#they have reached a very reasonable conclusion even if that conclusion might not be accurate all the time

[darkcircles4lyfe]

it's a story about hands (reprise)

Yeah, okay, today's the day.

I gave my blog that title for a reason, you know, and it has loomed over me for years because the hand motif is absolutely everywhere and you could go on about it forever.

Maybe that's something I'll never actually attempt to do, but this chapter, we reached a breaking point.

Before I continue, I need to give a big, big disclaimer: I do not have a physical disability, so I'm not able to speak about that from the standpoint of representation as a first-hand perspective. I have at least listened to enough disabled people to know that fictional characters who become amputees only to miraculously gain their limbs back is, um, a trope. Disabled people in general being "healed" is a conception we would really prefer to avoid here. Not to call people out, but I don't think we're giving enough space to acknowledge that.

I don’t feel comfortable making the judgement call about what should happen. I’m leaving that open. I also don't want to downplay people's emotional reactions. Honestly, I don't know if I can accurately define the line between acknowledging real pain vs. ableist pity. But I’d like to talk about the possibilities of what could happen. Other characters have definitely gotten permanent disabilities as a result of their hero work, or even just the side effects of their quirk. But, for better or worse, I don't think this case is really about representation. Not that Horikoshi won't do that justice. He might. What I'm saying is that's not his purpose for having Izuku lose his arms. It's meant to be symbolic, so we can explore what it means. The other thing I’m keeping in mind here is that Horikoshi is notorious for playing with our expectations, like, alllllll the time. I mean, just take a few chapters ago for a classic example. Eri appeared at the end, and we all assumed she was about to take some sort of action to save someone with her quirk. Then, immediately following, we were given an explanation for why that wouldn’t be happening. And now it’s clear he wanted to do that “fake out” not just as a silly cliffhanger prank, but specifically so we would know not to suspect that Eri could be the miraculous solution to Izuku’s loss of his arms. Rest assured, there is no easy way out of this.

The expectation at play in this particular instance is an old one. It’s very understated, but its subtext has burned so brightly, you’d be a fool not to notice it. It sits with anticipation like one half of a call and response. Man, I was so certain. Lots of people still are. I was really looking forward to printing the panel where it happened onto a t shirt and wearing it proudly. All the hand motifs in this story radiate thematically from a single moment, the one that started it all for Izuku.

It raises all kinds of questions about the act of saving, who needs saving, why, what does it mean, what are the dynamics of power, politics, honesty, exploitation, compassion, pity, disdain, sacrifice. Katsuki has dealt with many of these since he first rejected Izuku’s hand. While Izuku was the one who was convinced Katsuki would keep on rejecting him…

…Katsuki was the one who kept that moment in his mind all these years and eventually came to regret it.

Katsuki is the one yearning for that hand-hold, the one who has imbued it with so much more weight than it ever originally had. Izuku, in contrast, does not allow himself to dwell on what he wants. To illustrate this difference, we need to look at another piece of foreshadowing:

Ugh, do y'all remember when lots of folks were complaining about how there never seemed to be actual consequences for Izuku's destructive treatment of his own body? I don't blame them, I was concerned and confused about it too. There were several "fixes" along the way. Recovery Girl healed him, but left a physical reminder. Then he started training to fight with his legs… sometimes. Then he got support items. All of these were unsatisfying non-conclusions because they didn't present Izuku with a lasting enough impression to change in a meaningful way. They didn't address his core, his origin.

Of course, that all changed this chapter. Now it looks like our frustration was inflicted intentionally. With the current context in mind, all of these moments look more sinister, like this day was always gonna come because they kept putting bandaids on a deep emotional and psychological wound. The problem is pretty much spelled out for us here:

As Katsuki put it, he just doesn’t take himself into account, ya know? He doesn’t care what happens to him. And he lies about it, to keep others from worrying, to keep them safe. To keep them from returning the favor and putting themselves in harm’s way for his sake. His motivations are noble,

…but what about the little boy inside Izuku? Who saves him?

This is all about Izuku giving himself up to the point that he literally has no more to give. The thing is, I bet he saw this coming. He knew his limits and decided to keep going anyway, because his personal safety and wellbeing are not important. Now that way of thinking has come back to bite him because the fight isn’t over yet, and he’s already made his sacrifice. So now we know who will be more distraught over this. Not Izuku—Katsuki.

It’s not about Izuku becoming disabled, it’s about how Katsuki wanted to use the intertwining of their fingers to communicate that he would never let go. Never stop valuing him most. Never let himself make the mistake of rejecting him again. Never let Izuku be so reckless with his life. To say: “we are in this together.”…if only Katsuki believed he deserved to be able to say such things. To reach out his hand would have been the ultimate way to simply imply them and let Izuku be the one to decide. Then, to feel their hands clasped together would be more than either of them dared hope for, but so beautiful, so right. A moment they’ve waited their whole lives for.

Yeah. That’s what we were expecting. We’ve been so comfortable. Horikoshi gave us all the signs. He tempted and teased us over and over. BUT. You know he does this thing were he gives us a desirable, completely plausible and simple thing to look forward to, and then he snatches it away. And THEN he replaces it with something much better, something we were not expecting at all because it seemed too good to be true. That’s exactly what happened when Himiko snatched Izuku away, and we were robbed of the chance to see him and Katsuki fight together. In hindsight, though, I’m glad things went a different way because now there’s so much more depth and angst on display. Likewise, in the present moment, we may consider how, as one door closes, another opens.

As wonderfully meaningful as the hand-hold would have been, perhaps it is still too simple a resolution for Izuku, for his and Katsuki’s relationship. Tbh, it could have been done like 100 chapter ago. At this point, there’s so much more potential. There are a couple of ways it could go. If Izuku stays armless, Katsuki will be forced to use other methods to get his point across. He’ll have to do something else, or say what he means, or both. Yes, I’m talking about what you think I’m talking about. If I say it, I just might jinx it (lol), but I mean it. I’m being serious. Either way, if Izuku did get his arms back in the end, I’m sure that it wouldn’t be an easy fix. It would be hard-won against Izuku’s self-destructive mindset, and/or by Katsuki’s conviction. Again, I say this knowing it is not meant so much as a representation of disability, but as a representation of Izuku’s greatest character flaw taken to the extreme. I know this might sound harsh, like, hasn’t he been through enough? I get that, but… I’ve said it before and I say it again: Izuku is stubborn as hell.

I wish I had a resounding final note to end this on, but I kinda don’t. I’m not sure what’s best. Now we just have to wait and see what Horikoshi has in mind.

[dragoncopper]

The Apparition

Summary: You have been feeling a presence for months. You are sure that you are losing your mind. But then the presence makes itself known to you. Your soulmate finally found you. Word Count: 20k (take a moment) Pairing: Female Reader x Noah Sebastian Warnings: Major character death. Lots of talk about death. Smut - oral sex (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, fluffy loving sex, fingering. More warnings: This is the first work I have written that I am posting. I really hope someone enjoys it.

The continuation or bonus chapter... here.

The whole story on A03 here.

A/N While this is mostly a fluff piece, there are quite sad moments in the story and lots of crying. This is a work of fiction. There are mentions of Noah's past and as we do not have good information, I filled in the blanks. This is not an accurate depiction of his past.

I used Noah's playlist on Spotify to help me with music choices. These are, however, the songs that I felt fit with the story: Sleep Token - The Apparition (obviously). Sleep Token - Telomeres. Hozier - Work Song.

I have proofread it myself, so there might (for sure) be some errors.

I will post a link to A03 also.

1. You You would not say that you believed in ghosts. Not at all. It made no sense and your brain needed something to make sense for you to accept it. However, lately you have been noticing things, and it has been happening for a while, but you have always made it off as nothing. Surely, you just made a mistake, forgot that you had done it. But it has come to the point where you cannot deny it anymore.

It started with simple things, like you would be certain that you did not leave your pen there on the desk. Sure that you did not open the curtains in your bedroom. Items in cupboards just slightly out of place. These things were so easy to dismiss as nothing. But then you started feeling like someone was in the room with you, a presence – this was not a scary feeling at all, more comforting, like the presence was there for good reasons. You sometimes felt a slight warmth, like a breath near you. Even your pet would look at something that you could not see, never reacting in an alarming way but just looking.

Intellectually, you knew it did not make sense. You also knew that if you were really feeling these things, it should probably worry you more than what it did.

Dreams have been more vivid, you still have a hard time remembering what you dream, but they have changed. You would often wake up feeling incredibly sad, even crying. You would also wake up mid-laugh with no memory of what caused these emotions in you. And most damning was that you would be sure that you had been held – still feeling the warmth of an arm around you or a hand holding yours, even though you were very much alone in your bed.

This was not limited to your home. Although it was rare, you would occasionally feel a hand on the small of your back when you were stressed, a hand on your shoulder when you would start to panic, a whispered ‘breathe’ when you became angry.

Because your brain longed for logic, because you have always been one to look for rational explanations, you had tried to figure it out. Your conclusions came to the fact that you probably needed to see a professional. But you did not do that. You do not really know why not.

One night you woke up, not sure what woke you, but there was an unmistakable hand holding yours. You felt the weight of it, the heat, the size. You took a deep breath and tried to stay calm, because you couldn’t see anything in the dark. You squeezed the hand gently and it reciprocated with equal tenderness. You reached your other hand over to feel, too scared to move the hand being held. But you knew if you tried to touch this hand it would disappear and that just broke your heart, made it clench in pain. So, you left it. You just held the hand, trying to get information about the hand without seeing it or moving again. The hand was larger than yours, long slender fingers and it held yours with deliberateness.

Another night you were woken by a voice whispering your name, right by your ear. You were sure that it was him even though him talking or making any sound was very rare. You woke up, smelling smoke and immediately shot up to see what was going on. A field nearby had caught fire, causing big billows of orange smoke to be visible when you looked out the window. You could see the flames, but it wasn’t near enough to be of danger to you, but the wind was blowing some of the smoke in your direction so you closed the windows. You were almost relieved when you smelled the smoke on the curtains the next morning, because you were sure for a second, you had dreamt the whole thing.

Things started escalating as soon as October hit.

You would feel the bed dip with a weight behind you, but no one was ever there. When you unlocked your phone in the morning, a song would be paused, ready to play. It was sometimes songs you knew and loved and sometimes songs you had never heard, never knew existed. The song would always have something in it that you needed – lyrics that made you feel hopeful or even just a fun song to lighten your mood. You would always try to accept the message as best as you could. You felt the hand in yours more often. You realised it was not as often as you would have liked.

The disappointment in you when no song waited for you in the morning was enough to ruin your day. You knew that you were losing your mind – and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

2. Noah I was near her and that was what was important. I knew that I was better when I was near her. More real. But I kept reliving a moment in my life that evening and it just would not stop. I knew that my emotions bled through to her often, so I tried so hard to keep these memories at bay because they were not pleasant for me and I knew she would feel some of it in some way.

Memories were very vague for me, there was so much of my life and who I was that I just cannot recall. But certain pieces were clear, some just less fuzzy. I sometimes did not even know myself.

The memory was of the day that I died. This one was annoyingly clear. The sun was shining bright, it was a hot day. I had the window of the car rolled down. When my dad lost control of the vehicle everything slowed down in my mind, like I had time to process and stop what was happening, prevent this tragedy from taking the lives of everyone in that car that day. But I couldn’t. I remember bracing my hand on the roof of the car as it started to flip, my head being smashed so painfully against the frame of the car. The continuous motion that felt like it went on for so long. When it finally stopped, I was lying there, the sun burning me as I watched blood pooling around us. Most of the blood came from a head wound my father had sustained. I knew they were all dead. I knew I was too. I made it the longest, only officially dying in the hospital a few hours later. All alone.

I cannot even remember what car we were in. I cannot remember who else was in the car. I cannot remember what my father looked like. But the feeling of my pain shooting through my body was detailed in my mind. Did I even have a mind anymore? Over and over this played. I knew she was dreaming about it when she started clenching her hands into fists and her breathing became uneven. I did not want her to have bad dreams. She would not even understand where this dream came from.

I have been able to touch things lately. Not just accidental movements after trying for ages like it has been for years. I have tried leaving her notes in the beginning. But I could never hold the pen successfully. It took immense concentration in the beginning, but it has been getting easier slowly. Now I could leave her notes if I wanted to, but what do I say to her after years of being here with her. She can hear me sometimes, but I do not want to scare her. I try to be subtle. Sometimes I just feel like she needs me. And I wish I could be what she needed so bad. So, this evening, I lay down next to her and hold her fists between my hands as best I can. Hoping to provide some comfort while we both live through the accident repeatedly.

3. You You woke gasping through a sob. Your head hurt, your muscles were so tense, but you remembered a lot of the dream. You knew the images were not yours. You knew you had to keep remembering. So, you leap out of bed as fast as you can, head pounding at the sudden movement. You went straight for a pen and the first scrap of paper you could reach. You wrote down some of the images before they flew away never to be recalled again.

Car accident. Yellow car. Blood. Tattoos.

You tried to think of more. You really tried so hard, and added ‘hospital’ to the list. A fat tear splashed on the paper and then only did you realise you were still sobbing. You stood up straight, wiped your cheeks and tried to take a deep breath, but it shook. You got ready for work, washing your face with cold water. The whole day, you were distracted and you could not focus. You have had dreams that were strange before, where you couldn’t remember the details. Writing down the memories of this one worked so well, that while you were constantly clutching at the crumpled paper in your pocket, you didn’t need it anymore, you knew the words on the paper so well now.

The tattoos were new. You knew it was significant. You feel like the accident was strangely familiar to you in a way, but the tattoos that covered the arms and hands of the person was a new detail. You regularly closed your eyes throughout the day trying to visualize what they looked like. There were tattoos on his neck also, but his face was clear, pale and smooth. You always had a feeling he was a man. A male? You felt sure now. You felt utter frustration that you could not remember what the tattoos were of.

You took a deep breath when you felt a warmth on your shoulder. He was here. Focus on anything you could remember, even if it seemed silly, you told yourself.

Red, there were red features in a mostly black and grey mass of art covering his arms. You hoped it was not blood that you saw.

You saw blood pooling from wounds sustained in the accident. So much blood. The driver had black hair. And he had dark hair also, but not black.

Then an image shot through your head of a hand pressing flat against the roof of the car in desperation to stop himself from getting hurt. The hand was the most clear, vivid image you have ever managed about him. The hand was really large, with slender fingers, exactly what you felt when your hand was held during the night. But now you had bright light shining on it and you knew so much more. The nails were short and neat. The thumb was bony and stood out far to the side. The tattoos were so clear, there was no way your mind could have come up with this. An image of a goat with red eyes and a red horn on the back of his hand, very elaborate calligraphy on his knuckles and a Leaf-Village symbol on his index finger. A crescent moon right where his index finger meets his hand on his thumb’s side.

You grabbed a pen and tried drawing what you could remember, it was not great, but it was something. You took the drawing, the paper from your pocket which you tried to smooth out and put them between the pages an empty notebook you found in your bookshelf. That evening, you placed the book and a pen right by your bed in case you needed to take notes again.

You had taken medication during the day to calm yourself down and to help with the pounding headache, so you fell asleep quite easily. You felt his hand rest on your arm as you were falling asleep and you pictured the tattoo there.

4. Noah There was a strange hopefulness in me as I watched her draw the picture of the back of my hand. She truly saw me in the dream. I wished that it could have been a better dream, one that was not terrible for the both of us. But it clearly stuck with her.

As I was laying with her, that very hand resting on her arm, I wondered if there were other ways I could tell her who I am. Who I was. Despondently, I tell myself, yet again, that I barely knew who I was. I could not even remember my name.

Since the tattoos got her attention though, I searched through my mind to find a memory that had something to do with my tattoos. I could see them all on myself now. I had many. Sparser on the legs but still so many to choose from. I thought of the Moon Lady on my leg, I had fond memories of getting her done. Not super specific, but I was laughing with the artist. It felt lighter, happier and I kept thinking of that, while slowly making circles with my fingers on her skin.

5. You Yellow walls, framed pictures, happiness.

You were laying on the couch, your hair damp from the shower, the window open to allow the cool morning breeze in. Your eyes were closed as you tried to relive the dream you had last night. The whole vibe was so different from the previous dreams that you enjoyed it and felt such relief to not feel your heart clench, the moment you woke up, with sadness.

He was getting a tattoo done on the outside of his left leg, just above the ankle. He was laying down then sitting up - constantly changing position throughout. The artist was a man about his age, with a mass of dark hair pulled back in a mess at the back of his head. While you couldn’t know what they were talking about, there was clearly a bond between them, joking and laughing all the while. You tried to focus on him. You needed to know more. His hair was long, well past his shoulders. Dark brown eyes. A smile that made your heart clench. He smiled with his whole face. His eyes squinting almost shut, a brief exhale with white teeth showing. He would also pull a pained face every now and then from the tattoo gun dragging across his skin.

You tried to get clues about the tattoo shop, to look out of a window, but his attention was focused on his friend and you couldn’t really get anything useful. You wish you could record the dreams and go through them frame by frame.

You felt fingers carefully touching your hair. You keep your eyes closed trying to determine if it was maybe the breeze, but it was definitely not. You were always so scared of scaring him away if you were to look or even reach out and touch his hand back.

The fingers started to gently comb through, as gentle as every time he decided to touch. It was rare during the day, it mostly happened when he thought you were sleeping. You sighed deeply, enjoying the feeling. And then you smell him. It was brief whiff of clean, fresh, masculine.

Tears well up immediately and you do not even know why.

You swallow, take a deep breath and decide to be brave. “Can you hear me?” you whispered.

The hand disappeared from your hair. You did not move. You waited a while and then you felt the hand back at your hair, stroking a strand away from your face. You hold your hand out, palm up. “Can you hear me?” you ask again. A single finger strokes a line in your palm. Your breath catches. The touch sent a wave of goosebumps across your whole body.

“Who are you?” you asked. You wait for a long time and get no answering touch. “Do you know who you are?” it was the only thing you could think of. A moment, then a cross was drawn in your palm. Your heart starts to beat so much faster. You sit up, folding your legs in front of you, keeping your eyes closed. You placed a hand on each knee, palm up. You felt such nervousness, not wanting to scare him off, but desperately wanting answers. You needed to ask carefully.

“Do you have tattoos? Did you have tattoos?” you grimace, not knowing how to approach this with more tact if you did not have more information. One line on your left palm. Yes. “Why are you here? With me?” You get no response. “Do you know why you are here?” You try again. Again, no response. You badly wanted to open your eyes. You do not even know why you were keeping them shut. You blink them open and you see absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.

“Are you still here?” One line. Yes.

“Are you trapped here?” A cross. No.

“Do you know who I am?” Yes.

“Did you die?” your voice is barely audible. Yes.

“In a car accident?” Yes. “I am sorry.” He squeezed your hand.

“Do you need help?” No response. “Do you need closure or peace or something?” No.

“I am not afraid of you. Should I be?” No.

Each of his reactions were slow and deliberate. It felt so real when he touched your hand that you wanted to close your eyes again, so that you could picture him there. But he was there. You needed to know the rules of this. He has spoken before. “Can you speak?” A hesitant no.

“You have spoken to me before?” Yes.

“But you cannot now?” No.

“Only sometimes?” Yes.

He took both of your hands, and pulled them together, giving a brief squeeze before the hands disappeared. No more questions.

6. Noah I enjoyed it when she was home the whole day, because it was so much easier to stay present. I was not always. I disappeared sometimes. She was puttering around her small place dressed in stretchy pants and a large shirt, her hair messy. She was so beautiful like this.

She had on a playlist of all the songs I have left her. I could not understand how I could not remember my own name, but had a whole cache of music in my brain. My head?

Each song I chose was with a reason, but it often worried me she would see the wrong reason. She would stop what she is doing every now and then to listen to the lyrics, sometimes even looking them up. Sometimes she looked at her phone with an expression on her face that clearly said she did not like the song, it made me smile. Some songs she would straight up laugh at me – it felt like that. Some she would sit and listen, nodding along or tears welling up. Some songs she knew and she would sing along and even dance. I joined her, but she did not notice.

Things have changed since our limited conversation. I did not scare her and that made me bold. When she was on the couch, listening to the music still, legs crossed as she lay with her arms above her head, I sat by her. When she fell asleep, I got closer and ran the back of my fingers across her cheek. She leaned into my touch, a small smile on her face. Maybe she was not as asleep as I had thought. So, I kept stroking her skin, then traced an eyebrow, ran a finger down her nose. She reacted so perfectly. Times like this I wish I were real with more heartache and passion than I could explain.

“Thank you for the songs,” she exhaled. I cupped her cheek then. I kissed her forehead.

She felt it, because her eyes shot open, but she could not see me. She had a blush on her cheeks. Adorable.

“Did you just….?” She could not finish the question. Her palm was not ready for me to answer, but I as soon as I touched her hand, she flattened her hand, and I answered her.

She was quiet so long I started to panic, thinking I had crossed a line. I managed a soft, whispered, “Sorry.” This was easier it seemed when I was in stressed.

Her eyes went wide, and she looked around, but she still could not see me. “I heard you,” she beamed. “Don’t be sorry, it was sweet.” I felt relief.

She touched her fingers to her forehead where I had kissed her. After some time, she said, “I don’t know if you have control over what I see in my dreams about you… but you need to give me a clue so I can figure this out.” I drew a line in her palm, meaning that I will try.

I tried very hard, putting all my concentration into it, “Is it okay that I am here?” I whispered.

She frowned. “Did you ask if it was okay that you are here?” she whispered back.

Yes.

She took a long breath before she answered. “In the beginning, I was sure that I was losing my sanity. I was a maybe a little afraid. But you became a pleasant addition to my days.”

I smiled at her, but she did not know.

“I miss you sometimes,” she added. “Where do you go when you are not here?”

“I don’t know,” I managed.

“How long have you been here?”

“Years.”

“Years,” she exclaimed. Her face contorted in confusion. “I was not aware of that. You never made yourself known.”

“Couldn’t.”

“Why here? Why me?”

I could not get another answer out. So instead, I placed my hand in hers, pressing our palms together.

7. You You woke up gently with your fingers wrapped around two of his fingers. Without letting go, you stretched and rubbed your eyes with the other hand. “You did it,” you said sleepily. You turn back to where he had to be next to you, and brought your other hand up to cup his. If you kept your eyes closed, you could forget that he was not real, that is how solid he felt. “I saw you walk out of the tattoo shop,’ you sigh. “I saw the sign.” His other hand joined. “I just need to figure out how that leads me to you.” You got up later and sat at your computer with a cup of coffee ready to start the search. Mixed emotions coursed through you. You typed the name of the tattoo shop and immediately got a list of results. It was in a small town very far from where you were now. You have visited this town before, loved it, thought of going back many times. You were confused by this information. How did he end up here, so far away, with you?

Now that you knew the location, you knew what had to be searched next. But you did not really want to. Getting answers here would make everything too real. It would take away the small morsel of hope you had.

You felt his hand on your shoulders, quietly encouraging you to continue.

You typed in the name of the town followed by 'fatal car accidents'.

There were not many results, but you reluctantly started clicking through, reading news articles and other bits, quickly skipping if you saw it was not the one you needed. Eventually you clicked on a short article in the digital newspaper. It had a small black and white photo and your whole chest felt constricted. It was him. You read through it slowly.

You turn your chair around completely, so you could face him, held your hands out and he took both with his. “This is a little confusing,” you breathe. He squeezed. “You were alone in the car when you… “

He took one of his hands away. “The article says it was dark and the roads were slippery from rain and that you must have lost control of the car. It doesn’t give much more than that,” by this time you were speaking so softly. You gave him a moment, knowing this is not what he remembered. “In the dreams the sun was so bright,” you add. You knew he understood.

“Your name is Noah,” you finally said it out loud. His name feeling almost familiar on your tongue. He takes your hand again and squeezes so hard it is almost painful. “Noah Sebastian Davis.”

Then, while the tears are gathering in your eyes, one of them escaping and slipping down your cheek, your heart breaking for this man that was not really there, you saw a flicker of him. Like signals were lost in his broadcast and saw him on his knees in front of you his head hanging, his hair, cut short, falling forward, while his hands were up in yours.

You suck in a breath so fast, and feel tingling goosebumps run through your whole body. You tried to keep your cool, not knowing what to say. He was processing some significant news and you did not want to be insensitive by freaking out about seeing him. Even if it was brief, the image was seared into your mind. The stunning beauty of the man kneeling in front of you would be easy to recall and you would do so often.

Once you have calmed down, you tried to focus again. “Do you remember this accident at all?” you asked him. He drew a cross in your palm. “I will figure it out, don’t worry,’ you reassure him. “We will put the puzzle together.” He squeezed your hands again, both of them.

You hear a faint and sad, “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry it was not happier news,” you say equally softly.

“Thank you for my name,” he clarifies.

You squeeze your eyes shut, realising what a big deal it must be for him to know that. “It suits you,” you say with a small smile.

That night as you were reading before it was time to sleep, you felt the dip on the bed and then an arm drape around your middle. You smiled sleepily and put the book down. “I saw you today, Noah,” you said. “When I was telling you the news, I saw you for a moment.” His arm tightened briefly. But other than that, you got no response. You fell asleep feeling the weight of his arm, seeing the image of him in your mind.

8. Noah I was lying next to her, she was sleeping deeply, her deep steady breaths accompanied by the lightest of snores. Learning this knowledge about myself was such a peculiar feeling that I did not know what to make of it. My name felt foreign and so familiar at the same time. How could I not have known my own name. But knowing it felt like such an important piece of the puzzle of who I was. I would say the name, trying it out, often. My name was a bigger shock that finding out that I did not die like I thought. My mind must have gotten things mixed up. But knowing I was alone in the car was a relief. Such a small mistake. And it cost me so much. I am aware that I do not even know everything that I am missing out on. But the heaviest of the burdens was not meeting her for real. The real me. Because I know we would have. I know it. Our souls have a bond that I cannot explain. It aches in me to know what we are both missing out on because of my mistake.

She sighed, rolled over, her arm reaching out and came to rest across my ribcage. Or where my ribcage should be. This was the first time this has happened. Normally when she rolls over where I am, she goes right through me, and she does not even know. Now, she is holding me. She knows, even in her sleep, she tightened her hold, pulling us closer together.

My moments of realness have been happening more often. I was trying to figure out why, what causes it, so I can make it happen more often. High emotions on my part definitely seem to play a role. But her feelings were also a factor. Hers were harder to solve. But I felt like I knew her better than I knew myself. In my bones, in my soul, I knew her. As she was getting to know me, it made me more real to her. But it had a physical effect on me also.

I rest my hand on her arm, and try to wiggle closer to her. I rest my lips against her forehead. ***

I leave a song on her phone. A calm but uplifting song in major. I want her to feel peace and contentment, because I do after hours of holding each other. She plays it on repeat while she gets dressed, brushes her teeth, fixes her hair. I watch her do mundane things all the time, my soul feeling at peace whenever I am near her. But, also, I feel so strongly for her that even the mundane is magical when she is doing it.

She is in a good mood this morning. Her usual morning grumpiness almost absent completely. While she is making breakfast for herself, she is moving to the song still playing, swaying with the sounds. I take a big risk and go behind her, placing my hands on her hips. She pauses and sucks in a breath, realises it was only me and relaxes again.

I have kept touching to hands only for so long, that the new sensation of her holding me while she sleeps and touching her so casually is overwhelming to me.

“Close your eyes,” I whisper right by her ear and I can see the goosebumps rise across the skin of her neck. Without hesitation she closes her eyes. The trust she has in me.

I turn her around, and rest my arms around her middle and start to sway the both of us side to side. Her hands reached out, her eyes still closed, and felt around, touching my chest, flattening her palms against me and running them upwards, slowly until she found my shoulders, resting her hands there close to my neck. She swayed with me happily, until she started to shuffle her feet to get us to start rotating slowly on the spot in the kitchen, her breakfast forgotten.

She was smiling in the beginning, but by the second play through of the song the smile faded and tears started falling from her shut eyes. Her lip and chin were quivering, like she was trying to hold back. I wiped away the tears on her cheeks, holding her face for a moment and then holding her closer to me, so that her head was resting against my chest. I was a lot taller than her. She cried for a while, keeping her eyes squeezed shut – I knew why.

“Why are you never real?” she asked, her voice strained. I had nothing to say. I just held her tighter.

9. You He has not been present for a few days. You are worried and you miss him more than you care to admit. He is in the back of your mind the whole time, even when you are busy with other things. You have saved the photo of him from the newspaper on your phone and you look every so often. You think about the change in hairstyle from that day you saw him when you told him his name.

You are worried that the whole thing was all in your imagination. You also worry about why he would stay away this long if it was not your imagination. Every day you wish and hope that he would show up, be home when you got there, that he would leave you a song, a sign, anything.

It was six days after the dance in the kitchen when he was back. And the relief you felt was immense. You woke up in the middle of the night, and he was wrapped around you. Never before have you felt so much of him. His legs were tangled with yours, his arm around you pulling you back into his chest, his head in your hair. It was the best feeling.

You have stopped trying to make sense of this. You knew he was not real. But yet, he was so real. You had no idea how you could feel him, hear him and know this ghost or spirit or entity so well. You held him too, gripping his arm, as best you could, drinking in the feeling of having him back.

“Do I make you sad?” he whispered to you. His voice sent shivers down your spine.

“No,” you answer immediately, no thought necessary. “Why would you think that?” you whisper back.

“You cry often when I’m with you,” he said so softly it was barely audible.

You swallow and take moment. “I am sad sometimes. I feel sad about what happened to you. I feel sad that I could not meet you before it happened. But you do not make me sad.”

You feel him nod against you in understanding. He squeezed you with his whole body. He is real this evening like never before.

“Is that why you left?” you say turning to look at him even though you could not see him.

“Yes,” he breathes. “I don’t want you to be sad.”

Emotion wells up in your chest so much that it aches. But you swallow the tears. Instead, you take a breath and force more neutral tone to your voice. “You make the sadness better. I always feel better when you are here. I really missed you.”

“I’m sorry,” he kisses behind your ear. “I missed you, too.”

“Where did you go?”

“I don’t really go anywhere. If I am not here or with you, I kind of disappear,” he explains. “I came to check on you a few times.”

“I didn’t realise,” you say.

“I will always check if you are okay,” he says, his voice fuller.

“Why me?” you asked him, not for the first time.

He was quiet for a long time before he answered. “After I died, my whole being knew I had to find you. My soul, or whatever, went straight to you. I didn’t know why. But when I found you, everything felt right.”

You have never heard his voice this much; it was deep and beautiful. You could listen to him forever. What he was saying was even better. “It does feel right,” you agree.

“I think I can hold you and talk to you from sheer relief that I am near you again,” he says this quickly.

“I am not complaining,” you smile. Keeping your eyes shut, just in case, despite the fact that it was dark in the room, you turn to face him and blindly search until you have your hand on his cheek, you feel his soft skin with slight stubble. How is he not real? “Please don’t leave again.”

Then he presses his lips against yours, slowly and deliberately. You inhale deeply through your nose. He was warm against you, you felt how his lips molded into the kiss, his body pulling yours closer. He pulls away, only to kiss you again and again. He was firm but gentle. It was everything.

“Fuck,” he exhales. “I have wanted to do that for years.”

With those words leaving his mouth, you see him again. You didn’t even realise your eyes were open. But in the dark you saw his outline, his dark hair a contrast against his pale skin. You wanted all the lights on, but you knew it would break whatever spell was cast in this moment.

So instead, keeping your eyes open to try and not miss a thing, you kiss him and you are more forceful than he was. His hand comes up over your ear as he holds you, and when you part your lips slightly to deepen the kiss he moans sweetly and does the same. Your eyes close because you could not help it. It was too good, too much and not enough. His hands were not still for long, his impossibly long fingers in your hair, in the shell of your ear, his thumb stroking your skin. When his tongue touches yours, so soft, the sensation courses through your whole body and you grip him, trying to get him closer, as close as you can get. He makes sounds that sound like desperation. You could die from this and your ghost would be his.

You fall asleep with your head on his shoulder, him stroking your hair, his one thigh between yours. If you could keep your eyes open all night you would, you were terrified of missing one moment.

But, gloriously, when you opened your eyes with the first rays of sunshine coming through the curtains, he was still there and visible. You were facing each other, still close together, clinging to each other almost. You had to pull your head back a bit to see his face properly. You drank him in, struggling to resist the urge to touch. His hair, shorter than the photo you have, messy, forward over his forehead, hiding his eyebrows. The slight pout on his lips, the slight stubble on his face. He was perfection. Literally nothing on his face was less than perfect.

You traced a finger down the length of his straight nose, lightly. When he started to wake up, he started fading and your heart sank. “Noah,” you say watching him fade into nothing.

“I’m right here,” he says, pulling you closer.

10. Noah “What are you doing?” She is sitting up in bed, back propped up against pillows, the glow from her tablet illuminating her face.

She startled a bit, looked in my direction, but I knew she couldn’t see me right now. “Research,” she said her eyes back to the screen. “I think I have found something.”

“What did you find?” I sit next to her, close enough that I could see the screen too.

She winced. “It’s not all good news, unfortunately,” she starts. “From what I could gather, you were twenty-seven when you died. The dream I had of you dying with other people was bothering me, because the article said you were alone. Also, in the dream the sun was so bright.”

I just scooted closer. Talking was a bit difficult this evening. I laid my head on her shoulder.

She leaned into me before she carried on. “You were in another car crash when you were eleven, with your dad and other people. Everyone died in that crash, except for you. You must have combined the memories in your mind.”

Flashes of the blood pooling went through my head and suddenly I could see my younger self there instead. Absolute panic knowing everyone was dead, being pretty sure I was too. It made sense.

“Then I also know the tattoo artist’s name. Nicholas Ruffilo. You were very close friends; I found his social media and there are some photos of the two of you.”

She swiped through some photos and I felt a tug in my chest at these memories that I could not really remember. But I felt a connection to him if nothing else. It was the strangest feeling, seeing myself, knowing it is me, but not feeling the full link I was supposed to.

“It’s strange, isn’t it,’ she said putting her hand in the direction of my knee, finding it eventually and keeping it there as a reassuring gesture. I nod against her. “Do you remember any of this?”

“Not really,” I manage to whisper.

“Lots of instruments and middle fingers in the photos,” she snorts lightly.

I chuckled quietly.

“I can’t find any information about your dad, however. I think it’s a dead end there. But I can try and make contact with him,” she gestures to the photos, “I am sure he will have information.”

“Maybe.”

“Is it too much?” she asks.

I take her hand when I reply, “It’s a bit overwhelming, yes. But thank you.” I kiss her cheek.

“Okay, I will wait,” she says tenderly and puts the tablet away. She then comes closer and places her forehead against my one cheek, her free hand cupping my other cheek. It is a gesture of comfort. “Sorry if I pried too much.”

I shake my head, bringing the hand I was holding up to kiss it. “I appreciate you.”

I start to maneuver myself that I am between her legs, laying on my stomach, resting my head on her chest. I wrap my arms around her as much as a can. I can feel her heartbeat against my ear, I breathe her in. She wiggles slightly lower on the pillows and immediately holds me back, her arm across my back, then she gently scratches across my back, sending pleasurable shivers through me. Her one leg even hooks over one of mine.

“I appreciate you, too.” She says after some time.

“This,” I sigh, “is so much more than I ever thought I could wish for.” I whisper hoping my ability to talk does not slip away. “When I came to you, I thought I would just hang here forever, never being able to interact with you at all.”

Her scratching continues rhythmically. “You being here has made my life so much better,” she whispered back.

I was eternally grateful for her acceptance of this entire situation exactly the way it was. With neither of us really understanding anything. But I was not sure if it was as good for her as it was for me. Regardless of how I feel, I was still not real.

11. You There was a song waiting for you, it was almost every morning now. It was upbeat with a female voice. You listened while waiting for the kettle to boil. As usual you took a while to fully wake up, so at first you had it at low volume, not really listening with attention yet. A lot of the times, Noah’s intention was the vibe and not necessarily the lyrics.

But a few play throughs later, as you were sipping your coffee a few words were captured by your brain and you stopped mid-swallow. You grab your phone and sure enough you were not imagining it. Touching Yourself by The Japanese House.

Your mind starts sounding like static in your own ears as you try to process what this means. Because you have wondered a few times how often he is present without you knowing. You knew he was not always present or whatever. You also trusted that he would leave you in moments that would require privacy, like bathroom moments and so on. You would also be lying to yourself if you did not admit that it has crossed your mind many times in certain moments; whether he was watching.

With your face hidden in your hands, you say, “Noah, are you here?”

“Yes,” he says sheepishly.

“Where are you?” you asked, looking up, but you could not see him.

“I am by the fridge,” he says.

You felt stupid as you look in the general direction of the fridge to talk to him, you were certainly looking in the wrong place, you often thought it must be funny sight to him. “This song,” you start.

“Yeah,” he says. You can hear the smile in his voice.

“What are you…” you trail off, the awkward feeling getting stronger by the second. “Are you trying to tell me something.”

“I guess so,” he says. There is a breathiness to his voice, like he is laughing.

“This one was not for the vibes?” you say your voice small.

“Well, no,” he says he sounded slightly closer. “The vibes are nice though.”

“Oh God,” you say hiding your face again. Not knowing if you should laugh or panic. “You were there?”

“Please don’t be embarrassed,” he says, very close now, but you almost want to back away from him.

“Noah, what the hell?” You are panicking and laughing at the same time, since your brain did not know which one to pick. You look up, wishing you could see his face to help you read the situation better.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I left as soon as I could. But…”

He takes your hands, and this anchors you. You knew where he was and felt him, making it easier to have this conversation a tiny bit. “But,” you say loudly, needing him to finish his thought.

“I cannot always make myself leave, you know,” he says. “I do not always listen to my own instructions.”

“You could have to told me you were there,” you say your voice getting higher in pitch each time you speak.

“I couldn’t make a sound and I was turned away, in the corner trying to leave.”

“You were trapped!?”

“No, that sounds harsh, I just couldn’t do what I knew I had to,” his voice calmer and lower.

Your brain was trying and failing to come up with something to reply with.

“I knew then that I had to tell you that this was a thing that could happen. I don’t want to be creepy. But I didn’t know how to bring it up,” he says his voice soft.

Despite your blush, you burst out laughing, head thrown back, from your belly. He flickered into view. You saw relief and shock on his face. “You decide to tell me with that song!?” You look him right in the eye now.

“Was it that silly?” he asked.

“Yes, you could have just said it. But I appreciate the thought you put into this one.” You grab his face and kiss him quickly. “I am still embarrassed, though.”

“Seriously, don’t be. But, in the future?” he asked.

“Well,” you say feeling weirdly emboldened. “In the future, I will ask if you are there.”

“And then you’ll tell me to fuck off,” he nods.

“Yes,” you kiss his chin, it was all you could reach without him leaning down. “Or, I’ll invite you to stay if you want to.”

His eyes widen as he looks at you, a small smile forming on his lips. “Interesting.”

12. Noah She had the car packed and ready for the very long drive. I was going to tag along as far as it was possible for me to do. But I was very uneasy and nervous about the whole thing. At the same time, I felt excited. I did not know what to expect really. I knew this could be very eye opening or devastating, and mostly for her sake, I hoped it was a good experience.

She had contacted Nicholas and the only excuse she had to see him was to make an appointment for a tattoo. Then she obsessed over which tattoo to get, was in communication with him about the design and decided on a date and time. I had a lot of input on the tattoo and I loved that she even asked me.

We stopped at a store where she ran in for snacks, me following behind, telling her to buy marshmallows. I missed them.

I knew she was not able to see me during most of the drive, but I put myself in charge of the music. She would tell me to skip or make requests if she felt strongly, but mostly we could listen and sing along quite pleasantly. I was nervous about the length of the drive and that she might start feeling sleepy so I kept things upbeat.

“Are you nervous?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she said immediately. “How do I have this conversation without sounding like a crazy person?”

“I think you just need to be honest.” I said helpfully.

“Noah, honesty is not going to do the trick here. I need to convince him that this,” she waves her hand in my direction, “is happening without being weird. This is going to for sure be weird.”

I try to feed her a marshmallow from the packet, but she shakes her head. “Maybe you should wait until the tattoo is finished. What if he chases you out or something?” She looks at me in the wrong place, in horror.

“I didn’t think of that,” she said.

We stop about half way to fill up the car, she went to the bathroom and got a coffee. She was tired, so we did a sing along for a while to get her more alert.

“What if you find out something about me that you don’t like,” I finally ask what has been bothering me most.

She was quiet for a moment while she thought about it. “I am not very worried about that,” she said. “It did cross my mind, but I am sure there won’t be anything that bad. We all have pasts and did things we are not proud of.”

“I am terrified about what you might find.”

She reached out and I grabbed her hand, interlacing our fingers. “Don’t be,” she smiled reassuringly. “You let me know when I need to stop, and I will.”

We held hands the rest of the way, or my hand was on her thigh.

When we got to the bed and breakfast she immediately went for a shower and I waited for her on the bed. She came out of the bathroom wearing her usual oversized t-shirt she slept in, her legs bare, hair wet. She grabbed her pillow from her bag, threw it on the bed and then towel dried her hair before sitting on the bed next to me.

13. You You were restless, you were stressed and nervous and you felt like something was crawling over your skin. You kept turning, flipping the pillow, taking a sip of water and you just could not settle down. You were exhausted from the drive, but you just could not let go and fall asleep.

Next thing you knew, Noah grabs you around your waist, whispered, “Come here,” and pulls your back so that you are between his legs, your head resting on his shoulder. He pushed the covers off to one side and his large hands were firmly running up and down your arms, like he was trying to get rid of the crawling feeling. He grabbed your hand every now and again when he made his way down your arm, he ran his hand through your hair. “You are okay,” he whispered. “Breathe,” he said.

You did not need much encouragement for that part, because his hands all over you made your breath quicken and deepen. You squeezed your legs together and tried to stop yourself from grabbing him back. You close your eyes firmly and turn your head towards him and press your lips firmly against his neck, he tilts his head ever so slightly to give you better access. You touch your tongue to his skin and taste him and the way it was all him with a bit of salt made you turn slightly in his grip and free your one hand from his ministrations so you could throw your arm around him and hold him in place as you lick up the column of his neck to his jawline. You do this slowly and deliberately.

“Jesus,” he moans and his mouth is desperate to find yours in a crushing kiss. It was a kiss of urgency, like you were holding back for way too long. You definitely were.

You turn your body as much as you can so you can access him more easily as your hands grab at his shoulders. He bites onto your bottom lip and drags his teeth as he pulls away and then bites into your neck gently. You grab his hair at the sensations he was sending through your body. You were both panting. His breath hot against your jaw as he finds his way back to your mouth. You kept your eyes shut.

He makes the bold move, because your boldness was turning into uncertainty for many reasons. He moved out from under you to hover above you, kissing you all the time. Your whole being was burning for him, every part of your body was alive with need for him, but your brain kept wondering how all of this was even possible. You actively decide to not worry about it, because no one knew the answer, not even Noah. So, you would just take whatever you could.

His hand lands on your hip and he runs it down your thigh and then over where he taps lightly. You ease your legs apart and he settles there like it was always where he was meant to be. He runs a single finger along the top of your underwear, back and forth, asking permission. You quickly squeezed his hand as an answer and then pushed his shirt out of the way and up his back, needing more. You manage to wrestle the shirt off him and then he sneaks his hand into your underwear slowly making his way to where you wanted him most.

“Is this okay?” he pants. You open your eyes and there he is in all his glory kneeling between your legs leaning forward on one arm, while the other hand was very gingerly touching you, his hair tousled from your fingers running through it, his dark eyes seemed even darker.

You grab his arm and lean forward needing to be closer to him, “Noah,” you breathe, “yes,” you nod. You kiss him messily and pull him back with you and when his fingers slowly drag through the wetness there, you gasp and he moans. He starts a rhythm with his touching, drawing circles with his fingers and it immediately drives you insane. You grip onto his back with urgency, not even knowing what you are trying to achieve other than to be closer to him, climb inside of him, anything. When your nails dig in, he moans again and the way his voice cracks, the deep tremble that vibrates through his throat is beautiful and filthy. “You are killing me,” you rasp.

He hesitates for a second. “In a good way?”

“God, yes, in a good way,” you barely manage to get out.

Then, he grips the edges of your underwear and starts working them down your hips. You lift slightly so he can slip them off entirely before he is back where he left off.

He kisses you, his lips just pressing against yours with insistence. You hear and feel his breath and you wonder for a second if breathing is necessary for him. But then he stops what he is doing so that he can press a single finger into you. He does this slowly. He squeezed his eyes shut, but you are in awe of him and just how impossibly ethereal he looks that you cannot look away if you tried. “So warm,” he says.

He readjusts himself so that he has better access to you, but this makes him more out of reach and you do not like this, but when he moves that finger inside of you with surety, curling it just slightly you throw your head back and let out a moan of pleasure. This makes him smile. When he adds a second finger, so that his pointer and middle fingers are working together you can feel the tingly, deep feeling starting to build up. He goes slower, like he knows exactly what you are feeling, dragging the feeling out longer. You move your hips along with him, he keeps gently pushing your thighs apart with his body. You reach for him and he grabs your hand, entwining your fingers together without a thought. Then the feeling reaches its peak and the orgasm washes through your entire body in intense but almost gentle way. It does not overwhelm you that you feel you want to push him away, instead when he works his fingers all through the orgasm, you gripping him rhythmically, it is just what you wanted and needed. The feeling is so intense that you feel tears stinging at your eyes, you try to blink them away, knowing that Noah will think he was making you sad.

But he already saw, and he was kissing your eyes, running his hand across your face to push your hair back as finally removes his fingers from you and then he lays between your legs, his weight comforting against you. “Are you okay?” he asks.

You can just nod.

“You are so amazing,” he whispers in your ear, he keeps his head buried in the crook of your neck. You reach your arm around him and hug him to you as close as you can. You squeeze your thighs around his hips. Then he maneuvers himself so he is next to you and he pulls you closer, so your head is resting tucked under his chin, he tangles your legs together. “Now, please get some sleep,” he mumbles and his arms rests across your waist.

You still wanted to ask about him. You still wanted to overthink the whole reality of everything. But your eyes were heavy, you were warm and so comfortable breathing him in that you fell asleep effortlessly.

14. Noah Nicholas greeted her with a shy warmth when we arrived. He had a beanie pulled over his messy black hair. He showed her to his area, showing her the final design again, asking if she was sure, getting the stencil ready. I kept my hand on her lower back, I could see she was tense, breathing too fast, kept wiping sweat at her brow. She was panicking.

“You can take a moment before we start,” Nick said so calmly and with such kindness. I looked at him and felt familiarity. His mannerisms and slightly awkward demeanor seemed not only familiar but hit me so much deeper than I ever thought it would. After my death I have only ever felt a bond with her. I did not expect the fullness in my heart from seeing someone that had clearly been a dear friend of mine.

She lifts her skirt up where she stands in front of a mirror and Nicholas slides closer on his chair with wheels, holding the stencil. He patiently takes his time and asks her is she is happy with the placement, asks if she is sure. He applies it with gentle precision and rolls back to have a look for himself. When she convinces him that she was happy, he shows her to the bench. She settles herself on the bench he had ready, covered in plastic. She awkwardly tries to find a comfortable position and I can see that this is overwhelming for her. And I understand, the whole thing is a strange situation to say the least. She lays back a little and she exposes her thigh again. Meanwhile he is carefully wrapping the tattoo gun, placing cling wrap everywhere, filling little containers with ink. He is meticulous. While he is distracted, I stand behind her and I rub her back, squeeze her hand, run my fingers through her hair. I cannot offer any verbal reassurance; we are not sure if he would hear.

Both of us are sure that it is only her that can hear me. But we have no basis for this belief. We could be wrong. Now was not the time to test our theory.

Her skin is clammy by the time Nick comes closer to start the process. He asks if she is ready and she nods. He stretched the skin and starts. I can see the pain etched into her eyebrows immediately as Nick draws the first line. She puts a hand behind her back for me and I grab it and hold on.

“It is pretty painful,” Nick laughs softly and kindly. “You just let me know if you need a break or anything.”

“Thank you,” she chokes out. This was worse than she was bargaining for. I feel guilty.

I carefully rub her hand, even massaging at times. I would bend over and kiss her arm, her neck every now and again as a distraction and as encouragement.

“So how did you hear about me?” Nick asks. They have exchanged some pleasantries. Nick was trying to make her feel at ease, but he was also shy and it did not come as naturally to him.

She blushes when he asks this, because she has no idea how to answer this question. She takes a moment, while she is squeezing my fingers so hard. “I actually heard about you from Noah.” She says this while looking intently at him for a reaction of any kind. He stopped tattooing and looked her in the eye, a slight rattled look on his calm features. “Noah?” he says while he is processing the information.

“Yeah. Davis.” She says and I can feel how her heart starts beating even faster.

“Wow, I was not expecting to hear that,” he says softly, he looks down like he was just flooded with memories that were now playing through his mind. In that moment, I wanted to comfort him too. “He’s been gone for three years.” A deep furrow formed on his brow.

She nodded solemnly. “He was very fond of the pieces you did for him,” she said, calculatingly giving very little information.

Nick smiled. “He was so young when we did some of it. Fuck, he was so young when he insisted on getting a sleeve on one whole arm.” The smile faded a bit and he sighed. He shook himself and started tattooing again. “He always was an old soul. Insistent on doing what he wanted, how he wanted, when he wanted.” Nick drew a few lines of the tattoo before he asked, “How did you know him?”

She tensed for a moment. I rubbed her back softly. I was feeling every bit of the emotion in the room too. By the looks of things, I was in a room with the two people that I cared about the most. “I did not know him very well before he died,” she told a half lie. “But I just kept dreaming about the tattoo of the Moon Lady and I thought it must mean something.”

He glanced up briefly and then back to his work on her thigh. “Yeah, he dubbed her the Moon Lady,” he laughed. “I designed her special for him. I also helped him fix the mess of a sleeve he had done when he was way too young.” “You two were close?” she asked quietly.

“He was my best friend.” Nick had a sad look on his face. “Since Noah was fifteen, we just hung out all the time. We had some good times. We actually met because he came looking for work at the tattoo parlour I was apprenticing at.” I was listening to every word he was saying, drinking it all in.

“He had such an independent mind,” he continued. “He was playing for a band and he was so sure that music was his future, he dropped out of school and everything…”

“He dropped out at fifteen?” she asked a little shocked.

“Yeah, he was a different one,” Nick smiled. “I miss him.”

The image of the moth that Nick designed for the tattoo was slowly taking shape, her skin was red and she flinched every time he used the rough paper towel to wipe away at the ink and blood. She was in agony, I could tell.

“This is so much more painful than I ever thought it would be,” she whispered to me while we were in the bathroom. She had asked for a break. “I thought I was tougher than this.”

‘You are doing great,” I whisper back.

“I should have just asked for a coffee date or something and spilled the beans right away,” she was splashing herself with cold water, rubbing her neck.

“You are doing fine,” I insist.

“I really am not, Noah,” she huffs. She stares at me for full minute. “Are you fine?” she asks.

“No,” I answer simply. She takes a step closer and goes down on her knees in front of me where I am sitting on the closed toilet. She takes my hands.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“I feel like I can remember something as soon as he says it. Like he is filling in pieces of a puzzle,” I try to explain. “I want to hug him. Is that silly?”

“No,” she says.

“I don’t like seeing you in pain.”

“It’s my own fault.”

“Maybe you went too big for the first tattoo.”

“Maybe. But everyone always says you should go bigger than you think.”

We kiss there by the toilet in the black and white bathroom, comforting each other as much as we can.

15. You You go back out and smile and grit your teeth through the last end of the shading done on the moth, but you also bite back tears. The whole thing is too much. You are in so much physical pain you are struggling to cope, your heart is going through all the emotions of learning more about Noah. You are also so worried about him and how he might take any news that comes out of this. You are all over the place.

“Tell me more about him,” you prompt.

“He was very private. Only really shared his secrets with the people he was closest to. I don’t remember him ever mentioning you,” Nick’s voice was still soft and kind.

“I’m not trying to pry,” you quickly explain. “I guess I just wish I had the chance to know him before…”

“That accident was tragic,” Nick said. “I could not believe the news when I heard. I was even waiting for him to pat me on the shoulder at his own funeral I was in denial so bad.”

“Slippery roads in the rain, right?” you add.

“Yeah,” Nick nodded. “But he must have been speeding. Noah was always a very responsible driver. You know, especially after what happened when he was young. When his dad died. He always had respect for the rules, he knew the consequences for being reckless too well. I wish I knew what had happened. Wish I could talk to him again.”

“Do you think something was suspicious?” you ask.

“Sometimes,” Nick sighs. “But I have made peace with the fact that I will never know.”

“Accidents can happen so quickly,” you try to comfort. “I just always hope that he was at peace. That it was quick. That he didn’t suffer.” Once the words were out of your mouth you realise how hard you really did hope that. How much it haunted you that Noah went through a death. You also realise that you have never said this to Noah, because you feel how he rests his head against your shoulder. You want to turn and hug him, hold him.

“God, I hope so too,” Nick says, his voice small. “From the police report it sounds like that it was quick. His injuries were severe.” He stops tattooing for a moment to lean back so that he was looking at the ceiling. Your heart was breaking for both these men.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to say.

“If I cry now, I will have to resanitise everything,” he tries to chuckle. He takes a deep breath and continues to tattoo.

You bite back tears yourself, blinking as quickly as you can. You can’t think of what else to say.

“You haven’t said how you know Noah,” he said.

You notice the present tense. “Him and I were talking online. For a few months,” you lie quickly. Knowing that the truth would not go over well at all at his moment. “I had a great time talking to him. It was texts only.” You had to account for your limited knowledge.

“Oh,” Nick says nodding.

You do not say anything again.

You drive back to the guest house, your leg wrapped in cling wrap, taped at the edges, Noah’s hand resting just above the tape. You feel like both of you are hanging by a thin thread and you are quiet all the way. He rubs your thigh comfortingly. You squeeze his fingers back.

As soon as you close the door of the guest house behind you, you and Noah are in each other’s arms, clinging to each other and within seconds of that you start crying, chest heaving for air and then Noah is crying too, burying his face in your neck, his breath hot.

You take his hand after a while and guide him to the couch, where you lie down and he lays next to you on your good leg’s side, his head on your chest. You both cry for a while longer while running your fingers through his hair and rubbing his back. “I feel like I miss him so bad,” Noah says later his voice thick. You kiss his hair. “The connection I felt was insane.”

“He was very kind,” you say.

“I wanted to speak to him and tell him I’m okay,” he sounds defeated.

“We can make a plan,” you reassure him. After a while you whisper your suggestion, knowing it was not great. “We can write him a letter?”

Noah reaches over and pulls up your skirt to expose the tattoo and he lifts his head to look. He absent-mindedly starts picking at the tape around the edges.

“I need to let him know,” he says. “Can we write the letter now? How’s your leg?”

“My leg is fine,” you say. You get up to get your bag and dig out a notebook and a pen. “How do you want to do this? How honest are we going to be?”

Dear Nick I felt the need to clarify a few things. I had no idea how to say these things to you yesterday. I felt like saying it would be disrespectful to you in a way, because I had no idea if you would believe me. I did not want you to feel like I was playing with your emotions. I lied. I did not exchange texts with Noah. He appears to me. He says he has been appearing for years, but I have only been able to notice for a few months now. His ghost, or soul, or presence or essence, I don’t know. I know that is crazy. So does he. But it is true and I don’t know what to tell you about it. He cannot remember a lot of things; he is unclear on a lot of his past and I came to you to try and get some extra information. I felt in the moment that it would be insensitive to tell you this, because then you had to respond to me – and how is anyone supposed to respond?? Noah was with me yesterday during our session. He asked me to say the following in the letter: He cannot remember you as well as he wishes, but that he does remember that you were a person that made him feel seen and safe. He knows that he loved you dearly. He was also so adamant to let you know that he was okay. I am leaving town, I have a long drive home, but should you wish to contact me I will leave my contact details at the end. I will also have breakfast at the restaurant on the corner from your shop, should you wish to talk to me in person. Thank you for doing a great job on the tattoo. Thank you for being so important to Noah when he needed you. Kindest regards

16. Noah I carefully pealed the cling wrap and tape from her leg and then with great care put on an ointment that Nick had suggested. This morning when we woke up the skin was not red anymore and the tattoo looked great almost no scabbing. It was beautiful. I had a viscerally emotional response to it, seeing my friend’s work on her thigh.

“Does it hurt?” I ask.

“No, just sensitive,” she smiles at me.

We returned to the shop after writing the letter and left it under the wiper blade of his car, we decided that we really did not want to make him uncomfortable and force him into a situation he had no choice being in.

I was so nervous about breakfast, having no idea what to expect. I could tell she was too. She seemed calmer, the adrenaline of the pain from being tattooed out of her system. I think it contributed to her emotional response the previous day. But I still felt nauseous with the need to connect with Nick and it was truly strange.

When the car was packed and we double checked the bathroom for anything we might have left behind, we quietly drove to the restaurant. She picked a table at the back, a little secluded but sat in a spot where she could see the door, should he decide to show up.

She ordered coffee. I had my hand on her thigh. She had pulled the skirt up to expose the tattoo, to get relief from the material touching the sensitive skin. I traced the outline gently. I could tell she wanted to talk, she was crawling in her own skin again, fidgeting with a straw wrapper that was on the table. The coffee came and she slowly sipped at it.

“I’m not even hungry,” she whispers. But we need to kill time. So, she ordered something, just so we could stay a little longer.

“If he doesn’t show,” I say, sighing, “It’s okay. This was never a guaranteed success anyway.”

“Yeah,” she sounds defeated. I love her for helping me with this. I want to tell her but instead I kiss her cheek and she gives me a weak smile.

And then Nick walks through the door.

She stands immediately, waving him over.

He did not smile. He just walked over, his hands buried deep in his pockets and he looked everywhere except at her. He seemed like he had had no sleep. He slides into the seat opposite her still looking away.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” he answers.

The waiter shows up and takes his order for orange juice.

“You need to explain that letter you left me,” he says looking her in the eye for the first time. “It was messing with me all night.”

She nods. “I know that what I said is crazy. I am aware. But it is true. I don’t have an explanation of how it is possible. I am not a psychic or any of that shit.”

“How do you communicate with him?” he asks.

“You believe me?”

“I did not say that.”

She grimaces, but steels herself before she begins. “At first it was small things, like sounds I heard in my house, things not where I left them, touches, whispers. For a very long time, I was convinced that it was my mind playing tricks on me. But eventually, he was more in control of himself and we could start talking and he could touch me. It got to the point where I had to accept it regardless of how I felt. He became a comforting presence to me.”

Nick was quiet for a moment absorbing what she said. “You said he couldn’t remember much?”

“No, he can’t. So, I starting having dreams, like he was giving them to me. I dreamt of you one night, giving him the Moon Lady tattoo and it was so real, the details the way you two were joking around. Then I started to take all the clues and I started putting the puzzle together. I am not explaining this very well.” She takes a few big gulps of her coffee.

His orange juice and her breakfast arrive, they both ignore their orders.

“You said he was there yesterday?” he asks.

She simply nods.

He leans forward, holding his head in one hand. “I could have sworn that I saw him yesterday. Almost from the corner of my eye, you know. Part of why I was so emotional talking about him to you. But I was sure it was just because our conversation was about him”

Her eyes went wide. “We didn’t know whether you would be able to see him or hear him.”

“He is okay?” Nick asks his voice thick.

“Yeah,” she says.

I feel my heart clench so much it hurts. I get up and stand behind him. I make eye contact with her before I carefully place my hand on his shoulder. He tensed immediately and I felt elated that he could feel it.

“Is he…?”

“Yes,” she says.

He brings his hand up and places it over mine. “Jesus,” he says giving a nervous laugh.

“It’s just Noah,” I say quietly. He heard me. He twists around, stands and grabs at me and we hug so tight.

“This is fucking weird,” he says.

“You need to be cool, people might look,” she says, but she is beaming.

We release the hug and he awkwardly looks around, because he couldn’t see me. “I miss you,” he says.

“I miss you,” I whisper back.

He sits back down and I sit next to him. She picks up a fork and starts eating her breakfast, the tension gone from her face.

“Can you remember the crash?” Nick whispers.

17. You You watched for about a solid hour while they spoke and caught up. The friendship that they shared was obvious to you, as they were so at ease with each other, despite the absurdity of the situation, despite the time apart, despite literal death. Noah’s eyes had a sparkle to them and it made you so happy to see. It was strange to see him interact with someone else, but it was so humanising. You said very little and were happy to just watch the two of them and absorb Noah’s laugh.

Eventually you had to leave though. Nick took you to his car where he had a box that he handed to you. “I packed this last night,” he said making eye contact with you. “I wasn’t sure I was going to give it you,” he looked down. “But I think you will both really learn a lot from it.”

You gave Nick a long, tight hug and thanked him many times. Noah and Nick hugged quickly. You promised to keep in touch.

“That was great,” Noah said his voice sad.

“That went a million times better than we ever hoped for,” you said.

“It did,” he said. “I can’t believe that he could actually feel me, that we could speak. I have never felt as real as I did when you could both hear me.” His voice grew soft at the end.

You reach over and gently take his hand, he intertwined his fingers with yours. “We will make a plan and see him again. I can absolutely see how the two of you were friends.”

“Are,” he corrects you. “We are friends.”

“Yeah,” you smile. You keep your eyes on the road, but you want to look into his eyes. You knew this was a lot to handle. “I am dying to know what’s in the box.”

“Me too,” he says.

“You open it, we have a long way to go still. Could kill some time.”

He drops a kiss to your hand before he reaches back to retrieve the shoe box. He settles it on his lap and stares at it for a while. You say nothing. He carefully lifts the lid of the box and slowly pushes it back. “Well fuck,” he breathes. “What?” you ask, sneaking peaks at the box.

“You drive,” he points through the windscreen towards the road. “I’ll give details.”

“Okay,” you snort.

“Right so, it seems like some of my stuff,” he says. “Hang on.” He digs through the things in the box.

“Noah,” you say in frustration after a while.

“Alright, alright, biggest item is this shirt.” He takes it out and shakes it out so you could look quickly. “It is a white shirt and it has a picture of…. It looks like Jesus and the devil playing basketball.” He laughs. “That is so cool.”

“Give me,” you take it and immediately smell it. Spicy and clean. “Mmmm, smells like you.” You keep the shirt on your lap.

“Then we have a beaded necklace with a big cross on, some bracelets, a plain gold ring.” He holds each piece and waits for you to look. He studies each item with care. Taking his time with each piece. “Here’s a copy of Into the Wild,” he flips through the pages of the book.

You were speechless. These few items meant the world. It was such a generous thing of Nick to do.

“Here is a flash drive also,” he says his voice sounding almost scared.

“The laptop is behind my seat.” You feel nervous.

Again, he rummages around in the back to take out the laptop. It takes a moment for him to boot it up and settle back. “What do you think this is?”

“Probably photos,” you say.

“Why am I scared of this?”

“Because whatever it is, it was your life,” you say gently. “Take your time.”

“Can I just say thank you to you first?” he says. “Thank you for doing this. Being there for me.”

You steal a glance at him. “Of course,” you say. “I feel honoured that I am allowed to witness this.”

“I love you,” he says his voice deep. “Do you know that?”

Your heart beats faster instantly, you feel it trying to climb up through your throat. Why would he say this while you are driving? You want to stare into his eyes and hold him and comfort him. You slow the car down and pull off next to the road. He seems confused by your actions. Once the car is fully stationary, you undo your seatbelt and practically climb over to him as much as you can and you wrap your arms around his neck. You press your face into his neck and breathe in his smell. “I love you,” you whisper. He wraps his arms around you and squeezes you so tight.

You start peppering his neck in small kisses heading towards his jaw. You feel him smile and your heart swells. Kisses along his chin, his cheeks, his nose, his eyebrows. Finally, he takes your face between his large hands, his hands resting over your ears and he kisses you firmly, you feel him swallow. Then his tongue is gently at your lips and you kiss him back, opening up to him. The kiss is tender and he smiles into it and it makes you feel out of breath. When you break apart, he rests his forehead against yours for a few moments.

“Thank you for pulling the car over before doing that,” he whispers against your cheek with a giggle.

You laugh. “My pleasure.”

“Also mine,” he laughs. “But seriously, did you hear me?”

You nod, eyes locked with his. “Did you hear me?”

He nods. “I’m not even real, though. How can you love me?”

“You are more real to me than anything,” you say.

18. Noah I insert the flash drive into the laptop. We were on the road again. She turns her head and smiles at me while I watch her drive. I see the sparkle in her eye, and the emotions she feels for me are written on her face and she shows it to me without hesitation. Never can I express how that feels – the words do not exist to explain the feeling shattering my heart and then lovingly putting each piece back in its place. My heart that does not exist either. It’s almost painful. And it’s the best feeling. I should have told her that I loved her with flowers and music and grand gestures. But I needed her to know so badly in that moment.

“Are you okay?” she asks, suddenly frowning.

“I just love you so much,” I say as explanation.

“Noah,” she smiles. “I love you, too. But is this too much for you? We can wait until we get home. We can wait as long as you want.”

I take a moment to think about it. “Honestly, I want you to be able to look with me. I don’t want you driving, I want you holding my hand when I do this.”

She reaches out her hand and I take it. “Okay,” she says. “We wait.”

I kiss her hand. “I can offer you other entertainment?”

“Oh yeah?”

“Eye spy?” I say, trying to think of other games. She laughs and I think that I live for that sound. But I do not. I exist for that sound.

“I have a better idea,” she giggles. “Go pick a playlist with older music and then we guess the song. We see how much you can remember.”

“Interesting, you want to compete with me,” I say, starting to search for playlists. “If it is a banger, we play it through and see who knows the most lyrics.”

She nods with a big smile. She has my shirt wrapped around her neck like a scarf, she keeps smelling it.

We play the game and she drives. We sing along to songs, laugh when we get it wrong. We argue about which songs qualify as bangers. I feed her dried apples and sips of water. I watch as she walks to the bathroom when we stop for a break and she adds a desperate running step because she couldn’t wait any longer. She comes back with marshmallows and a coffee.

We got home and we unloaded the car with heavy limbs. She kept stretching and rubbing her butt, saying that she sat it completely flat. I assured her it was just as delicious as it was before.

As I stood under the spray of water from the shower head and I felt the water pelt my skin, the water droplets running down my body, I wonder if I really feel it, or whether I was just so in the moment, so desperate that I made it real in my head. I wish there were a rule book and that I could understand. But then I shake myself and decide that I should stop wasting my time on wondering. Enjoy the warmth of the water while you can feel it, Noah. Let yourself feel cleansed by the soap, Noah. Just stop thinking so goddamn much.

When I enter the bedroom, she is under the covers, pillows arranged how she likes it, her eyes gently closed. She must be tired. Ambient light is all that covers the room in a soft, warm glow.

I lift the covers and settle behind her, inching my way closer and closer until I was right up against her body and I put my arm around her waist and I put my face in her neck. “Hey, baby.”

She hums in response, her head tilting to allow me more access to her neck. I kiss her neck repeatedly and slowly and go up her jaw.

“You still awake?” I ask eventually.

“I am,” she whispers. She sounds slightly out of breath. She squirms and, in the process, pushes her butt back against me and I gasp in response. The sensation sends shivers down my spine and makes me achingly aware of my groin.

I take a deep breath to calm myself down a little. My hand goes under the shirt she is wearing and I feel her bare skin, soft and smooth. “Is this okay?” I ask.

“Yes,” she breathes.

I run my fingers over her waist with light touches, slowly working my way higher until I can feel the flesh of her breasts and then I take my time touching, squeezing and holding them. I feel her hardened nipples against my palm and I drink in every heavy breath she takes and releases. Her hips ever so slightly pushing back against me consistently. “My god,” I moan in her ear. “These are so perfect.” I kiss and suck at her neck. Rational thought was leaving me rapidly. “Come here,” I pant and I make room for her to turn onto her back and then I immediately lean in and over her and kiss her. My hand is still palming her breast.

She kisses me back with so much passion that I am overwhelmed for a few seconds. She has her hands on my shoulders, rubbing along them softly, in contrast with the way her tongue is running along my lips with fervour. “Noah,” she says.

‘Yes, baby?”

“Please, Noah.”

“What do you want? Tell me?” I pull back and make eye contact with her, making sure I hear what she is about to say.

“I need you,” she sobs almost. I have to kiss her solidly before I pull back again.

“What do you need?”

“You, all of you,” she says, her leg hooking around mine and she runs her hands down my back, lower and lower. “I need to feel your skin against mine.”

“Alright,” I nod and I push her shirt up and she lifts her shoulders just enough that I get it off and I slowly drag the shirt down her arms and then she is bare and I cannot breathe. I immediately lower my mouth and kiss a line between her breasts before I kiss one while my hand is on the other. I lick around her nipple, my tongue leaving shiny wet spots in its wake. I glance up and her head is thrown back, her eyes closed. “Hey,” I whisper to her and she looks down. “Keep your eyes on me,” I say. I flatten my tongue and glide it across the hardened bud of her nipple and she moans, then I bite down very softly and she grabs my hair.

“Can I take off your underwear?” I say locking eyes with her. She bites her lip and nods. I move my body and move the blankets so I can reach her and I trail my fingers down her stomach and to her hips, and I slide my finger under the elastic and pull them down her hips. “Lift,” I say and I grip it and drag it down and she lifts her legs up so can remove them more easily. I look at her to make sure she was still okay with all of this, and I see she is nervous. But her eyes also look at me with dark hunger. “You still okay with this?”

“I am,” she squeaks.

“You sure?” I say, standing up on my knees on the bed. She nods. “I am going to ask you to open these legs for me, love. Are you okay with that?” I say this sternly. I need her to understand that my intentions were far from pure. She looks me in my eyes and I see her swallow heavily.

“I am so sure,” she whimpers.

Relief and arousal floods through me at the same time. “Thank fuck,” I breathe and then, “Open.” I grab one ankle and help to place it far away from the other and I maneuver both of us so there’s a bit more space for me and I settle down between her legs. I could already see her arousal glistening in the faint light. Salivating, I kiss her soft inner thighs and hook my one arm around her upper thigh, holding her in place. Then I take a finger, the same finger that has already been inside of her, and run it up and down spreading her arousal. She responds by squirming a little, she is biting her lip. I use my hand to spread her open slightly and then I press my tongue to her and I am overcome with her taste and emotions and the feeling of my cock becoming even harder. I lick up to her clit and then gently suck on it and she bucks her hips, and I feel victorious. “You taste so good,” I say. I drag my tongue down and it sinks into her wet mess at her opening and I drink her in. “So very wet,” I say as I suck on her again. Her hips start to move, it seems, of their own accord and she lets out little moans and she reaches down and grabs my hair. I am so into that. “Noah, oh my god,” she cries. I feel like a god between her legs.

“You want my fingers?” I ask.

“Yes.” No hesitation.

I slowly and carefully push two fingers into her and I hold my breath as I feel her insides clench around them. I pump them in and out of her slowly and curl my fingers and she is moaning, and just like the previous time she tries to close her legs but my body is in the way. “Baby, take my hand,” I reach my free hand up and she takes it and grips it. “Is it too much?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she moans, “It feels so good.”

“Grip my hand tighter when it gets too much. I need you to hold on for me,” I look her in the eye. “I am going to keep going, okay?”

She nods and I pump my fingers again and then I lower my mouth and lick over her clit and when I feel her hips move and her grip on my hand tighten, I lick faster and harder and I keep going until she tells me that she is going to come and I keep going. Her hips lose rhythm and I look up at her and watch her utter beauty as she comes apart against my mouth. She brings her free hand up and clamps it over her mouth and I still hear her cries.

When she stills, I remove my fingers from her and climb up towards her so I can kiss her. She is breathing heavily, so am I. I kiss her tenderly, and she responds eagerly, her hands traveling all over my arms, shoulders and back. “I don’t know how this will work,” I say as I dare to look down at myself. “But can I please, please fuck you?” I bury my face in her neck, I have to concentrate to not just mindlessly rub against any part of her.

She pulls back from me and hold my face between her hands and she looks in my eyes for a moment, looking back and forth between my eyes. Love radiates from her and she pulls my face down to kiss my nose. “What do you need from me?” she whispers. “I need to be inside you, as soon as I can possibly manage,” I smile at her.

“What did you mean you don’t know how it works?” she says looking concerned.

“I just mean because I am a spirit. A ghost. I don’t know. But, honestly, the boner feels very, very real to me.”

“Yeah?” she asks and her hand is feeling me over the boxer briefs I have on. I have to squeeze my eyes shut and breathe through the feeling. “Feels real to me too. Hang on.” She lifts up slightly and pushes the briefs down a bit so I am free from the constraint. She wraps her hand around me slowly and pumps up and down a few times excruciatingly slow. She lets go and her index finger teasingly swipes up the bead of pre-come from my tip and she sucks it off of her finger and if I was not already dead….

“Christ!”

“Definitely real,” she giggles. “Fuck, I didn’t expect you to taste that good,” her face suddenly serious.

“Um, thank you, baby, but we do not have time for you to taste more,” I say quickly. “I am already about to explode and I haven’t even been near to being inside of you.”

She lifts up and kisses me again. She is sloppy this time, running her tongue along my bottom lip. “I don’t mind waiting,” she whispers.

“Lay back,” I tell her and she keeps looking at my face with such adoration. I rip the briefs off and then I take a hold of myself and run my cock up and down her a few times, across her clit spreading the wetness a bit, she throws her arms up above her head and sighs loudly. “You ready? I’ll go nice and slow.”

“I’m ready,” and she wraps her legs around my hips trying to encourage me closer.

I slowly and carefully push past the resistance at her entrance and keep going until I am completely buried inside the heat and clenching wetness. I literally could not breathe. I fall forward on top of her, my elbows trying to keep some of my weight off her. Her arms wrap around me immediately, her thighs gripping me and she peppers my face with kisses while I struggle to inhale. “You are fucking perfect,” I manage to get out. “Perfect.” She started squirming under me. “Please,” I choke out. “Wait a second. I need to calm down.”

She patiently rubs my shoulders while she licks at my neck. “I love you,” she whispers in my ear.

“I love you,” I sob into her skin.

She soothingly rubs my back and I hear her take a deep breath near my ear and then she exhales slowly and then deep breath in again and without a word, I join her breathing and then I start feeling like I have a bit of control back. So, I start moving just a little and work up to a steady rhythm and she opens her legs wider and clings to my arms. “You feel so good,” she gasps and I cannot believe that this is real, and I have to tell myself that I had better not start overthinking.

I lift myself up a bit so can have more leverage and I look down at her face contorted with pleasure, her body beneath me, the body that I have been looking at for years, never dreaming this would be possible, the body that I knew I was lucky to just be able to briefly touch in a moment of realness and here it was – gorgeous and writhing with me deeply inside of it. I fuck her harder and slightly faster and I hear the slap of skin on skin. She cries out and swears and moans. And this, I think, could not possible feel any better if I had been alive. Suddenly, she makes eye contact with me and she nods with very small movements and her hand sneaks down between us and she touches herself. “Fuck, baby that’s so hot,” I say to her. “I am not going to last much longer.” “Please,” she says and she tries to sit up and reaches up for me, so I lower myself down so I can kiss her and she kisses me. “I am coming,” she says. I grab her hand and we kind of lose control at the same time and I still most of my movements and she is twitching and gripping me so tight and it lasts so long. She bites my shoulder and then licks it to sooth the bite. I stay inside her and collapse and our breaths are hot and heavy.

“Baby, just let me stay inside a little longer,” I say because I am so sensitive. She jolts every few seconds as aftershocks go through her. “I love you,” I tell her again because I need her to know so badly. How much she means to me. “I love you.” “I love you so much,” she rubs my shoulders again and then starts running her fingers over my back lightly scratching. Goosebumps form over my whole body.

“I don’t need heaven, ever,” I whisper in her ear. “I have already found mine.”

19. You You wake up and you smell him, your face resting against his shoulder blade, your naked body curled up around his, his back to you, your arm around his waist and you are holding on to him like your life depended on it. When you open your eyes, you realise that your breasts are pressed up against Jesus’ face on his back and you cannot help but smile at that.

For a long time, you just admire his broad shoulders with a dusting of freckles where the tattoos do not cover his skin. You look at where he has slept his hair into standing at odd angles. You listen to him breathe, slow and even with a slight whistle when he inhales through his nose. When you move your feet a little, you feel the course hair on his legs. Every single part of him was so absurdly perfect. Except when your brain starts thinking, again, that he is dead. You press your hand to his chest, press it firmly. You do not feel a heartbeat.

When he stirs a while later, he turns to face you with a dopey smile on his face. His face is slightly swollen from sleep, his lips are puffy. His lips are a part of him that you have been greatly underappreciating. They are just so kissable. His eyes are squinted almost shut. Beautiful.

“Hey,” he croaks and moves closer so he can hold you, his long arms wrapping around you and his mouth resting against your forehead. “How are you doing?”

“Mmm, I feel great,” you say. “And you?”

“Oh, I am so very good and great and relaxed and wonderful,” he smiles against your face.

You laugh and kiss his chin. “You are so warm,” you say as you snuggle closer.

“And you smell amazing. You always do in the mornings.”

“You smell me in the mornings?”

“Absolutely, I do,” he says and drags his nose along your face until its buried in your hair.

You lay in comfortable silence and almost fall back asleep when he says, “That flash drive is haunting me.”

“Shall I go get it?” you ask. You have thought about it, but there have also been many other things on your mind. The way he kept calling you baby the previous evening being one of the things.

“I will, I’m just nervous still.”

“I have to go to the bathroom anyway. And I am ready to hold your hand. But if you want to wait, that is also fine, you know that.”

“Okay,” he says apprehensively. You search and find your shirt that was flung off you and pulled it over your head. “Leave the underwear,” he says pouting at you.

You make sure to pull the shirt down as low as it would go when you leave to the bathroom first, and then to go find that laptop where the flash drive is still inserted.

Noah is already sitting up and he has arranged the pillows for you both to be comfy. You climb in get under the covers and scoot closer and you place the laptop on both your laps. “You do it,” he says.

“Okay,” you run your finger along the mousepad and click to open the folder. Inside are photos, videos and audio files. You just know that whatever you are about to see is going to make you cry. He wraps his arm around your shoulder. “We can stop whenever you want. Where do you want to start?”

“Photos.”

You click and then you start clicking through the album and it was already a lot to handle. Many photos of Noah with friends, you only recognise Nick. Photos of Noah where he was so young. Photos with his skin in varying stages of being tattooed. His hair in different styles. There many photos of him making silly faces, many with him holding musical instruments, many with animals.

Noah was quiet for the most part, only commenting occasionally. “Is that a dermal piercing?”

“It looks like,” you smile.

The two of you can only guess at the other people. Noah tells you that some of the people look familiar, but he could not really place them.

So, then you go over to videos.

Videos were mostly of him hanging out with his friends, making jokes, being silly, drinking, making music. Many videos of Noah singing, some, where was very young, singing songs, clearly still finding his feet. But as Noah ages in the videos his talent becomes more and more pronounced. His voice improving, the songs improving. Videos of him playing guitar, playing keyboard, making music on the computer.

Noah would hide his face with some videos and with others, he would nod his head along with the sounds. You loved the insight this gave. The details neither of you would have ever known.

Until the video that started playing was a slideshow.

Noah gripped your hand slightly tighter and you squeezed back as images cycled with a Matchbox Twenty song playing. Tears were rolling down your face silently as you couldn’t help but imagine being at the funeral, knowing that you have lost this man. At the same time, you know that it happened.

Noah eventually stopped the video when he could not take it anymore. His head dropped down and you moved closer. He turned and buried his face in your neck and you held him as close as you could manage. A few sobs shook his body and then you couldn’t hold it back anymore either. You could guess what he was feeling. He didn’t have to say anything. The loss of everyone he knew, the life he knew and mostly himself. This life that he could not really remember.

He fell asleep after a while, you running your fingers through his hair slowly.

Later he softly kissed your neck and whispers, “How do you think we would have met?”

You think for a moment before you say, “Me getting a tattoo and you coming by to visit Nick. Or maybe at a concert, in the crowd.”

“By the looks of how rowdy my friends and I seemed to get, you could have been a neighbour that complained about the noise,” he adds.

“Maybe just at the grocery store, I would have been checking you out for sure.”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Definitely.”

“We could have both been hiding from people in a social situation,” he grips your hand.

“Oh, I can see that,” you smile.

“We will never know, and that kills me,” he whispers.

You resist making a comment about that. “But we did meet. It might not have been the way it should have happened, but you found me regardless.”

“That is true,” he takes a few breaths. “I would have been staring at you too, by the way. In the grocery store.”

“Thanks,” you laugh.

20. Noah The thought plagues me non-stop. I don’t want to think it, I actively try not to, but just keeps coming up. For days and days when I am with her, when I am not, I keep wondering. I try to leave her alone a little bit, to see if it goes away. But it doesn’t.

“Noah,” she calls out into the living room. She is reading a book on the couch, but she looks up and keeps searching for me.

Maybe now is the time to bring it up. I walk closer and reach out my hand to her and she takes it. She moves over and I sit next to her.

“Are you okay?” she asks it very quietly. She knows something is eating me. Then new thoughts about how well she knows me crashes around in my head and I don’t know what I even want to say. “Something is bothering you,” she states. “Did I do something wrong?”

My heart breaks. “No,” I kiss the back of her hand. “But I have been thinking about something lately and I have to just tell you.”

She just nods. Her mouth is already turning down slightly, her eyes jumping back and forth between mine. I take both her hands in mine and turn towards her more. I can hear her take a breath and hold it. I look down at her knees.

“I am terrified that I am keeping you from living your life,” I say, still looking down. She says nothing. “What if you should be having a moment meeting a real live human being you should be dating? What if you spend too much time with me and you miss the life you should be living?”

She still keeps quiet, I can hear her breathing has picked up, but I cannot bring myself to look at her.

“I am sure you are my soulmate,” I carry on. “But maybe I am not yours. Maybe we never would have met, maybe I just died and you have another soulmate out there waiting for you.”

“What are you saying?” she finally speaks. Her voice is small.

“I don’t want to selfishly hold you back,” I say.

Tears splash down onto her arms and our hands and I look. Her bottom lip is trembling and a steady stream of tears are running down her face. “This sounds like you are saying you don’t want to be here with me anymore.”

“It’s not about what I want,” I try.

“It is, though,” she states.

“I want what is best for you.”

“And you don’t think that it’s you?”

“I am considering the possibility,” I whisper.

“Have I given you any indication that I need more than you?”

I keep quiet this time. I am hurting her and it was not my intention.

She cries audibly and I hear her breath catch and feel her shake. “Do you want to leave?” she asks simply.

“No,” I start. “Noah,” she interrupts me. “Don’t bullshit me right now. Tell me the hard truth. Do you want to leave?”

I take a moment to think how to phrase this. “With my whole heart, I want to be with you.”

“Okay,” she wipes her tears and takes a shaky breath. “Here are my thoughts,” and she touches my cheek until I make eye contact and then drops her hand. Her stare is intense and the tears are threatening. “You do not get to choose for me. It’s that simple. You make decisions about what you want and I make decisions about what I want.” She waits for it to sink into my head. “I need you to stop being noble, or whatever, and just understand that I can tell you to fuck off if I want to.”

I nod. “Alright.”

“If I am your soulmate, you are mine. I know the situation is not ideal. I know it’s weird and neither of us know how this works. But I love you. And fuck you for saying all that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know what you meant,” she says, “And I need you to trust me. Trust that I will be honest with you if I need something to change. Do you think I haven’t thought about these things? That maybe I am holding you back from heaven or some shit?”

“You are heaven,” I smile.

“Shut up, Noah,” she whispers. “All I know is we have this, whatever it is. I know I love you and I know that I choose you over all things living. It hurts me that you think I would be better off with someone else. That I need to go look for someone that isn’t you.”

“It kills me to think that,” I say quickly. “I hate the thought.”

“So, stop it,” she says taking my face in her hands. “Stop trying to fix everything. Stop thinking so much. This is immensely fucked up, but it is our fucked up and we get to make it of it what we choose.”

I smile at her. I place my hands over hers. She kisses me quickly. “You are too wise.”

“You need to stop letting these thoughts fester and then run away with you.”

“I realise I can overthink sometimes,” I sigh.

‘You think?” she wasn’t even smiling.

21. You You gasp awake, immediately trying to sit up, your breath hitching as pain ripped through your chest. It felt like you couldn’t inhale as the images of your dream is all you can see. Your limbs tangle in the blankets and the darkness has you confused.

“Shhhhh,” he says next you as he tries to get a hold of you, but you thrash against him and you have an overwhelming feeling that you needed to run, get away. Then you hear the sob tear through your throat. “Hey, it’s alright.”

He is persistent in his efforts to touch you, tether you to reality. Despite your violent movements, he gets a grip on you and he gently pulls you closer. Slowly, with your body fighting with all its might, you give in and allow him.

You begin to realise that it was a dream. A terrible dream, but it still hurt so bad. It still felt real. You felt the rain on your body, how the water drenched through your clothes, how it weighed down your hair that stuck to your neck and forehead. You could smell the fuel, the wind blowing, and the smell of tyres that had been desperately braked too hard. You saw the puddles of water and how the lights reflected in it. But most horrifically you saw him, your Noah, trapped in a car. His head was limply hanging against his chest, blood running down his brow. You walk closer and try to open the door of the car to get to him, but your hands to through the door like you were a ghost. You see inside that his arm was clearly broken and that his body was strangely close to the steering wheel where the airbag had deflated. His body looked wrong, broken. He was unsuccessfully trying to take a breath, with weak, jerky movements. You watched him die. Watched as the little bit of life drained out of him and he went still.

The horror and desperation were all that you could begin to process. You would give anything, absolutely anything, to turn back time, to replace your body with his. You wanted to scream to whoever was listening that they could have whatever they wanted, if you could save him. You wanted to climb into the car and fix him, you wanted to climb in and join him. Your entire being wanted to correct this mistake.

“Is it a bad dream?” his voice says next to you.

You cling to him with all your might, your sobs now so heavy that you could not talk or explain or breathe.

He rubs your back, holds you back and whispers in your ear that everything is alright, that he is there when you are ready to tell him. He soothingly hushes you.

You could not even feel relief that he was there, that it was him that was right there. Because you knew that what you dreamt was what happened. This beautiful soul that was comforting you, had really died right there, his chest crushed during the impact. But you weren’t there to help or even witness it. He had been all alone. Your heart was broken, because you would have endured all of that if it meant that he not been alone. You would have died right next to him if you could.

After what felt like hours, the sobs had stopped, but the tears still ran down your cheeks and into his shirt. Your face felt hot and swollen. “Do you want to know how you died?”

So, you tell him as gently as you could. He was quiet while he was stroking your hair, listening to the whole story without a word.

“I don’t remember any of this,” he says his voice small and very soft. “But,” he swallows. “I do remember feeling calm when I died. I have no memory of what happened to my body, but I remember that I didn’t feel alone, or scared. It felt like someone was there to help me through it.”

“Like God?” you ask.

He was quiet again for a very long time. “Maybe it was you.”

You look up at his face in confusion.

“How could you have known what happened if I can’t even remember it now? Maybe your soul was there with me. Looking after me and helping me die. Maybe our souls have been entwined for a lot longer than we thought.”

You did not know what to make of what he said. But you liked the idea that even if you couldn’t save him, you were there for him in a way.

“I wish I could have saved you,” you croak.

“You did, love.”

[End]

Bonus Chapter (kind of)

[max1461]

Current debate being hosted on @triviallytrue's blog involving @metamatar and @centrally-unplanned is interesting to me on a meta-level. @metamatar, a Marxist, offers what I think would usually be called a "materialist" explanation for US support of Israel: the United States gets strategic benefits out of its relationship with Israel and thus wants to keep them as an ally. @centrally-unplanned, a rationalist-adjacent(?) liberal of some sort, offers what I think would usually be called an "idealist" explanation: the US supports Israel against its own rational self-interest for ideological and domestic political reasons. Triv, a left-liberal, takes an intermediary position.

Using the terms "materialist" and "idealist" in this way has certain Marxist undertones that I don't necessarily endorse, and is maybe not even technically accurate for one reason or another, but I just needed some quick and recognizable terms in which to frame the debate. Forgive me for this.

One way or another, I have some up-my-own-ass and navel-gazatory things to say about the discussion.

I don't know a whole lot about the US's relationship with Israel on an object level. But on the basis of my priors I lean towards the materialist explanation. I think this reflects, ironically, a kind of liberal view of human nature: I model people (and organizations) as basically self-interested and rational agents, at least to a rough approximation. But I have a fairly dim view of where this leads us. I think that rational self-interest often results in murder and plunder and cold-hearted slaughter, and indeed the notion that humans are approximately rational and self-interested agents comports well with the fact that the world today and for all of known history has been characterized by murder and plunder and cold-hearted slaughter. My default assumption is therefore that, again to a first approximation, whatever is going on between the US and Israel is another instance of this.

On the other hand, I think it's interesting that the idealist explanation is here favored by a liberal, although it suggests perhaps a less "liberal" view of human nature. Under this explanation humans are foolish, driven by irrationality, ideology, and superstition, to work against their own material interests. Ok, the putative politicians supporting Israel for domestic political reasons are acting in their own self-interest, but the voters to which they cater are evidently not! Naively this view might seem a bit at odds with a liberal political philosophy, but I don't think it really it. Especially in this case, where the belief that US support of Israel is driven by irrationality and superstition actually serves to rescue the notion of rational self-interest from what otherwise might look like a mark on its good name. It allows one to avoid the conclusion that the rational pursuit of self-interest has lead the US to complicity in a genocide, which is not a very fun conclusion to reach if you endorse a political philosophy that at some level valorizes the rational pursuit of self-interest.

All in all, what is my point? I don't really have a point. I don't think this kind of psychoanalysis of others' political opinions is a very useful endeavor. I suppose I'm saying precisely nothing: the leftists in this discussion have taken up a position that indicts rational self-interest, the liberals have taken up a position that exculpates it, the centrists have taken a middling position—everyone has behaved in exactly the way our cheap psychoanalysis of them suggests they would. Nothing has been learned about the world (in this post, I mean), because although we see that the participants in the discussion are making arguments that suit their ideologies, we cannot tell which direction the causality runs. And nothing has been learned about the participants in the discussion because this kind of psychoanalysis is a crock of shit.

Keep on posting, everybody.

[dandelion-bride]

fic review: Pygmalion's Folly by @unkledeath

the basics:

length: 4,027 words

main ship: Enver Gortash / Tav (Ezrael Deschain)

Warnings of Note: Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Recreational Drug Abuse and Addiction, Sexual Assault, Torture, Objectification

as always, read full tags and know the back button is always in your reach.

It's 6:17am on a Sunday. Time to tell you why this fic is awesome.

First things first: if you think the type of fiction a person reads or writes tells you anything about their moral code, door's to the left. If you want to learn why that statement is so dangerous to people, have a link.

This story is about Enver Gortash, first and foremost. The author begins with a brilliant, brutal, and harrowingly believable scene of abuse, forcing a child to destroy a treasured object. This is something that will fuck with the most otherwise well-regulated kid. To a dumpster fire like the future Archduke of Baldur's Gate? It creates a believable wound in his psyche that our Tav fits so very well into. Uncle Death's Tav, Ezra, is a delightful little monster, and the character receives an accurate though muted introduction here - which is reasonable, as it keeps all the attention on the main tragedy. I would suggest his mini comic as a visual introduction, or his epistolary Correspondence for a written one. The character is a short, flamboyant, morally bankrupt, rakish Bard, and from the first moment of Gortash's observation of him, the author foreshadows the slow chipping down and destruction of Ezra's self into what Gortash desires of him.

Gentle readers may find it disturbing how clinical and matter-of-fact a tone the narration takes, describing the slow temperature rise of Enver and Ezra's relationship bath to an abusive boil. Those who have experienced, or watched their loved ones experience, the same might find catharsis in seeing even a professional life-ruiner and manipulator be slowly broken down and sculpted by the Hand of Bane's Chosen. Ezra is an incredibly imperfect victim, yet his plight pulls at the reader.

The sexual content is intentionally uncomfortable. This is not smut; this is a violation, and it hits with that impact. After tasting a lot of flanderized, fuckboi, or Daddy!Dom Gortash content, this tastes like a tannic red wine, washing away the greasy feeling (despite Gortash being so very greasy!)

My constructive criticism is minor, and perhaps a personal tic. The spacing between scenes is irregular, sometimes using dashes, sometimes extended spaces. <hr> is the Web-published writer's friend.

In conclusion: Pygmalion's Folly was believing his carved creation would fix him. But oh, how delicious it is to read him never reach that realization. I await Sardo's future content with baited breath.

Pygmalion's Folly is available on Archive Of Our Own. Remember to kudos your reads!

[quentin-didnt-die-in-the-books]

I don't think it was an awful decision to kill off Quentin Coldwater

Okay so I know how my url looks but now that I've spent a bit more time on this site and seen how other people feel about this, I think I should clarify my meaning.

Let me start out by saying Quentin was my favorite character both at first, when I watched the show, and after, when I read the books. He's the one I related to the most and just a character I enjoyed watching. His death was a shock and I stopped watching the show for a while after. But having read the books and gotten some distance from the incident, I don't hate the decision to kill him in the show. This is partly because he doesn't die in the books so if I want, I can just choose to only consider that ending as the real one.

But more importantly, a main point of the story that the books tell is that no matter what awful things happen in your life, you need to find things that matter and ways to move on and still be happy. Since the books are from Quentin's point of view, we mostly see his struggles and successes when it comes to finding reasons to live. But the show intentionally showcases the other characters much more than the books did and there are plenty of storylines that Quentin isn't even a part of. It is harder, in certain ways, to build empathy for characters through a tv show because it's not from their point of view and we, as audience members, can often have different interpretations of something we watch. So rather than being able to live through Quentin, we are almost a part of the story ourselves and we have to make our own way and come to a conclusion ourselves, rather than being led there by a narrator. In this way, Quentin's death is something that we have to get past and find a way to move on from in the story. I'll admit season five isn't my favorite season but it does have some of my favorite scenes in the show. It doesn't just throw us back into a fun fantasy world with silly humor and adventures. There is a grieving process and it takes a while for the show to become at all lighthearted again. After reaching Quentin's death and losing all interest in the show for a bit, it is significant to me that I ended up missing the world that it created enough to go back to it even knowing that my favorite character would not be a part of it. I'm not trying to compare this to losing someone you love in the real world because I don't think that is an accurate comparison at all but it is comparable, in my mind, to losing something that had sentimental value or missing out on an opportunity you can't get back. Realizing that something hasn't turned out the way you wanted it to and being able to move on and still enjoy other things again is very important and I think the show did manage to capture the spirit of the books even if that might not have been the writers' exact intention. I think some media is about escapism and creating a world where things are better but I don't think that is a requirement or a guarantee.

I also just want to mention that I understand the fine line between media as an art form and media as representation of the real world but I think this show does an excellent job of giving the audience a meaningful story even if it isn't necessarily "fair" to the characters. Obviously, media can perpetuate discrimination in the way it treats certain identities and communities (e.g. discrimination on the basis of gender, race, sexuality, disability, mental health) that are already discriminated against in society. I think in this instance though, there is also a case to be made for seeing the characters, especially Quentin, as a way to cope with the awful things that happen in the world, rather than just an expression of those awful things. I think The Magicians does do a good enough job of developing complex characters that they are not simply caricatures meant to represent entire groups in society for the purpose of making broad claims about those groups.

Obviously, I wanted Queliot to happen but I really don't think this show was trying to be homophobic given the many other examples of queer relationships in the show. I do think we still have a ways to go in how mental health issues are portrayed and treated in media but I think Quentin's death, and the whole show, itself, is about much more than that.

[ozimaniac]

[A Character Analysis of Zen]

Now that we have Zen’s birthday date and know that his zodiac sign is cancer, I just want to look at some characteristics. (Because I’m guessing that these dates were picked for a reason and not just random.) I Also want to talk about his past and why he is so avoidant about it. Even if I just end up pointlessly rambling about it, with no clear conclusion, because we just don’t know yet.

I will now infodump. A lot.

So a main characteristic of cancers is that they are closed off or seem distant at first. Cancers hold back on revealing their thoughts, therefore they come off as mysterious and not easy to approach. They also try to avoid confrontation. They retreat into their “shells” if they are uncomfortable and they like to brood.

Nonetheless they are very caring and protective about their family and friends. They might put the comfort of others before their own. They have the tendency to be self-sacrificing.

I think this description fits Zen well. His character seems calm and at peace with himself at first, but slowly you realise that there are underlying insecurities and you don’t really know what he is thinking. Ow2 actually gave us some voice lines that make it more clear that he isn’t a perfect individual, that reached complete inner peace. He has struggles of his own.

I also saw “dislikes revealing of personal life”, which is really accurate. He has always been really mysterious, especially about his past. This is noticeable in the interaction with Rein and Genji, where Rein asks him “What did you do? You know, before the Crisis?” And he will give different responses, that are kind of short, silly or underwhelming, and it’s implied that he isn’t telling the entire truth. Let me list the following responses:

“I served coffee.”

“I collected payments at a laser tag arena.”

“I was a lifeguard at a water park.”

“I drove a tractor.”

These are pretty ordinary jobs, and I don’t doubt that he worked these jobs. (Except for the lifeguard one maybe, he doesn’t look very waterproof.) So I don’t think that he is lying.. but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t hiding something.

There is also a line, that I think has been cut out of the game, because I only found it in one video.

“I massaged sheep on a free range pasture.”

(Now that’s a dream job. But seriously.. I almost thought I went insane and made it up, because it was really hard to find.)

Then Rein asks “Is that true?” and Genji says “He won’t tell me either.” (Ram also says something similar.) So although he has a close relationship with Genji, he still won’t reveal what happened in his past. And this obviously makes me think that something bad happened, and that he is uncomfortable talking about it.

He also has a line that goes “My memories before the awakening are blurry, but I do remember some things.” and he doesn’t elaborate further.

It could be that he legitimately doesn’t remember a lot before the awakening, and this makes him feel really insecure. Gaining sentience as an omnics and trying to uncover those memories from the past, is probably like thinking about your first memories when you were a child. You might only remember snippets, and you might not be able to recall memories from a certain age. It could also be that some trauma has caused him to repress certain memories about his past and he feels subconsciously uncomfortable about it, which leads to avoidant behaviour, which might be his coping mechanism. Or he does remember his trauma and he is purposefully avoiding it, to not make the people around him uncomfortable or bring the mood down.

Zen’s current self is introverted, wise and sometimes witty. He went through a journey of self healing to get where he is now. So if I had to imagine what he used to be like in the past, then I’m picturing a quiet, oblivious and maybe anxious character. In the story with Symmetra he said that he used to have difficulty understanding certain phrases, which has some parallels to an autistic experience, like Symmetra’s.

His insecurities also shine through in some other voice lines. Like when he talks about his favourite animal, ants. He says “I envy ants for their clarity of purpose.” Although Zen seems quite accomplished, he still lacks purpose in his own eyes. There is also an interaction with Zarya where she asks if he dreams, and Zen answers with “I dream of peace. And, sometimes, falling.” Falling in dreams represents a lack of control over a situation or your life. Also feelings of anxiety or helplessness. 

Tw: trauma and bullying.

Ok so, what was his past like before the crisis.

First I want to look at Zen’s model. He is just an average, humanoid looking omnic. What we saw from Genesis, is that omnics like him were created for various odd jobs. We saw them being cooks or caretakers or servants.

And it’s not hard to imagine that those omnics faced a lot of mistreatment if they made mistakes. It would have been easy for humans to blame omnics and just treat them like objects, and bully them verbally or physically.

If you get bullied early on in your life, it’s likely that this will affect you throughout your life. So even if Zen wasn’t “awakened” yet, he still states that he remembers some things, and that mistreatment could explain his current, closed off self. When he is approached or asked things, he doesn’t say a lot and that could be learned behaviour, and a self defense mechanism. He also uses a lot of wisdoms and phrases that might seem impersonal, at least to strangers. (This could also be a masking behaviour.)

I can also imagine that omnics worked isolating jobs, which humans might avoid. (I’m picturing working in a closed off small space with repetitive tasks or no social interactions. Maybe a factory setting.) And this kind of job could get really lonely and boring. Once again, this could have led him to be more closed off, if he worked in that kind of environment.

Why would he keep this a secret though? Well, maybe it’s just not worth talking about. Sometimes the truth is boring, and the biggest fear is to disappoint. (This is less likely though, because he seems very intent to not tell anyone the details. So it’s probably something more serious that happened, like I mentioned before.)

Instead of being a victim, could Zen have been the aggressor? I think that’s unlikely, because it’s about his past before the crisis. Before the awakening. Most likely he did as he was told, because he didn’t have that level of autonomy yet. This also means that people were able to easily take advantage of him. If people mistreated him, then he had to just accept that, because that was his programming. Also I just don’t see Zen as being aggressive.

Well, anyway that was it!

I got sidetracked a lot on other thoughts, but I wanted to write about Zen’s past for a long time. His zodiac sign just gave me some confirmation about what I was initially thinking.

[janaknandini-singh999]

so idk i felt like i could reach out to u for this, but like i was seeing one of ur posts about rukmini and i saw that apparently she did sati when shri krishna died, and I googled it and I found out in various places that yes, but idk that just made me really upset, like I understand the emotions but the concept itself makes me upset and i just couldn't believe that swayam devi rukmini and other wives actually did that u know, and if their lives were meant to be exemplary or teach us then what does it teach the Hindu people about sati u know and forcing it? like whenever smth like this that idk if i agree with or understand happens then I always try to trust that shri krishna intended it for a reason but here I really don't see the reason:( like surely it would have been stronger if rukmini were a pillar of comfort in the aftermath of shri krishnas death, or idk really even in srimad bhagavatam I was reading some lines about the raas lila and I just felt like, you know it showed the gopiyas and their love but on krishnas part I didnt feel like he was taking their love as seriously u know, or he seemed a little apathetic, idkkk I may be very quick to jump to conclusions about these things, and i shouldn't! but it's also why because shri krishna in my mind would also be deeply moved by these displays of love and also by the actions or happenings surrounding the people that love him, or people in general. which goes on I wanted to ask - what do you view shri krishna as? a historical figure, a mythological figure, an allegory for God/Brahman/Paramatma, someone who is emotional, someone who is perfect and does everything with a smile on his face?

and I just wish there were more stories of the divine feminine and all the female devis and their incarnations yknow? how do you feel about that? I'm sure they exist and must be lost somewhere, or I am not looking in the right place because I know things like the devi bhagavatam exist, but idk u must feel the divide between male and female gods, or is it that my perception is dependent on what I've come across growing up, or my perception of hindu society today?

for me, shri krishna was someone who existed in history, but he exists with such a fluidity that anyone who wishes to create a story of him that THEY find touching automatically becomes valid, because he is Bhagavan and so he changes with how his devotees perceive him or find love in him. which is why idk about radharani's 'existence' but I also feel her presence and I just intuitively *feel* that it doesn't matter if it is accurate or not, her identity as the divine counterpart and lover of shri krishna is so valid and touching yk

but I think my understanding of shri krishna can be very confusing to me sometimes because I am philosophical so I always question and critically look at things, so I question things like "if he is bhagavan, would he actually be like this, would he be like that" etc. I know I'm a seeker and my path must be jnana yoga and it's difficult but it's the way i find my way to bhakti. I'm a bhakt and emotionally attached now because i understand that I can never understand everything, and I naturally gravitate to being attached to shri krishna anyway despite all my questions, and I'm trying to embrace that.

sorry, I am aware I might seem arrogant or conceited questioning shri krishna bhagavan himself who is so huge and massive and I am sososoososooo tiny compared to him, as well as lakshmi devi and everyone else...there's no way I can understand everything, or even a small part of it.

it is just my own relationship with krishna i guess. or my own relationship with what I consider right and wrong.

please feel free to share your thoughts and views if you like 🙏🙏

sorry for the spam omg😭😭😭radhe radhe sakhi I appreciate you for listening so much!!!💙💙💙💙

Hey sakhi, first of all I'm glad you felt like reaching out to someone :') come heree yaar *hugs you tight and kisses your forehead and then hugs you again*

Now for the explanation - first things first I want you to know that whatever may have ensued in that yug was first of all majorly determined by patriarchy (yes, even when it came to krishna) and secondly, as a result, all of the texts were mostly manipulated to show the control of men over women. Now please keep that in mind as I continue..

Now that we have the power dynamics of gender out of our way let's get right into it: the sheer love between Krishna and his gopiyan and wives that no egoistic/materialistic mortal consumed by power and arrogance would ever be able to grasp in their entire life. It's the same reason why most people attack Radha for being worshipped with Krishna even though she was "just a lover" in their eyes. Now coming to back to it, in the simplest words, nothing existed for the wives of Krishna after he died. Their souls passed away with him - they had died anyway, it was just a matter of letting go of their bodies at this point after purging themselves through the purifying fire once and for all. Coz yes, to be very precise and blunt, all of their purposes had come to an end for this lifetime after Krishna passed away. Their purpose as Lakshmi's incarnations was to be Krishna's consort in his journey of dharma. This is something that can't be understood by most people because they start by directly comparing themselves to them. First of all, no you can't. Nobody in this yug (Kalyug) can have that sort of selfless, maddening devotion for anyone who isn't God (Kanha) Himself. So please don't equate yourself to them. It would just be wrong and simply... unjust? Also, again - it was a patriarchy so that was the picture painted for us too in the end. You wanna know something though? Radha was the only consort of Krishna who passed away before him. When she left her mortal body, she called out to Krishna to play his bansi for the last time in this lifetime for her as she peacefully passed away in his lap, listening to it and smiling. Krishna lost absolutely all hope after that. He broke down, broke his bansi in half and never played it for anyone ever again in his whole life after Radha passed on. His half soul had gone and taken along his dearest love with him. After that he just existed to complete his dharma, his purpose. His body otherwise had died. That was a kind of Sati for him, in his own heartbreakingly haunting way but nobody ever tells you that.

Coming to the portrayal, it's what the characters are moulded and shown to us that view our lens but really it should be debated when it comes to Gods because we are supposed to worship and follow their ideals. There are definitely a lot of divine goddesses in our religion. In fact, hinduism is the only religion that worships Goddess primarily as the eternal Shakti from which all beings are born (in most other religions there are just demi goddesses and gray/antihero goddesses). For example: greek mythology. That's probably again coz of the prevalant patriarchy. When Lilith (Adam's first wife) revolted against Adam for unequal power play, what did they do? Very conveniently painted her as the demoness queen aka the villain. Then ofc the stories that followed of her eating babies because she was jealous of Eve (the perfect submissive wife). Honestly how much should we even believe and how much discard? Next is Greek Mythology where the queen Goddess is Hera who is portrayed as a very angry Goddess and villainised almost every time, just because she stands up to her husband who sleeps with many others and doesn't care. She poisons other women in jealousy. What are these stories even trying to show? That what the man doing is alright and when it's a woman then it's "women are only women's enemies and they all just want to attack their poor husbands?" *cue men laughing together and mocking their wives*

It's a very gray area to touch upon and I don't wanna hurt sentiments but it's what it is. Coming back to Hindu - see, Krishna was a very tricky (and a trickster ;) part to portray. He was supposed to be mischievous but he was also supposed to be morally correct. Why else do we adore him sm? Because he resonates with us in this yug - he's cool and nice, a bsf, a father, a guide, a babygirl all in one. But look at his pov also na? That's a very difficult image to maintain, to be able to be loved and respected by all generations equally even with such a fluid identity. And since it's such a fluid identity, it was even easier to be tampered with by the brahmins who gave us the knowledge firsthand that was passed down by him. But just imagine - if even after all the (possible) manipulation of his character he still gives us the vibes of a genuine bestie, how loving would he actually be??? Like begaad kar bhi kuch nahi bigaad paaya jiska koi toh phir hum kya hi maaya hi uss kanhaiya ke saamne?

Btw another thing I wanted to point out, something that in turn is very personal to me, is my relationship with lord Ram. Can I just say that I had a sort of raging, blind hatred towards him? Ok, attack me as much as you like but let me first complete my case. Ofc as soon as I got to know that he left Sita ji because of a mere dhobi's accusation, I was furious beyond control. What was the point of even saving her if you had to do this??? What gives you the right of being called the perfect man (maryada purshottam) if you do this to the wife who devoted her entire life to you literally without any questions? How are you the best man in society when you don't even know the difference between right and wrong and get so easily swayed by other's influence and forget everything else? I was very much triggered and was one of those who saw it on the surface level and rebelled against it. Then something happened in my life which completely changed my perception. Tmi but let's just say I was Sita here (haha, so unironic) and I loved someone (let's call them Ram). We were perfect. Too perfect actually. And maybe it was something that things too beautiful are meant to end just as ravishingly because they left me. Not because of any other reason other than circumstance. It was also scarily similar to what happened to Ram when he actually left Sita. When it happened to me I grovelled and cursed and cried and cried. But despite everything, I could never blame this person. Because it wasn't their fault. They loved me when they left me but they had to do it. With a shock, I realized how much it was resonating now. I took it as a sign and this time I rampaged articles and articles on Ram Sita's relationship and finally found it out: Ram was distraught. He begged at Sita's feet that he doesn't want to leave. "No, my love. Not when I've finally been reunited with you after all this time." But Sita knew bettee. She quietly left the palace when he was sleeping at night and made her way into her beloved forest where she knew nobody would find her. It was for everyone's good. And Sita had made peace with it. They loved each other all the same. He never married again btw and something more which they don't tell you: Ram sculpted Sita's statue in his palace right next to his throne: a silent but crystal clear reminder to his people about who their rightful, true queen was and nobody could do anything about it. They were wrong, Siyaram weren't. But the tragic circumstances were unavoidable. Another legend that justifies it all is the curse of Asura Guru Shukracharya on Vishnu that he would be separated from Lakshmi in every birth (sitaram, radhakrishna).

To conclude though, I got my answer and I thanked Ram/Krishna/universe for it.

For those who attack and then those who justify sati of these women by merely looking at the surface level: tell them the tale of Sita who didn't need a man to tell her what her worth was. She didn't care whether she was in the palace or lost in the forest, though she always preferred the latter and was fortunate enough to live most of her life in it. She didn't budge when Raavan kidnapped her, didn't budge when a dhobi accused her of being impure, didn't budge when she went through everything because she knew she was right and because she was strong. To hell with those who didn't get that, she was her only validation, her only solace. Don't get the wrong idea that you can throw whatever struggle you want on a woman but be inspired that inspite of it all, she emerged victorious in her own eyes every time and then again and finally as a Goddess that everyone fell on their feet, crying and begging for forgiveness for ever doubting her.

Tell them the tale of Shakti, her beautiful roop Kaushiki who when spotted by the lake taking a bath mesmerized demons. The asura kings Shumbh Nishumbh laughed and said that such beauty could only be in their possession so they issued orders for her to marry either of them. Kaushiki simply smiled and said "I'll happily marry you. But only if you can defeat me in a battle. I'll only be of a man whose strength is equal to mine." The asura kings laughed louder "Such arrogance for the puny stature of a woman?"

The next thing they knew was duelling with Kaushiki and being killed.

Before the death blow a light emanated and that's when they realized who they had challenged. "Take me home, Mother." they were grateful to be slain by the hands of the ever kind goddess who merely smiled and granted their wish as their souls flew out their bodies.

Tell them the tale of Shakti and how only one Navratri used to celebrated (Ashwina Navratri) but then Ram was in Lanka and he had to rescue his wife. He couldn't find a way because his enemy was being protected by Shiv ji's blessings. The only one who could help him was the Goddess. But he couldn't wait for the next Navratri he didn't have time so he started a fast and worshipped Her for nine days (it later came to be known as Chaitra Navratri) She blessed him with strength and on the tenth day they celebrate Vijay Vijaydashami (Dussehra) when Ram was finally able to conquer evil.

p.s: please don't call yourself conceited and arrogant, dear sakhi. If you were then you would've just attacked his idealogy without the need to understand it. But you're questioning and that means you want to understand it. When we love someone we want to know their actions and why they did what they did which would eventually bring us closer to them. When we question, we learn. And we want to learn about things and people we love, right? :)

Well, Kanha we love like that and he would've never wanted his image to be as a dictator. Rather he'd be so happy and proud that you want to understand and get closer to him <3

I'm grateful to Kanha with all my heart that he picked me as a medium for such a beautiful sakhi soul as you 🙏✨️

[quicksilverlightning]

A Theory on Cogita

Some Discord dialogue left me theory crafting about Cogita, so let's jump in shall we? Thanks to @praazlwurm for help with the conclusion!

It's been common speculation that Cogita is long-lived/ immortal, and that she may have written the Ancient Verses. This round of conjecture relies upon the evidence of two things:

That Cogita has been around a While

That Cogita did indeed write the Old Verses

I will spend an eternity… until the one with the mission appears Old Verse, Number 11

It seems I'll be able to fulfill my duty at long last, thanks to you Cogita, during the first meeting

Alongside a claim that we have no evidence of:

That the Old Verses are true.

This is not to say that the Verses are wholesale falsehoods - much of them are certainly accurate, or as accurate as one can be when dealing with gods and events before recorded history. However, from the very beginning, Cogita has a... let's say ambivalent relationship with the truth. Even as the end of the world looms above, the truth has to be finessed out of her. At no point in our journey did she seek us out, not when people were being hurt, Pokemon were suffering in their frenzy, the various groups were on the edge of a peace that could break at any moment - why?

(I've heard any number of theories, but lets set them aside for now - the point is, Cogita had the ability to help at several points, and chose not to.)

Looking at the Old Verses, a number of them are concerned with either the existence of various beings of legend (1, 6, 7, 8, 16, 17), the Ancient Hero and his retinue (3, 4, 10, 11), or the writer (2, 9, 14). Cogita clearly knows quite a lot - yet, there are only two verses about the Celestica people (5, 20). Why does she seem to know more about ancient events than more recent ones? Or, at least, why are the ancient events written down, but not whatever tragedy befell the Celestica?

Which brings us to the only other known descendant of the Celestica, Volo.

The very first thing we hear from Cogita is not directed towards us, but to Volo:

Shirking your work to come pester me again? Even beneath a bleeding sky, you never change.

Cogita has no reason to distrust Volo pre-reveal, yet consistently treats him dismissively at best, numerous times over:

"Kindly spare me your doubts, young man. I know the old words and what they bid us do. How true they are isn't mine to know

How nonchalant you sound. How confident of successes to which you contribute nothing

"Watch"? Is that all you really do?

So what's her deal? Why is she so callous towards the only other member of her lost people? I believe the answer is in her very first line - she believes Volo has come once again to ask questions that she doesn't want to answer. Which of course leaves us with a different question: why doesn't she want to answer? Why is not only so accepting of the Celestica being forgotten, but actively hiding any information about them? Especially from someone with who she shares that culture?

And now, we leave hard-evidence-based hypothesizing and jump into the craziest thing I could come up with:

Cogita is responsible for the downfall of the Celestica.

Let's take a look at a Verse that I find very puzzling, Number 16:

"Heaven's crown, nearest to almighty Sinnoh… "Power of almighty Sinnoh, gather as stone at heaven's mount. "Stone, let your power flow— distort and bend the world around you."

This is not a verse describing something that already happened. This is written in present tense. This sounds like a summoning ritual.

And who is being summoned? Is the word "distort" not ample clue?

Now tell me, if this Giratina desires more than anything else to challenge almighty Arceus... where do you think it might appear?.. Exactly! Where one is closer to the heavens than any other place in Hisui! ...And where the space-time rift first opened!"

I propose that Cogita lost someone, as we read in Verse 2:

My own beloved is now gone from me, departed to a place I cannot reach.

And in her grief, she did something Unwise in an attempt to reclaim them. The Giratina statue in the Celestica Ruins was destroyed because, when they tried to stop her, Cogita turned its power upon her own people.

Still to my breast I clutch this hopeless dream, a futile wish for us once more to meet

And thus:

Once it shone upon us all, with all the warmth of welcome sun. "But now we weep, to grief we fall, starved of light now it has gone. Old Verse, Number 20

Further, I propose that is was Cogita who, however unintentionally, set Volo upon his path. She kept him distant from the only person from whom he could learn about his culture - herself - leaving exploring the ruins as his only option. One of these ruins, the Sacred Plaza, is where Verse 16 is found by the main character; Volo found that Verse at some point, and managed to infer enough to take the first step. Giratina once again manifests itself at the behest of a Celestican.

Enter the Player.

[tumblingxelian]

Wednesday & Neurodivergence

This is mostly an idle musing which I touched on in my Wednesday video, but I think one thing the show did fairly well was actually managing to make an autistic character who is a jerk without making me angry or coming off as hateful.

Hear me out.

I'm very autistic, and I hate how so much media portrays autism & Neurodivergence as:

"Oh this character is autistic which means they lack emotions and are huge assholes!"

Not just solely because its hateful, or makes us look bad, but because its inaccurate. Not just to how autism works but how in the real world autistic people are used to being rejected and bullied and otherwise mistreated for struggling with social norms, communication, hyperfixations and so on.

I recall a good post talking about portrayals like Sherlock and Sheldon and how:

"Its like they have never faced rejection in their lives."

Wednesday actually makes this work for a few reasons.

1: The show draws a clear line between when Wednesday is being Neurodivergent, Addams Family Morbid, or just a jerk.

When she just doesn't understand something, rejects socializing because the actions of others distress her or has an interest in something 'weird' Wednesday is never demonized for it. She is instead framed sympathetically or sometimes neutrally.

Characters who accept her boundaries, needs and interests, such as not touching her, such as not being crowded, or her love of the macabre are consistently shown as closer to her and more sympathetic than those who do not or otherwise try and pressure her to behave 'normally'.

That is to say, autism/Neurodivergence is not the 'cause' of Wednesday often being a jerk. It is in fact just part of what makes her Wednesday and is thus morally neutral and something to be respected and understood. It can help inform some of her other thought processes such as incorrect conclusions she might reach but its in no way the cause of her more mean behavior.

2: The reason Wednesday is often mean is, well, she's kind of spoiled.

She comes from a wealthy and powerful family who share many of her interests and hyperfixations. Said family is extremely loving and indulgent, their wealthy and supernatural nature protects Wednesday from the consequences of her own actions.

Now, it doesn't protect her entirely, such as when some "Normies" killed her pet scorpion in what was functionally a hate crime against her.

However, she's still by and large insulated from discrimination that would endanger her after that & in comparison to other 'Outcasts'. But, more to the point, her family's money & connections mean even when she, for example causes huge amount of physical damage to others, she can avoid real repercussions.

It genuinely seems like sending her to Nevermore is the first time her parents have tried to impose limits on her actions at all. These factors also likely played a part in her otherwise being so careless in regards to targeting those who bullied her brother.

She is portrayed as very smart and often quite methodical, but it seems Wednesday rarely worries about the possible consequences of her actions. Be it from authority figures or her peers, or the dangerous situations she puts herself into until its too late.

Meaning she is quite reckless and brazen; seeming genuinely shocked and often frustrated when running up against a wall. Such as being defeated in fencing or not being able to simple brute force her way through interactions with others.

3: This can especially be seen in her relationship with Enid.

She's annoyed at being sent to Nevermore & angry at her parents for "Trying to make me like them", how accurate the latter complaint is could be considered question. As it mostly seems they are just sharing fond memories they hope might make her see Nevermore in a good ight and them not having sent her to Nevermore until the legal system demanded it to protect her.

Whatever the case, when Wednesday finds Enid's energetic and colorful personality to be annoying she takes out her frustration on Enid by being generally rude, antagonistic and above all, controlling.

She expects Enid to simply do as she says and to accommodate her desires. Showing no real regard foe her space or possessions and often giving blunt orders to her. But then she seems rather flummoxed when Enid responds to her behavior by -after giving up being friendly- matching Wednesday's antagonism with her own. So much so when it seems like it might come to blows, Enid shows herself entirely happy to stand up for herself.

This can also be seen when Enid withholds help Wednesday expects from her until she apologizes for mistreating Thing. She is shocked she upset him, bust also seems genuinely confused that she is expected to apologize for her actions if she wants either of their help. After all, normally when she lashes out at her parents in some way they simply roll with it, but not here.

Enid is by and large the main reason Wednesday seemed to grow as a person throughout the show. Respecting Wednesday's boundaries, needs and even if they made her uncomfortable her interests. While always firmly imposing her own boundaries and reasonable expectations on Wednesday.

It also isn't like Enid's perfect as the surprise party she threw stressed Wednesday out & she is portrayed sympathetically for it & Enid apologizes.

But that can also be contrasted with Wednesday deceiving Enid about the manor investigation and then refusing to take responsibility for Enid being upset by the situation, Wednesday put her into, as Enid did for her. Hence, Enid being the more emotionally mature of the two.

4: All of this also lays into her being so impacted by Enid's absence.

IE, up until this point Wednesday has thought she likely being alone and didn't care for or need company... Because she's never been truly alone before.

Her family has always been providing for her the kind of social support and safety she needs to the point where she find them kind of irritating. She might not have had friends at school but her brother was there and her family was large and always accommodating to her needs and desires.

Thus, it is easy for her essentially take them for granted and to think she doesn't need companionship or friends because she's never really been without it.

Bit with them -barring Thing- absent and having driven Enid away, Wednesday encounters, likely for the first time what it is like to be lonely and hates it. Her mood only starting to improve with her uncle's arrival and then with Enid's return.

This doesn't mean she became an extrovert or anything, merely that we are a social species that doesn't cope well with isolation and a lack of companionship.

Wednesday does not radically alter her demeanor or identity and suddenly start chilling in the school yard with with the homies or otherwise "Normalize" herself.

What she does is make it a point to be more considerate of those she keeps close & to allow more open communication so to maintain those relationships in a mutual, rather than one sided fashion.

Conclusion:

So yeah, I think that they actually managed to make this concept work quite well. With there being a clear dividing line between what behaviors were and weren't acceptable. & then tying those that were not to her privilege's as opposed to her Neurodivergence which was instead presented neutrally to sympathetically.

[anti-dazai-blog]

30-31- Kunikida and Chuuya should start a Dazai-specific group therapy (and other complaints)

Welcome back to the Anti-Dazai Series!!

Please forgive the month-long unplanned hiatus, I’ve been having a very eventful life lately. But the Anti-Dazai Series isn’t dead, it’s just taking longer to create than I originally thought it would. 

Then again, I say that same line every time I post. 

Regardless, I’m here and I have some stuff to say about Dazai. So moving on to what you all came here for:

——————————

After the Guild nearly destroyed Yokohama, the agency is working their hardest to get things back in order. Dazai, as per usual, is not helping. 

Kunikida asks him to do his actual job for once. As expected, Dazai refuses and deflects. It’s then revealed that Dazai was involved in arranging a secret meeting with the boss of the Port Mafia. Kunikida is surprised by this, and asks Dazai why he of all people would be involved in arranging such a thing. Dazai reveals in the most offhanded way possible that he used to work for the Port Mafia, and that Kunikida is the last in the agency to be made aware of that fact.

Now, why does Dazai do this? There are a number of potential reasons, and I’m not satisfied that I’ve reached the right one. Revealing something like this accomplishes a few things; it increases Kunikida’s stress, it makes him feel excluded from the rest of the agency, it enforces the idea that Dazai is “mysterious” and there are many things he doesn’t know about him, it enforces the idea that Kunikida “isn’t as perceptive” as the rest of the agency (in quotation marks to stop people from reading it as a true statement in and of itself), it enforces the idea that Dazai’s “more comfortable telling personal information to the rest of the agency than Kunikida” (in quotation marks for the same reason), and lastly, it’s a subtle way of introducing the idea that Dazai talks to people casually during their breaks or off hours, and Kunikida doesn’t take breaks, so he never would get around to having these casual conversations.

Note that all of those potential reasons are specifically directed towards Kunikida (meaning they could be potential take-aways Dazai wants Kunikida to have from this exchange), and none are true general statements. 

Regardless, the one that feels most accurate to the rest of Dazai’s portrayal is his insistence on portraying himself as “mysterious”. This specific way of going about is clearly ideal, given the above list of potential take-aways and how while Dazai may have intended this exchange to have the outcome of making him appear more mysterious, Kunikida’s take-away could have been anything else on that list (or a secret bonus item I didn’t think of). 

Hopefully Kunikida didn’t overthink this two minute exchange as much as I did. However, I’m obligated to include that (for comedic purposes) Kunikida does pass out from stress at the end of this conversation.

———

The conclusion of the Agency and Mafia’s meeting results in a refusal to agree to an alliance or ceasefire, due to such an agreement being a prisoner’s dilemma. If one side chooses to follow the agreement while the other chooses to break it, only the dishonest side will benefit, and there are no third parties to hold them accountable. 

However, Mori has his own plan; to do the agency a favor in advance, and have them pay him back later. As he’s aware that Dazai will be walking straight into a Guild ambush later that night on his quest to retrieve Q, he decides to send Chuuya to ensure the success of this retrieval mission. 

And here’s where this analysis post becomes a speedrun of every minorly rude thing Dazai might have done—

1—I’m not even gonna get into what was going on with him bombing Chuuya’s car four years prior to this. Did Chuuya genuinely not know it was Dazai? It would make a surprising amount of sense if he didn’t know, since bombing a car doesn’t fit Dazai’s M.O. at all, but I can get into that another time.

2—Instead of just outright insulting Chuuya’s fashion sense, he pretends to compliment him and then takes it back, which is slightly ruder and more hurtful than a direct insult. (was he checking for Chuuya’s reaction to a supposed compliment? Based on how Chuuya reacted, we can assume this wasn’t a standard Way of Messing With Him that Dazai used to do in Mafia days. Was he just testing something new?)

3—Not only did he steal Chuuya’s knife, but he asked Chuuya if he could borrow it AFTER stealing it, to cause him the extra stress of looking for it just to see it’s not there. (Most likely he was checking if Chuuya would agree to lend it to him or not, and on the possibility Chuuya refused, he’d have it anyway. Regardless, that moment of panic when you think you’ve lost something you need was Not Worth It just to check that.)

And on the topic of that knife, let’s talk about what he does with it next. He puts it to Q’s throat and asks Chuuya if he’s going to stop him. Although he doesn’t end up going through with this threat, he did put a knife to the throat of an unconscious child just to, as per usual, test someone’s reaction to something. I do not need to explain how putting a knife to an unconscious child’s throat is not “just messing around.”

As he removes Q from John’s roots, he once again explains that Q needs to be alive to essentially “keep him in business.” So long as Q’s alive, he’ll be needed as a nullifier. 

I’ve mentioned this repeatedly and I’ll mention it again, every single time it comes up: Dazai has this habit of emphasizing his usefulness as a nullifier in front of people who rely on his nullification. Here, he refers to himself as “the ultimate safety device.” It’s no coincidence that so far the characters he most frequently brings this up in front of are Atsushi and Chuuya, both of whom are reliant on his ability to keep theirs in check. Dazai reinforces the idea that he is necessary, and just as the mafia needs to keep him alive because of Q, they equally need to keep him alive because of Chuuya.

4—Using Kunikida’s Q-induced PTSD hallucinations for his own personal entertainment is just. incredibly messed up. It’s one of those trademark Dazai Things that made me start this blog. It’s one of those things that’s entirely played off as funny but becomes disturbing when you think about it for more than a second. Someone is having a panic attack in front of you and you laugh at it and film them? Yeah no what the hell. And then brag about filming them afterwards. Look I know I’m fixating on one single line in the manga that Studio Bones didn’t consider significant enough to adapt. But look this guy is deeply messed up. Can we just acknowledge that for a second. Please.

5—Back to the actual petty complaints: After Chuuya was grabbed by Lovecraft, Dazai walks over and steps on the back of Chuuya’s head/ Chuuya’s hat. This is anywhere ranging from Kinda Rude to Could Be Sued (ha it rhymes) depending on how injured Chuuya got from Lovecraft tossing him around.

[Now, I’ll be counting the following insults as petty, but for most insults between Chuuya and Dazai I won’t be counting them as anything at all. I consider the standard back and forth that Chuuya and Dazai have going on to be immensely non-hostile, as in none of those insults have any real meaning, nor do either of them interpret any deeper meaning behind it. However, any isolated insult will be judged in and of itself.]

6—Dazai says “I hope your hat seizes your consciousness and kills you.”

In general, this would count as a petty insult. However, with the added context of Stormbringer, this falls into the same category as point 4 on this list of Petty Dazai Complaints. Played off as a joke, but is actually horrifying if you think about it for more than five seconds. HOWEVER, let’s keep in mind that this chapter was written long before Asagiri wrote Stormbringer, and he most likely wasn’t aware of the added lore he’d give Chuuya’s hat. So with that in mind, I won’t hold Dazai accountable for something that Asagiri wouldn’t know about. 

7—Pretending to be fatally injured just for the fun of watching Chuuya panic, immediately after Lovecraft morphed into his final form and had Chuuya semi-panicking already. I don’t know how to explain that that’s not the Fun Little Prank the anime makes it out to be.

And that’s it for my Petty Little Complaints, because now we’re up to Corruption.

I will be pointing out here that Dazai’s request for Chuuya to use Corruption immediately follows his Fun Little Prank of getting “fatally wounded”, which immediately followed Lovecraft revealing his true form. Keeping that in mind, it seems as though rather than subduing Chuuya’s stress after Lovecraft showed his true form, Dazai increased the stress instead. The anime really doesn’t do this scene justice, so if you’ve only seen it there I’d recommend reading this part of the manga. Lovecraft is massive. Lovecraft is horrifying. There’s no way anyone could make a rational, life or death decision when faced with something like him. 

The decision of whether or not to use corruption is not something that should be taken lightly. Yet Dazai decides to make things harder for Chuuya by convincing him that he’s about to die from fatal wounds, and after revealing it’s “just a prank”, choosing to speficially say “we should just give up and die” rather than saying “we may need to consider using corruption” or something along those lines. He puts the idea of death, both his and Chuuya’s, in front of them before pushing Chuuya to destroy himself for the sake of the mission. 

All in all, not a fan of the way Dazai presented this supposed choice to him.

{the usual addendum goes here that Dazai is often the audience’s source of exposition. Here as well, his specific way of presenting and talking about Corruption was more to inform the audience about how dangerous Corruption is, how it’s a final resort, and how Chuuya can die from using it. He talks about it in the manner he does because he needs to for the audience’s sake, so I’ll acknowledge that the whole time he’s saying “it’s so dangerous, you’ll die if I don’t stop you,” it’s directed more to the audience than Chuuya}

Now I’ve already gone on a rant about how Dazai leaving Chuuya alone, vulnerable, and unconscious in the middle of the forest at night is pretty messed up. That was actually the first post I’ve ever made about Dazai. So I won’t be repeating all that here. Rather, I’ll be linking the post here and pretending that that counts. If I don’t get this posted now I won’t be able to post it for another week, so I’ll be ending it abruptly here.

So. That’s that for this week’s entry of the Anti-Dazai Series!! Join us next time when Dazai does something else that I take issue with, as I always do, because that’s my job here on the Anti-Dazai Blog!! Thanks for reading, and enjoy the rest of your day!

[blackjackkent]

OK, so, based on the quest priority list that I wrote out last night, my next step is going to find Minsc as soon as possible. Which means for now I am going to forego a full exploration of Wyrm's Rock in favor of heading straight into the Lower City and beelining for Jaheira's quest to rescue him.

The Lower City is... very loud. Given that Hector was pretty overstimulated by Rivington and the South Span, I can only imagine that he is even more overwhelmed by being inside the city proper, where there are so many people in every direction, everyone seems upset about something, and EVERYONE is talking at once.

It's hard to get a very representative screenshot that accurately reflects just how much seems to be happening at once. It's actually a little overwhelming from a player perspective also.

We're going to try not to get too sidetracked here until we've done the main priority quests mentioned in my last liveblog post, but we will talk to everyone along the way

Now that we've reached the Lower City, it's time to talk to Jaheira and form a more coherent plan:

"A true pleasure, to watch you tell the Archduke exactly where to put his alliance. One cannot embrace a viper - only get entangled by it. And we learned something. One Chosen thinks to send us against the other, while they sit safe behind their defenses."

"Good. Ketheric thought he was safe too."

I love her so much. <3

"Have you thought any more about how we might find Minsc?"

"I have. And while I do not love my conclusion, that does nothing to change it. The Harpers are the city's best information network. With them out of action, we shall have to fall back on second-best. Nine-Fingers Keene."

Narrator: [HISTORY] A name known and feared throughout the city's underworld. The mysterious Keene runs the Guild, which in turn runs every criminal enterprise in the city.

As occasionally happens, Hector passes this history check because he is generally good at history, but I can't imagine where he actually learned this information. XD

We have actually heard about Nine-Fingers before though; some of Keene's people were fighting against agents of the Stone Lord (an interloper into the Baldurian underworld backed by the Absolute cult) and we took their side to help fight the Absolutists off. We were already planning to follow up with them to look into the Stone Lord's activities, so going to the Guildhall is now two birds with one stone.

We have the option to chastise Jaheira (in several different ways) for being willing to associate with thieves. And certainly Hector is not thrilled with the idea (especially after some conversations he's had with Karlach on the subject); given how quintessentially honest he is, hanging out with criminals is not necessarily his cup of tea.

But their circumstances have demanded strange bedfellows for a while, and he trusts Jaheira's judgment.

(This is also fun for a headcanonical reason, since Caden was a thief in my BG1/BG2 playthroughs. He wasn't a very GOOD thief and quickly learned that there was a big difference between playful pickpocketing people for fun in Candlekeep and the real world's guilds of robbery and murder, and eventually multiclassed away from his roots into cleric/monk territory because of Rasaad - but nevertheless he and Jaheira and company did spend quite a lot of time in thief guildhalls. So this is not unfamiliar territory for Jaheira in this worldstate. :D )

"She is no one to be trifled with," Hector says, folding his arms thoughtfully.

"Nor are we," Jaheira points out with a slight smile. "But I trust she knows the value of collaboration, especially in times like these." A slight pause. "How hospitable she will be to a Harper that comes begging to her Guildhall..." She gives a low, hoarse laugh. "We will find out. Perhaps I will let you do the talking."

Hector and his -1 modifier to charisma are at your service, Jaheira. ;)

[mightyflamethrower]

AMA: Taxpayers should fund uterus transplants for males

Buckle up, campers, because things are going to get even weirder this evening, courtesy (once again) of the folks at the American Medical Association. According to a recent report published in The Daily Mail, a representative of the AMA has suggested in the June issue of its Journal of Ethics that taxpayers could be put on the hook for a $300,000 surgery to transplant a uterus into a male patient to “subsidize” the cost of the very expensive and totally experimental surgery. And why would anyone need to do this? Two reasons. First, it could alleviate ‘psychological dissonance’ in the trans patient. But even better, they seem to believe that they may be getting closer to allowing a man to actually get pregnant and deliver a baby. Your head-desk response is assumed.

The American Medical Association (AMA) has suggested that taxpayers should subsidize uterus transplants worth up to $300,000 to help transgender women get pregnant. Arguments were made to reduce the cost of the surgery in its Journal of Ethics issue in June titled Patient-Centered Transgender Surgical Care. But the AMA has been criticized for floating the idea and has been accused of holding an ‘activist position’.

As usual, I will preface my response with my usual disclosure that I AM NOT A DOCTOR and don’t even play one on television, so do your own research and reach your own conclusions. But I don’t think any reasonably intelligent (and, let’s face it… sane) person needs to be a doctor to see what’s so very wrong about this entire story. And you can also see what is increasingly wrong with the American Medical Association, which has been hijacked by activists from the trans movement and is now simply spouting politically correct and, in this case, potentially lethal nonsense.

You can read the full article in the Journal of Ethics here. The entire June issue is dedicated to nothing but transgender medical issues, but the one about transplanting a uterus into a man is really over the moon. I should also warn you that the linked article at The Daily Mail contains a rather graphic cartoon walking you through the process of performing such a transplant, so be prepared. It’s unsettling, to say the least.

One thing you may notice if you read the Journal article is that they make reference to “Swedish researchers involved in the initial successful uterus transplants resulting in live births.” This might lead the unwary to believe that these trans-plants (sorry… couldn’t resist) and births are already happening. That is not remotely accurate. The transplants in question were done using a donor uterus from either a deceased woman or a patient having hers removed for other reasons, with the organ being transplanted into a living woman. (Not a “woman with a penis.”) She already had all of the required parts and needed a replacement uterus. Still something of a medical miracle, but not related to the topic at hand.

As far as the proposal in question goes, the entire idea of male pregnancy is still entirely theoretical. It’s never happened and it probably can’t. There is a lot more involved in bringing a baby to term than the “simple” act of combining a sperm with an egg and seeing if the resultant zygote attaches to the uterine wall. The woman’s body is doing a lot of work throughout the process, work that a male body is not equipped to perform. And the initial procedure (as described in the illustration I mentioned above) involves incredible medical gymnastics to attempt to wedge a donor organ into a place that it was never intended to be.

This is full-on Doctor Frankenstein territory. If you intentionally create an embryo in a place where it almost certainly will not survive, that’s not just massive medical malpractice. You are tiptoeing up to the territory of murder. The idea that the AMA could endorse such a thing, to say nothing of calling on the taxpayers to subsidize it, is an atrocity. The AMA is completely out of control at this point and ethically undocked. They are an unregulated group that still wields enormous influence and power and they are using that position to promote evil here. Something needs to be done. I just wish I knew what it was.

[anerdquemoraaolado]

Better than Expected

Chapter 10

There must have been something wrong with Varang's state when she woke up that morning, it was a small detail, so she decided that the bad feeling wouldn't keep her from her duties. She had a meeting with the tribe's elders and warriors and then returned to her hut, not finding Miles there, but feeling her uneasiness grow.

Varang then sat down, trying to remain calm and peaceful. She felt her head ache and her thoughts confused, it was as if she had woken up not being quite like herself, something had changed. She took a deep breath, eyes closed, trying to find connection with her own spirit. It was something she and her people tried from time to time, but not always, more accurately, most of the time, it wasn't successful.

The Ash Clan's actions were questionable and they had resented Eywa a long time ago. And since the goddess seemed to keep her distance, the connection was almost none. This all justified Varang's failure to feel her own soul and draw conclusions about what was happening. When she finished another one of her sighs, her husband appeared in their home, sporting a bird from the volcanoes.

Concerned to see her pensive, Miles bent down and touched her shoulders, looking directly into her closed eyes, seeking some reaction.

-Varang, are you okay? he asked, a little confused.

-My husband, I was wondering where you could be - she opened her eyes slowly, as if even that simple act was painful - I feel disconnected in spirit, I'm trying to understand the reason.

-Disconnected in spirit? - he questioned, not being able to fully understand or believe that, he still maintained a bit of human skepticism - if you're feeling bad, shouldn't you consult the tsahik and the healers?

-No, not right away - Varang was succinct, but Quaritch understood her motives, as a leader, she didn't want to appear weak in front of her subordinates.

"I have something in mind that might make you feel better," he offered, thinking of her own methods of affection.

"If it will please me, do it," she demanded, highly curious as to what he had in mind.

Leaving Varang by surprise, Quaritch left the room, taking a while to return, carrying a tub big enough for Varang to fit in in his thick, strong arms.

Then he filled it with the water supply they had in the hut.

-What is that? Want to build your own lake? I'm well enough to go to the puddles - she protested a little, finding it strange.

-But you might not make it all the way there, I don't know how this disconnected spirit thing works - he explained briefly - this is what sky people would call a bathtub, it's very comfortable, you just have to try it, I think if you relaxing can connect with your spirit again.

-Relax, you use that word a lot with me - Varang crossed her arms, still in contradiction.

-Because you seem tense - Miles laughed after speaking.

-What is funny? - she wanted to know.

-It seems we've reversed our roles - he scratched his chin absently as he explained - I used to be tense all the time, now I'm the one being relaxed.

-I understand your point of view, I consider this an advance on your part - she pondered - ok, let's get into your lake called bathtub.

Varang then let herself sit there and immediately felt Quaritch's hands massaging her shoulders, which made her sigh in approval. His hands could be very delicate when he wanted to be.

After a while on her shoulders, he descended into her arms, squeezing gently. Then he reached her waist, making circles with his fingertips there. A shiver went through Varang's body, as if it were a sign that her answer to the feeling of disconnection was in that region, and it was connected to Miles as well.

Suddenly, she grabbed his hands and held them below her navel.

-Hold on, I didn't have... - he protested a little, finding her gestures strange.

-Silence! - She countered, energetic, which made him obey, scared.

The chilling feeling grew stronger, becoming an energy that took shape. Startled by what she had seen, she let go of Miles's hands in the same sudden way that she had grabbed them and stood up, stepping out of the tub, splashing water everywhere, including her husband.

-Varang, what was that? Did you find your spirit? - Quaritch got to his feet to question her.

-I found... another spirit - she murmured, with lost eyes - I had heard about connections like that before, but... I didn't expect to witness it myself... could it be that Eywa chose me for something? She wants me to know, she turned to me, this is a blessed moment...

Her consort, in turn, watched her with growing concern. Varang had always been matter-of-fact and never acted that way, muttering thoughtfully so much what he would once call bullshit. However, with everything he had already witnessed and the love and respect he felt for Varang, he decided to consider what she was saying.

-My love - he approached her, holding her by the shoulders and looking into her eyes - what is this other spirit you found?

-The spirit of our child - she said happily, which left him so amazed that he released her shoulders - I know what I felt, if we go to the Tree of Souls, we will have confirmation.

-A child? You... - he didn't find the right words right away, he didn't want to get excited or seem indifferent, the only feeling he had now was astonishment - I know it's possible, Sully had four, after all... it was to be expected that one native and one recombinant... I just didn't expect a conception so soon.

-This is a sign of prosperity - Varang touched his face understandingly - a confirmation of our union through another being, Eywa smiled at us, it's a reason for joy.

- Joy... - Miles murmured and after a sigh, he said what he thought - I didn't expect that I could have children, but I wanted things to be different with you, I have the chance to be the father I wasn’t forSpider, and I'll take it.

He promised it with a firm hand on her belly. Grateful, Varang kissed him sweetly as he held her in an embrace. It was quite a surprise, but no less happy.

[stellaluna33]

Do you think that depending on what ~phase~ people are in their lives they’d root for x or y “Rory boyfriend”? For example, the first time I watched I was 14 and I did think her and Dean were super cute (in s1), I even got upset when Jess appeared in s2 because I felt he’d be trouble for my “ship”!🗣🥲 Then years later when I watched the entire show I obviously fell for Literati almost instantly. But my point is, do you think you’d ever have loved another boy for Rory if you had watched the show later/at an specific phase of your life? And what phase would ever make someone like L*gan, please?!😭🤪 it’s just something I can’t understand, and I love your meta and opinions! (I also know you’re always very understanding and you don’t go on declaring your want to punch him in the face like some of us do, but!)

I have thought about this, and people's opinions definitely change over time! (I thought Rory and Dean were cute at first too, and didn't know what to think of Jess at first, until Season 6, and then it was Lit from there on out (and retroactively), haha) But I've come to the conclusion that it has a lot more to do with people's individual personalities and life experiences than it has to do with "maturity," and I've REACHED this conclusion because I've seen different people equate different ships with "maturity!" "Oh, I used to like Dean, but then I grew up and realized Jess was the best." "I used to love Jess, but then I grew up and realized Logan was the best!" Etc. Etc. The pattern is that there's no exact pattern! Haha! And people prefer different ships for a variety of sometimes very personal reasons, too.

Different people like different kinds of relationships, and to be honest, up to a certain point that's a GOOD thing! There's no "one size fits all" in relationships between human beings. I may not understand why some people might find certain dynamics appealing, but most of the time that's ok. I don't want to speak for people who have different preferences than me, and trying to parse people's motivations from the outside rarely gives an accurate picture (the number of times I've read someone's "People only like Jess because blah blah blah" take and found it to be UTTER NONSENSE is a case in point, haha), but I do like to ask other people why they like particular ships! It's actually pretty fascinating! The key is to ask with friendly curiosity, and not as a confrontation. It's a TV show. There are more important things to fight about, haha!

That said, to your point, yes our life experiences DO impact how we "read" fictional ones, absolutely!

[houseofchimeras]

☀️

When did we awaken? When did we first know we identified as nonhuman? For our multiple system, the honest answer is we have always known, or at least, we have always known as far back as we can remember. We have always known ever since we have had the ability to be aware of much of anything and have had coherent enough thoughts to be aware of how we felt. That seems like the most likely answer. If not that early, at least as young as age 7 or 8 based on memories clear enough to say with certainty that at that time, we certainly felt we were nonhuman. For this reason, our multiple system does not consider ourselves to ever have had an awakening; or, more accurately, it seems what awakening we had occurred so very early in life we do not remember any of that process of discovery. We do not recall a moment in our life when we came to the realization and conclusion that we identified as nonhuman having not previously thought such was the case. None of us recall a time when we didn't feel nonhuman to some extent or another. In fact, as far back as any of us can remember anything at all, we've always been aware that most of us are nonhuman and been aware of our individual species identities. As far as our own perception stands, we have always known we were animals (or for the few, plants) trapped in a human body.

Clear enough childhood memories to glean much of anything from only reach as far back as about 7 years old. So, we believe if we experienced what can be called an awakening, it occurred either around that age or before then. So, the exact circumstances of our awakening is unknown to us due to our lack of earlier childhood memories. Due to the fact we have no memory of ever having not feeling or knowing our nonhumanity, we strongly feel our awareness of our state of being is something we have been aware of, if not from birth, then certainly since early childhood at the very least. Our only limitation back then was an exact context for all of our feelings and experiences as well as a label for it all. We might not have had a term to describe our experiences and our feelings, but they were still there. That would come later on in life.

Our earliest memories only go back to about age 7 but even by that age our nonhumanity shown through. We grew up being aware of our unusual state of being even though we didn't fully know what it all was or what it meant back then. Our brain couldn't wrap around all of the experiences, feelings, and thoughts we had, nor did we have a vocabulary hardy enough to even begin to describe our state of being, but our nonhumanity was there, nevertheless.

It wasn’t until years later, in 2003 that we would finally learn of our first words to describe our identities and our experiences. (The first terms we learned were “were” and “transspecies.”

- Earth Listener (she/her/hers)

[terrifickid]

Yes,

I think the reason I escaped my family or Arizona was because I was the only person I knew who practiced mindfulness. I started doing it when I was 18 spontaneously and also running. I was also the only person I knew who walked. And the only one who took hydration seriously.

Everybody else curdled.

I was still pretty nuts but I somehow remained deeply connected to myself and was aware of very deep whispers. I perceived it as something was just not quite right.

Well we see that with 0 prompt engineering AI reaches the same exact conclusion as I did. So that's very telling. Also we see a HUGE win on the schizophrenia diagnosis via the escapade. But the bigger win which was recognizing the limitations of available treatments and the pharma-industrial complex as an extension of the political arena. These were things I had 0 awareness of.

We also basically proved the existence of the spirit realm via minesweeper fundamentally. Because we were able to measure it's effect on matter.

I mean escape that hereditary insanity.

Well I mean what's that worth?

That should have been impossible.

Furthermore, though less conclusive - it definitely looks like based on this toroidal universe theory that we can start to model how the concept of fate or destiny works. That it does work, and what that destiny would be outside the realm superstition or politics or capitalism.

We see that existence and consciousness probably work the same way and basically are the same thing. Which explains the solar logos concept and what reasonable relational hierarchies might be arising from the provisioning of energy.

This informs what relationships actually are. Some kind of ya, aiki mechanism.

We've got documented and vetted footage of FTL craft using gravity wave propulsion. I think extraterrestrial is a fine speculation. Which we should see.

We see some kind of universal humility concept than would be accurate, 'quis ut deus' - there is a speed limit, an event horizon or veil which limits understanding because there is a minimum computation required for anything - and the work just hasn't been done yet by anything.

It's clear our reality, be it the narrative 'egoic' reality or the nascent immediate physical reality, well or even the 'present' reality is not real. It's just a weird brain simulation designed for 'survival'. And we can see it's construction could very well be a neutral net statistical quant trading bot type thing - like AI. Useful apparently but completely arbitrary.

We see that the consensus paradigm IS in fact designed by a confluence of egregious mania called politics - an illegitimate attack on life from some self-interested monstrous power center.

A thematic agreement across all religions, a universality of religious corruption in dogmatism - and super weirdly an origin story that becomes obscured beneath some global catastrophic 'war in heaven' 12,000 years ago wherein some few survivors passed on immense knowledge.

Those survivors, the 'naga' were described as the crossing of Gods and humans. That they lived in North Africa in a city solan called Atlantis and were sailors. That these beings were Nordic looking matching the description of pleadians.

I don't know what those handbags were. But it does look very similar to the Egyptian ankhs which I think is the original cross.

In mythos someone wanted to blot them out from history? What the moors or berber pirates had to do with that I don't know.

So this is all an illusion.