What that means is everything comes with expectations when it comes to him, nothing is free.

So while you’re just trying to spoil him, he’s trying to find the catch. 

If you give him a gift he’s going to straight up ask “What do you want from me?” 

Back to the love is possession thing, He’s going to think you’re trying to possess him and he is not a fan of that. He owns you! Not the other way around!

He will honestly probably straight up tell you to stop LMAOOO. 

Does he want you to return his affections? Yes absolutely, You would want your pet to behave too. But actively trying to spoil him and bathe him in material affection is not going to do it for him, LMAO

He just reacts so badly. Like, have you ever tried to pet a feral cat? It doesn’t end well. Being spoiled just feels so opposed to his soul.

He’s tried his hand at spoiling you before and found he was actually quite good at it, ngl. Where his words fall short often his small actions and gifts speak louder. But He only really tries to spoil you when he’s trying to apologize for some wrong. If you spoil him, He’s going to think you wronged him somehow my guy 

The best way you can spoil him is by spending time with him. Just being around him and indulging in his, honestly much quieter version of love, that’s as close as you’re getting to spoiling him

Oh, that and just like, indulging him in sexy times, but THAT My dear reader is a set of headcanons for another day!!

[something-tofightfor]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Nobody tagged me in this, but I've been writing across a few things lately and wanted to share them.

Three sneaks beneath the cut for Frankie, Joel and Baseball Jack!

On Deck (Baseball Jack):

“Hell no.” He turned to face you, lifting one hand to point at the dresser over your shoulder. “Cord’s over there.” You turned away from him and dug into your bag, pulling out the device and checking to see if the volume was off. After you’d connected the charge cable, you flipped it face down and then set it atop the dresser, putting your bag beside it. Ok. Now it’s just … us. 

When you turned to face him again, you saw that Jack was sitting on the end of his bed, knees spread and both feet planted on the floor. “How’s your arm feel?” Stepping forward, you let your arms hang by your sides. “I know I need to be careful, but -”

“Feels good.” He reached out, his hands finding the edges of the jersey’s front and pulling you closer. “Ginger gave me the all clear, and I trust her.” You nodded, biting your lip and reaching out to run your fingers through his hair. 

“You want to help me out here, Jack? As much as I like wearing this, I think I’d like to have you take it off of me more.” The neutral expression on his face slowly turned into a sly smile, but instead of Jack easing the material from your body, he pulled his hands back - and then raised them above his head. Wait, what? 

“Jack?” You caught the slight hitch in his arm, but chose to ignore it, instead staring into his eyes. “You -”

“You gonna keep me waiting, darlin’?” He winked, poking his tongue into his cheek briefly. “I hope not.” You didn’t want to. Without any further delay, you bent forward enough so that you could grab the shirt and ease it up over his torso.

Liminality (Werewolf Frankie):

Frankie groaned, reaching up to pull his hat off before using the back of his hand to rub at his eye. “We’re gonna get going.” The other conversation stopped, everyone’s attention going back to you. “We should probably figure out what we’re doing about next month pretty soon, just so we’re all on the same page.”

“Think it’s my turn to head out with you, ‘Fish.” Benny cleared his throat. “But I’m not opposed to turning it into an all play, just to cover our asses.” 

“Might be a good idea.” Pope sighed, rubbing at the space between his eyes. “I think it’s gonna come back and try to see if we’re back at the RV. It had to have smelled wolf-you, Frankie. It might even go back there as a human to scope it out, so -”

“I can head out there in the next couple days.” Tom leaned forward, the hand holding his beer dangling between his knees. “See if everything looks right. Check on the blind, replenish the first aid kit, all that.” Frankie nodded from next to you, and you opened your mouth to speak, but Will beat you to it. 

“Will you be able to get away with us next month, Redfly?” He sipped from his beer, gesturing to the rest of you with it. “Strength in numbers and all that shit?”

“No.” Tom shook his head, staring at the blonde. “There’s a realtor’s conference in Orlando that goes all weekend. Didn’t get to go to the one in August, so I thought this one was a good backup.” He cleared his throat. “I can do whatever you need me to until that Wednesday night, but I won’t be home for the full moon.” 

“Alright.” Will agreed, shrugging. “We’ll do it without you, then.”

Untitled: (Rockstar Joel):

 While he was talking, you felt someone move to stand behind you, gasping out a surprised little huff when you realized it was Tommy. 

“Don’t get to see him from the crowd much,” he muttered into your ear as Joel answered a question from a woman to your right. “It’s different.” He paused. “Reminds me of when we were growin’ up.” 

You wanted to say more - to ask him more - but before you could, Joel adjusted his microphone again and turned to look at Tess, his smile softening. “I don’t play this one much live, but I figure it’ll be good for this.” You watched her eyes widen and then she nodded before Joel faced forward again and leaned closer to the microphone. “This one’s called Enough Here.” 

The crowd cheered, but you gasped at the confirmation of who - and what - the song was about. You’d had suspicions after listening to the lyrics. But with the look he’d given Tess prior to strumming for the first time, there was no longer any doubt. 

You recorded part of the chorus including a note that Joel held for longer than in the recorded version, but then put your phone and camera down, wanting to focus on his performance.

It was a haunting song, Joel’s gravelly voice telling a story about loving someone but knowing that it wasn’t going to work - even from the beginning, but that both people involved understood what that meant. That’s why they’ve been able to keep working together. Because they’re on the same page and always have been, even if one of them wanted more. 

---

Tagging anyone who sees this and wants to play + a few NPT: @the-blind-assassin-12 @burntheedges @oonajaeadira @morallyinept @justagalwhowrites

[kodyfae-the-1st]

A response, i guess

Alright so I saw this pretty shit post recently, and I cant help but say I'm a little pissed. I will not be sharing the name of the blog that posted this, as i do not wish for them to be harassed.

So here's my response.

An open letter to you who wrote this.

"Hating endos is lame, hate on us instead ! We’re a DID system that believes people shouldn’t have to have their own entry in the DSM5 to be respected , apparently a controversial opinion these days !"

So though i agree in part that hate is lame as all hell, i do believe that listening to science is more punk than throwing it out the window. Yes system diversity is important as a working point in the community, it is still important to listen to the science.

Though some may not fit the diagnostics 100% doesn't mean they aren't valid that is true, but even so, there have been no scientifically supported exception to one. trauma is a necessary part, and the mind cannot and will not fracture like this without it, that should be without dispute.

"Being unapologetically plural is punk, ESPECIALLY if you don’t fit the “scientific” idea of what a real system should be."

You are right that science is not all inclusive, but i will say being anti science seems pretty conservative for a self proclaimed punk. but asides from cheap digs like that, id really recommend reading a couple scholarly articles if you are ever in doubt of the science, there is a lot to learn, and a lot left to be learnt.

"Systems should support other systems regardless of where we come from. The world doesn’t understand us and they don’t want to have to understand us, if we want to have a future where we are proudly and loudly ourselves we have to work together to make it."

Yes systems should absolutely support each other, and i do feel we fight too much sometimes. And no. the world does not understand us, but that does not mean it is ok to spread misinformation. Im sure you do this with good intention, and i too do my part with good intention. but we are fundamentally opposed, and i do not wish to support endos in a journey for recognition.

Some may genuinely have it, i do believe that, and others may be suffering from something else, so similar it may be difficult to know the difference, but i do not believe that they can be systems without trauma.

"I have to fight to be accepted as gay, i have to fight to be accepted as polyamorous, I have to fight to be accepted as trans, I have to fight to be accepted as non human, I have to fight to be accepted as autistic, I have to fight to be accepted as plural."

A lot of us have fought those same battles, i at least have, and a lot of systems still fight for this, and i do not believe that it should be a thing everyone goes through. And we still fight to accept ourselves in this, But i do not support endos fight for recognition. But i will fight with all i have to get them the help they need, because a lot of them do desperately need help. and i think that the fight to give them a support system and help is much more punk than this fight to support misinformation.

"I do not want anyone to have to fight me to be accepted as who they are, I want to fight alongside them because we’re fighting the exact same battle and it’s hard enough without us stabbing each other in the backs."

There is absolutely too much backstabbing in these communities. And i am willing to fight here alone to get them help, im not saying here that they aren't systems, some may very well be and have forgotten the trauma, but i do not wish to stand beside them in a fight against science. Im sure we'll all know more in the future with more studies made, and maybe itll turn the view on systems upside down, but until then i stand with the science, and with those that want and need help.

I do though want to mention lastly that as per the dsm-5 trauma is not noted as a criteria for diagnosis, and thus i am open to read articles of exception to this rule if they can be provided from credible sources.

I will also ask that if ever i said something incorrect i hope youll tell me and ill do my best to make amends. Please do also feel free to share your opinion, id like to hear more perspectives, and learn the faults of my own.

Well wishes.

-Kody, and a very tired system