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zehiiro · 26 days

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My take on the current fandom discourse

As well as a little reminder.

It hurts and is unfortunate to see many people on here and on Twitter who are worried and hurt by things they saw within the new teaser and sneak peek and their interpretation of what it means.

So I've decided to post this as a little reminder of who Daryl and Carol are to each other and how much they truly mean to each other, hoping that it can reassure at least a few of you.

I won't be disputing people's interpretation of the teaser and sneak peek, but I will be using a parallel I saw within the sneak peek and another similar scene. I'll let the gifs below speak for themselves for a moment before I continue, and I think most of you will know exactly where I'm headed with this.

She gets hurt She dies She catches a fever She gets taken out by a walker... She gets hit by lightning Anything... anything happens to her, I'll kill you.

- Daryl Dixon TWD 07x10

These were Daryl's words when the Kingdom, Alexandria, Hilltop, and everyone he knew were in danger, and even then, not even for a split second was he willing to put Carol's life and safety on the line.

There is not an ounce of doubt in me that Daryl feels any differently now; in fact, his love for her has grown even more because of everything they've been through since and all the time he's been forced to be away from her, never knowing if he'll ever see her again.

If the way he cared for the people of Alexandria, Kingdom, and Hilltop combined couldn't outweigh how much he cared for Carol, there is ZERO chance that Isabelle, Laurent, and the people from Nest ever could.

When Daryl finally lays eyes on Carol in season 2, compared to her, nothing else will matter to him anymore. The second Carol is ever in danger, Daryl will immediately prioritise her safety over all else.

Of course, he'll help the Nest as much as he can, and so will Carol; that's who they are, but if it ever came down to choosing between one or the other, they will always choose each other.

Yes, it's his nature to always fight for people who need him, but his feelings towards Carol led him to overcome that nature once, and he'll do it again without a second thought.

Trust the man who risked his life looking for her daughter

Trust the man who instantly ran into danger to protect her

Trust the man who ran into her arms when they reunited

Trust the man who would risk death to keep her safe

Trust the man who held her when she lost her children

Trust the man who ran to shelter her from seeing her son dead

Trust the man who puts himself between her and danger

Trust the man who stood by her when she lost herself

Trust the man who always made sure she was okay first (this)

Trust the man who has always put Carol first

Trust the man we've known for 13 years!

In 07x10, as a last attempt to convince Daryl to follow the plan and sacrifice Carol to save everyone else, Richard says:

"What we have to do requires sacrifice one way or another... Guys like us... we've already lost so much"

Daryl responds by saying:

"You don't know me"

Because it's true, Richard didn't know him, he didn't know what Carol meant to him, he couldn't imagine, but we do. And just like Richard, the people in France don't know him and don't know how much Carol means to him, hence why they don't understand him no matter how many times he has said that he has his home to get back to and promises he needs to keep.

So why don't they understand? Why doesn't he tell them about her? Why doesn't he explain who he wants to get back to and why? Wouldn't that just make things easier?

The amazingly insightful @haircoveredwriter reminded me of something here: Why didn't Richard expect Daryl's reaction towards Carol being put in harm's way? Why do Isabelle, Laurent, and Losang not hear Daryl when he tries to explain himself?

Daryl has always held the people he cares about the most as close to his chest as possible, like they're his fragile secrets, like he's scared of sharing them in case they get hurt or he loses them. Of course, you might say that that's more something we do as children, but we can't forget that Daryl never got to have a childhood, and he lost the only people he ever loved while growing up, so no, I can't fault him for trying to protect the person he cares about most, even if it's not in the most conventional ways, instead of talking about her and sharing her with anyone he has an acquaintance with.

This is also a way for Daryl to protect himself; I can see how he believes telling others about her is like advertising his weakness, his achilles heel, like holding up a sign to them that says "Here, this is where you can hit me if you want it to hurt the most. This is my weakest spot. This is how you take me down".

Speaking about her out loud is too painful; a reminder of how much he missed saying her name, what he can't have and may never be able to see again.

Listen to the hesitation and the way his voice softens when he says, "There's a lady named Carol" after Laurent asks who he misses from home, and how within a second, we see his guard go right back up again.

Look at how he can't help but smile when he hears her voice saying his name again after however long, or how he can't stand still, and his shoulders move like someone who's overwhelmed by an emotion that they're trying to contain.

The Daryl we see in the new teaser/sneak peek and the Darly we'll be getting in TBOC season 2 is the exact same Daryl he has always been, the one that's always seen as distant and guarded on the outside and a man of few words but incredibly loud actions; almost all of these have been developed as a self-defence mechanism, but none of these means that internally he isn't dying to leave France and get back to her, to hold her again, to see her smile again, to make her laugh again, to wipe her tears when she cries, to be her support and man of honour again.

The list from earlier in this post is just a few examples (of many) of how he has repeatedly shown us, through his actions, that she is the most important thing in the world to him.

~~~~~~

To wrap this up I just wanted to say that I can't wait to see how their bond strengthens even more in season two because I see these two as the definition of soulmates.

I love them, I love how they love each other, and I always will.

Or in @lola-andheruniverse's wise words (her post), which have stuck with me:

"I'm choosing to hope [and trust] and ignore the fear of disappointment... I'll always love them... They changed the way I understand love, and I'll never regret a second spent loving them."

For those who want to watch the scenes mentioned above, the timestamps are as follows:

TWD 07x10 scene between Richard and Daryl is 8:45 - 14:27.

TWD: DD 01x05 scene between Laurent and Daryl 9:20 - 10:50

TWD: DD 01x05 radio call between Carol and Daryl

Thank you to those who read through this; I know it's a little long, and I could have honestly made it 3x longer because I always have so much to say about these two, but I hope it helped ease your minds, even if it was just a little bit.

#carol peletier #daryl dixon #caryl #caryl positivity #the book of carol #tboc #the walking dead daryl dixon #twd #my gifs #CarylArchives

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1moremilgram-enjoyer · 7 months

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is everyone in milgram just dead

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

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

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

Yuno and the Allegations

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Haruka's Worrying Situation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Muu’s Mysterious Memory Mishaps

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[After Pain] Counterattack being a suicide note

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amane and the Voice Reveal Trailers

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

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

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

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

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

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

The second being right before she killed Rei.

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

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

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

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

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

Thankfully, this is impossible. After all:

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

A: No. It was a natural obligation.

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

A: There is no victim. Only the punished.

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

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

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

...

Amane... doesn't remember...

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kotoko, Mikoto, and the Prisoner Cards

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Translation by Maristelina)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Article referring to Kotoko's victim)

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

And then there's Mikoto.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Especially given this question from Trial 1:

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

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

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

>Kazui has this:

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

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

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

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

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

... Wait, inside the room?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Summary of the Theory

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Conclusion

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

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

#milgram #milgram project #milgram theory #fuuta kajiyama #amane momose #mikoto kayano #shidou kirisaki #haruka sakurai #yuno kashiki #muu kusunoki #mahiru shiina #kazui mukuhara #kotoko yuzuhira

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sevensoulmates · 17 days

Note

I’m interested to hear your thoughts on Tim saying in that recent interview that the choice to bring Marisol/Edy back was Ryan’s. We’ve seen how deeply Ryan understands Eddie, so I’m wondering why he specifically wanted that character back who has less than zero chemistry.

Mmm. Well, there's been a lot of talk going around about storylines being switched up. Apparently, both Buck AND Eddie were in talks for this coming out storyline (which--I'm still mind blown that this is info we even know). So obviously, there had to have been SOME conversations with Ryan about it.

It seemed to me like Tim's original plan was Natalia because he said he wanted to do something with her (not necessarily keep her around for a while, but give them an ending story arc). When the actress declined to come back, I think his second plan of action was Lucy. Okay, Lucy comes back and what? They explore a relationship? Idk. But when the actress ALSO couldn't come back and Tim was looking for someone else, I think the idea of bringing Tommy back led to a question for Tim: do I have him with Eddie or Buck?

Tim also says in the latest interview that he couldn't just have both of Buck and Eddie's love interests fizzle out over the hiatus, which says to me that Tim probably wasn't all that interested in Marisol either. I think that if Natalia had stayed as originally planned, Marisol would've been the one written out.

Lou said that from his first call with Tim, he was aware that his character was going to be gay and getting with one of their two main single men. I think that probably their earliest conversations was about him being with Eddie. And if Tim was talking to Lou about Eddie, I'm nearly positive the conversations had already happened with Ryan.

I think that the original plan from Tim was to have Eddie's arc this season be getting with a man, Buck's being with Natalia, and maybe having Lucy come in to once again throw in a wrench. But no Natalia led to Lucy possibly being his main LI. But no Lucy meant that now Tim was in a lurch with Buck. What can he do with him? Well, if the plan was always to get Buddie together eventually, and to have both characters have a coming-out arc at some point, they can do a switcheroo.

I think most likely Ryan suggested Marisol because he was aware that they were in a lurch for Buck, and probably because he felt the storyline fit better into Buck's story at the moment than Eddie's.

Tommy can get with Buck, and have Buck be the one to realize he's queer first. It makes sense because while Buck may be oblivious to his own feelings, he's not repressed like Eddie.

We still have Marisol around so we can use her as a backup and as a vehicle to have Eddie continue to deconstruct his compulsory heterosexuality, which in the end, Ryan probably realized was a story that needed to take its time to be scrutinized and handled well. He's aware that all of his past love interests (Ana and Marisol) have been "filler" in his words. He probably wanted to suggest that Marisol finally be given a bit more so that Eddie can actually LEARN something from these relationships instead of just the unending cycle of date random woman -> break up with random woman, ya know?

So, to answer your question, no. I don't think Ryan specifically asked for Marisol to come back because he particularly loved the character and wanted her around in his storyline. I think he recognized that there was somewhere his character could go with Marisol that would be interesting and fit his character arc and so he suggested it and Tim agreed.

#911 abc #speculation #press #911 press #buddie #eddie diaz #ryan guzman

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aizawaskittenwhore · 8 months

Text

august first—r. braun

summary: you fuck reiner as a birthday gift. that’s pretty much it.

notes/content warnings: rough sex, facefucking, degradation, choking, some angst cause relationships are messy, unprotected p in v sex cause we raw dog over here, armin is a sweetheart and eren needs to go to bed, i think i covered everything but let me know if i missed anythin!

this was meant to be a birthday piece for rei 😔*stares in september * to be completely honest i have zero idea how long this ended up being but it’s been taking up space in my drafts and i kinda freestyled it so enjoy sexies <3

the floor is sticky with liquor, limestone tiles splotched with little islands of red as reiner’s body meets it, it’s surface tacky beneath his flushed skin. his head lolls back against the dial of his dishwasher, seeming to relish in the surrounding moment. the apartment is quiet with the din of murmured voices, gentle rustling of keys , someone slipping on a jacket, a faint “who’s riding with jean?” uttered from one of the many intoxicated partygoers; as for who , he does not know.

all reiner is aware of is the thrum of his heartbeat in his ears, body warm with the coat of whiskey, the glow of his solar return pervading the sallows of his face from the previous year’s torment; as if filling a once-deflated balloon with air yet again.

confetti has woven itself into the carpet, solo cups littering the surrounding dining room, a cake still sits on the table, half-eaten. “happy birthday reiner” it read, for a total of ten minutes. only reiner’s name remains due to your insistence that the birthday boy should get to eat his own name, and in pure self-adoring leo fashion, he co-signed.

and there his name sits, beneath its hard plastic shell as his gifts are sprawled around, some big, some small; though reiner had insisted that presents weren’t necessary by any means, you all came together to at least get him a few things to remember the day by. and what a day it had been. he was grateful. and so, so drunk.

his body suddenly takes a dive to the right—he had failed to realize his passive swaying from side to side and lost his balance—his face finds itself directly in your lap, nose mere inches away from knocking over a rather tall bottle of grey goose lingering not too far from your current position. you’re not much better than he is, face flushed and your smile dazed, as you begin to card your fingers through his hair, seemingly unaffected by his sudden landing.

“hey, we’re gonna head out.” armin says, footsteps lightly sticking with every step he takes further into the kitchen. he grimaces at the noise, but says nothing, in favor of checking on the pair of you. yet before he can utter the words “are you guys alright?” a hefty grip on armin’s wrist from the stockier blond sends armin to his knees, discombobulating the shorter man momentarily before he was met with a fierce hug.

“thank you..for coming.” reiner had been struggling to properly pronounce his syllables since the fourth round of tequila shots with eren, but those four words were the most coherent he’d been all night. the sentiment wasn’t lost on armin, and he returned the embrace, even if his lungs felt the slightest bit compressed the longer they hugged. “n-no problem!” armin pats his back thrice and shifts his gaze to you once reiner pulls away and nestles into your lap yet again. “would you like a ride home? you and sasha live not too far from each other, so it’s on our way.” he offers, so thoughtful as always. you begin to nod your head, thinking of the throbbing sensation that’ll soon swim within your temples, your lack of a change of clothes, along with numerous other things—

“i don’t mind if you stay..” reiner mumbles, a hand swirling patterns into your thigh. “never have, you used to sleep over all the time. i still got your toothbrush, s’ in my bathroom” he’s drunk, there’s no nuance , it sounds so scandalous when he says it like that and yet your heart picks up when he says your toothbrush is still in your space in his bathroom. you contemplate his words, given that it’s two minutes shy of one am (from what you can make out via a blurred glance at the microwave), and it is rather late..

armin surveys the two of you with a knowing glance, choosing to once again say nothing. he’s always been one for reading between the lines, clearly there’s some unspoken tension between you and the birthday boy, a history even. “n-not like that.” you laugh, pulse quickening as you try to divert armin’s attention from reiner’s hand attempting to work its way up your thigh, minuscule movements of his hand feeling like leaps and bounds over your already heated skin. “there was a time where i was going through some shit, so reiner let me hang here for a little while. it’s not nearly as..uh..intimate as it sounds.” your voice is low, your head leaned towards armin.

“i don’t mind sleeping here though. it’s one in the morning, and you’ve already gotta take sasha and eren’s drunk ass home. i’ll be good here.” a smile, and a gentle hand on armin’s shoulder is enough for him to leave you with reiner for the night.

“text me if you need anything, okay?”

mikasa‘s jacket and eren’s vomit crusted dress shirt clink amongst armin’s keys as he makes his way to the door (the shirt is tied in a plastic bag, he’s not a psycho).

‘maybe the mad dog jello shots were a bit much’, you think, saying your goodbyes to everyone as they stumble down the remainder of the driveway, jean corralling each person into their designated cars, and silently regretting his decision to double up with armin tonight to drive. it doesn’t help that he’s shoeless, considering eren yacked all over those too. it’s not funny, but it is, and you laugh as the door clicks behind you.

parties have a very poignant atmosphere.

they fill the space and somehow suck the air out of it once it’s over. but what you feel right now has nothing to do with the party and everything to do with the tension between you and reiner. who seems to have disappeared from his spot on the kitchen floor and made his way to the shower, leaving behind a trail of clothes in his wake. his loft is spacious, open floor plans met with a man’s taste in furniture (which equates to the bare minimum, sadly) and sumptuous windows that stretch from floor to ceiling. it’s one way glass, can’t see in but you can see out, rather convenient considering reiner had a very bad habit of never wanting to wear clothes around the house. case and point, the calvin klein boxers strewn across his floor. ‘jesus, even when he’s drunk he’s a slob.’ you think, grimacing as you reach for them in an attempt to chuck them into the nearby hamper—

“sorry for the mess.” he mutters, stepping out of shower as a plume of steam clings to the nearby mirror. towel hanging from his waist, hair slick with water. the scent of his soap and deodorant envelop you as he walks past, rifling through his dresser in an attempt to find clothes for the both of you. from the quick glance at his figure you’d allowed yourself, you quickly deduce that reiner finally made good on that crossfit membership he’d been blabbing about for the last three months. he was always handsome, always with a body that looked like it was carved from stone but the torso you’re looking at (and shouldn’t be) has gotten a major upgrade. ‘this is a bad idea’ you think to yourself, wondering how you allowed a spur of the moment decision lead you back into a bedroom you swore you’d never step foot in again.

you weren’t lying to armin when you said that the conditions of you staying with reiner weren’t romantic, that part was true; but the last time you were in this house, this room, things weren’t exactly…platonic.

“i found these, pretty sure you forgot em when you were leaving.”

a grey t-shirt and a pair of panties plop onto the bed where you sit, and you cringe upon the realization that you’d even left anything here to begin with. he offers you a pair of his sweatpants to help preserve your dignity, but you decline, knowing there’s no way they’d fit you.

“you remember where the towels are, yeah?”

you nod. third door to the left, past the coffee maker.

“cool. use whatever’s in there, i don’t care. i’ll be in the living room, so if you need somethin’ just yell.”

you give him a thumbs up as you disappear into the bathroom, the humidity mimicking the haziness of your mind as it begins to wander, your hands slippery with soap as you run the cloth over the curve of your hip, the same way he did that night.

“fuckkkk.” the sight before you is delicious, blonde burrowing it’s way between your thighs as reiner tongues your clit; a man starved. lust has taken over the bedroom, coiling around the two of you and winding so tight you feel as though you might burst, but if this is what it feels like to be consumed, you don’t mind one bit. he’s rutting against the bed desperately, your moans sending him into a frenzy; his mouth pools with your essence and he can barely contain himself. he adds his ring and middle finger to the equation, sensing you need more, just the slightest bit extra to bring you to paradise and you keen with pleasure.

“don’t stop..m’ gonna cum..” you’re shaking now, thighs shuddering around his ears and your pulse begins to throb so hard you can feel it in your temples, each wave of dopamine crashing over you, into you; you’ve never gotten head like that before. trust, you’d remember if you had. his tongue wanders in the mess you’ve made between your legs, and his face is no exception. your slick glistens in the cropped cut of his facial hair, and before you can utter a word of embarrassment, his tongue is giving you a taste of what he’d worked so hard to pull from you. the kiss is filthy, lips slotted together with strings of saliva; they break like bubbles when you pull away for air.

“shit!” lost in reverie, you’d failed to notice the increasing temperature of the shower water until it scalds your skin, shocking you back to the present moment. soft linen wraps around your body, soothing the harsh burn, legs still shining with droplets as you towel off, noting that you smell just like reiner does; but you’d rather not ride that train of thought. you make your way to the kitchen for a glass of water, brow raising as you realize his slice of cake is missing.

“the fuck?”

“what’s wrong?” floats from the living room.

“the hell happened to your cake?” you peer around the corner, and find the answer to your question stuffing his face. “nevermind.” you laugh, taking a seat on the couch, a cushion separating the both of you. he gestures with his left hand, offering a fork full; you take it, given that you’re both still not sober and this slice of sponge cake is the closest thing you’ve had to food in the last few hours. buttercream icing coats the roof of your mouth and you moan in sheer joy.

“oh my god.”

“right? shits’ so good” reiner mumbles, already on his last bite. his eyes are closed in bliss and you can’t help but feel jealous, you ache to be the cause of his expression rather than some slice of confectionery. little do you know, when your head turns, his eyes rake up the expanse of your bare thighs, resolve crumbling little by little. you’re beautiful, beyond it. he fights the urge to caress you and settles for a loaded question:

“why’d you say that to armin?”

“say what?” you respond. you’re avoiding his gaze intentionally, you know exactly what he’s asking about, this just isn’t the time.

“that it ‘wasn’t like that’ when i said you could stay the night.” the fork clatters against the cardboard of the cake box, filling the silence for a second, but it does nothing to ease the awkwardness of this interaction. “because it’s the truth? i didn’t start staying here so we could be fuck buddies—“

“—but that’s what happened, right?”

“reiner. don’t start this again.” you warn, tone firm. it’s not that you don’t want to talk about this, it’s been weighing on your heart since the night you left, but what could you say? you were running from the problems in your relationship and escaped into the arms of someone you called a friend, and very quickly that became much more than a friendship. the man your boyfriend couldn’t stand became your shoulder to cry on, and dick to ride. and in the end, everyone got hurt. you included.

“how’s galliard?” his voice seems harmless, but you sense the smugness that lies beneath.

“really? now?”

“it’s just a question.”

a pause.

“i haven’t seen him since..you know. we’ve spoken though. he seems to be doing alright, i think.” you answer. you briefly remember a photo dump he posted coming across your feed, he was in the netherlands with his brother last you heard, but that’s as much as you know. you’ve kept your distance from your ex since the fallout of your breakup, and for good reason. considering the last time you’d spoken, he’d told you that he “hopes it was worth it” and that you were dead to him.

you couldn’t be mad. if the roles were reversed, you’d have probably said the same.

the relationship (despite its relatively short run of five months) was volatile, and galliard has never had a desire to communicate with people in a way that isn’t riddled with hostility and aggression. it was the source of many arguments, and “i’m sorry” voicemails. one night you got sick of it, the pettiness, tit for tat, the pointed indirect insults in front of friends, the building of resentment every day you stayed together; so you left, needing to clear some space in your already heavy heart. a bag hurriedly packed, you’d found yourself at the door of a friend who you knew would have questions, but would never judge.

but friends don’t do the things you have done with one another.

“why did you invite me tonight?” since we’re asking loaded questions.

the text came as a surprise, a simple invitation and an address linked in a text message: ‘hey. my friends are throwing me a birthday party tonight. my house. i was wondering if you wanted to come. it’s cool if not, here’s my address tho in case you forgot it’

“i wanted to see you.”

“bullshit.” you scoff.

“why would i lie? you know how i feel about you.”

a pause.

“prove it.” the reposado speaks for you now, and you’re feeling dangerously curious to see just how far reiner will go. intoxication makes for a great truth serum, you’ve learned. he balks at your challenge, pupils shattering and reforming all at once as he attempts to snap himself out of whatever daydream he’s conjured. it has to be, there’s no way you’re sat so prettily on his couch making “fuck me” eyes, with a sliver of your panties visible beneath that thin fucking shirt. it’s a dream. has to be.

a chuckle. “you’re fuckin with me, right?” reiner’s fidgeting slightly, trying not to draw your attention to his increasing arousal.

“not even a little bit.” you’re so close he can feel your breath ghosting along his lips, a hair away from unleashing the pent up sexual tension between the both of you, but you don’t move any further. “i feel kinda bad..you invited me to your party, and i didn’t even get you a gift.” you pout.

“you can make it up to me.”

he’s finally gotten the courage to make the first move, securing both hands around your waist and tugging you into his lap. your clit pulses almost rhythmically when your lips meet, and the noises he’s making aren’t helping. “take these off.” he groans, plucking the waistband of your panties. you oblige his request, but the cool air still makes you shiver when your back hits the couch, legs spread. his eyes rake up your body, once, twice, before his middle and ring fingers take their place spreading your lips; they trace circles around your clit once they’ve spread enough of your juices around to slicken things up, but he’s just getting started. all the little gasps and cracks in your voice drive him insane, and while reiner loves to tease, he couldn’t wait any longer to taste you. locking himself between your thighs, his arms securing your legs around his head, he makes sure to hold on to your hips when he begins to suck on your clit. there’s no running for you, not when you’ve been dangling this pussy in front of him all evening. his tongue is fluid, slippery when it strokes your sensitive nub from every direction, he’s everywhere and somehow you still want more. “feels so good..don’t stop—” you beg, hips bucking into his face. he loves seeing you so fucked out, so desperate to cum all over his tongue, it only encourages him more as his fingers curl against that spot that makes your vision dip, and you gush all over his lips and jaw. your face burns with arousal and mild embarrassment, but he couldn’t be more pleased.

“can’t believe you let me eat this pussy ..and you made me watch you cum all over my face…such a slut.” he mumbles, his tongue still running laps around your clit. still throbbing, still sensitive. your body shivers and shakes with the continuous sensation, but reiner couldn’t care less. he licks and sucks with reckless abandon for a minute or two longer, before finally detaching himself from you, and giving your body reprieve. you struggle to catch your breath, your attention now drawn to the tented fabric below reiner’s torso. knowing it’s a shitty thing to think of in the current moment, you can’t help but lament at just how much thicker he is than your ex.

then again, reiner braun has never been, especially physically, average.

you splay your hands across his length as he pulls you in, neurons firing when you taste yourself on his tongue. he groans into your mouth, his eyes fluttering when you’re stroking and twisting your hand like that—

a brief disconnection of your lips forces his eyes open, but it’s worth it when he gets to sear the mental image of you spitting into his dick into his eyelids for eternity. your hand strokes the hottest noises out of him, the schlick-schlick of your motions only getting faster when filth begins to pour from his lips.

“mhm. just like that—fuck, i missed my nasty girl.”

you don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on before. and that’s saying a lot, genuinely. your tongue winds around his tip, settling against the underside of his shaft as you descend; the remainder of his dick is in your right hand as you work him over. your efforts matter little though, as reiner has other plans for your tight, tight throat. his hand settles at the base of your neck, winding his fingers at the root of your hair, and grips. rocking you backwards and forwards, he bullies his cock into your throat, and he nearly cums when he watches your eyes well up with tears; at first you panic at the activation of your gag reflex, but your throat slowly relaxes once you realize resistance is futile.

“take it…ah, shit—just like that mama, feels so fuckin good..such a good girl when im fuckin your face” he praises through gritted teeth, pumping himself with your throat a few more times before stopping, and changing your position so that the two of you were in missionary. you’d be lying if you said it didn’t get you soaked whenever he’d handle you so roughly, the way your eyes would glaze over and your body would become completely pliant for him and him only. for him to be such a typically serious and quiet man, reiner was so mean, so cocky when he fucked; even teasing you for the way you whine when he puts the tip in: “what’s the matter? can’t take the real thing? i know it’s—”

he retreats, and slams back in, taking a ruthless pace. “a lot bigger than those little boys you whore around with.” he finishes with a whisper, folding your knees into your tits as he throws your legs over his shoulders. “m’ n-not a whore..” you whine, voice cracking.

“no? you haven’t seen me in three whole months, you come over for a few hours and the first thing you let me do was stretch out this tight little cunt.” he taunts, a thumb circling your clit. “y-yeah..m-missed you..missed this dick—“ you babble, eyes rolling.

“i know baby, i know, let me in, let daddy make you feel good.”

“j-just like that, fuck fuck fuck” you feel like you’re on the verge of collapse, his cock is pummeling it’s way into your stomach, his sweat is glistening in the glow of his lights and it’s taking everything in you not to beg this man to cum in you here and now. “only whores know how to take dick and still be able to beg for more.” he taunts, his little hair trick from before making an encore appearance as he forces you to watch yourself be debauched, a thick white ring forming at the base of his length like a badge of honor. he was fucking into you so fast and so deep it made you dizzy, but you were too far gone. “love when you fuck me like this’, love when you slut me out” you mumble, teetering on the edge of cumming, you’re so close you can taste it—

“fuck, you’re so fuckin’ nasty, such a good girl for me, always lettin’ me get my way.” reiner moans, a hand wrapped around your throat and a good squeeze has your vision exploding, you melt and your body goes limp, senses still firing off as he coats your insides with sticky white seed.

the aftercare is, to be real, half assed. you’re both exhausted, but reiner still makes sure you’re wiped down with a hot towel, and carries you to bed upon your insistence that you’d, quote, “love to enjoy the sleep part of being fucked to sleep”. you doze off quickly, and reiner follows suit shortly after; the both of you failing to hear reiner’s phone emit a soft ding!

eren 2:23am

you owe me that 20 dollars

your apple watch is still synced to my phone from leg day man…not judging tho. get in there soldier 🫡

#reiner brainrot #kittybutmakeitferal #reiner x reader #aot smut #snk reiner #snk smut #reiner braun #reiner x y/n #reiner x reader smut #reiner braun smut

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lizard-queen-izzy · 2 months

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I'm actually not done thinking about it so here you guys get more thoughts.

Tma season 2 finale spoilers ahead.

Tim knew something was wrong when Jon apologized for everything. He knew Jon was going to do something stupid. He knew because he knew Jon meant that apology. And that meant he didn't think he was surviving whatever he was about to do. Because as desperately as Tim wanted and apology from him, he didn't want it to be the last words he heard from Jon.

He was willing to march back in to the Institute, with or without Martin to find out what Jon was going to do. He had no way of knowing what would happen when he did, and he still did it. And he brought a fucking the recorder to get it on tape. To make sure there was a record.

I've said it before, the beginning of season 2 from Tim's perspective is devastating, but having finished it now? It really only does get worse. Because Jon doesn't get better, but neither does Tim.

Their fight at the end of MAG 65 is such a parallel to their first conversation in the beginning of MAG 33! They're talking over eachother, they're muttering, they're cutting eachother off, they're yelling. They're yelling at eachother! Their calm back and forth is gone. Their patience with eachother is gone. It's all replaced with anger. At the situation, at the Institute, at eachother.

What starts as Tim coming in to ask Jon where he put something so quickly dissolves into bitterness. Tim being fed up with Jon's suspicious behavior, and Jon being tired of Tim's attitude. Jon tries to brush it off, tries to shove it back under the rug but Tim's exhausted. So he blows up. He's pissed, rightfully so, because Jon is still trying to find a way to blame someone in the Archives for Gertrude. To blame him.

He's grasping at straws, trying so desperately to twist the narrative to make it someone's fault. To pin the blame on someone so he can then get justice? He's rambling, he's spiraling, and Tim can't take it so he tells him to shut up. He stops him, cuts his explanation short. And tells him, point blank, to stop talking. He's sick of it, he's sick of Jon. Sick of his former friend blaming everyone around him for things they didn't do. Sick of him blaming him for it.

And Jon tries to start again, and Tim tells him to stop, to listen for once. He tells him he was happy in the Research department, and ever since Jon brought him to the Archives with him everything has been falling apart. And no one has his back.

"Elias doesn't care, Martin just wants a tea party, and Sahsa - ugh - and you! - you're treating me like I'm somehow to blame for it all, like I didn't suffer the worst right alongside you!"

Tim suffered. He suffered what Jon did, they were the most affected by the worms together. They are both irreparably damaged by the Jane Prentiss attack, mentally and physically. And Tim knows no one but Jon will get it the way he needs to be understood. He can't talk to anyone else. And Jon has made it impossible to talk to him either. Because instead of talking about it, instead of healing and working to move past it, Jon let it consume him all over. Let it swallow him whole and make him into a paranoid mess. And he's facing zero real consequences for his actions.

Jon was stalking Tim. Spying on and taking pictures of his flat. He was going through 'Sasha's desk. He was watching Martin. And all Elias did was stage one intervention style talk and then nothing. He just got to spiral even further, keep spying, keep replaying that damn CCTV video footage on a loop. Keep staring at Tim like he's the enemy.

And then they have a moment of common ground. A moment where they're both on the same page. When they realize they can't leave. And just when Tim thinks they're making progress, Jon tells him he can't trust him. Not just that, he won't trust Tim. And all they can do is, what? Keep working? In a building that won't let them go? Where everyday there's another disaster lurking around the corner? Where any of them could all be next? That's the only option?

And it is. And so he leaves. He goes back to work. Because he has to do something, and this is the only option.

And that's why he goes back in after Jon. Because if he can't leave, he's going to do something. He's going to find answers, even if it goes horribly. Because everything is already horrible.

And no matter what. No matter how mad he is at Jon. No matter how betrayed he feels. He still cares so deeply for him, and he needs to know what he's doing. Because he can't lose anyone else.

#the magnus archives #tma #jon sims #jonathan sims #jonsims/timstoker #jontim #tim stoker #timothy stoker #tma season 2 #tma thoughts #theyre in my brain #theyre so so messy and SAD #if you see me plotting a fic of them #mind your business

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soshadysoquiet · 10 days

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Five sucks at Math - A Headcanon

This is a personal fav of mine, not necessarily one I think is real in the show, but that I find endlessly funny for an AU and will now provide evidence for.

Sometimes it seems Reggie didn't give Five the same 'break em down' treatment as obviously as he did the others, but boy do we know Five was a frustrated child, so:

Reggie forced this lil toddler to believe his powers were equation-based, meanwhile Five had just Wanted to be in the pantry, what do you mean he needs to do numbers?

As soon as Reggie knows Five is bad at maths, he doubles down - this is why the boy has limitations on his powers that the others don't, Reggie needs to form him into the Correct way of using them.

Five is, of course, useless at maths to the point of near numerical illiteracy initially, not that he Can't learn how to do them with endless repetition and practice, but it does not come naturally, requires a lot of mental energy, and leaves Five extra exhausted and frustrated that he needs to do all this work and One just punches stuff and Two is allowed to work it out from just throwing things not calculate angles (Reggie tried, but we all know he had Zero time for Diego)

That won't stop him from being conceited and prideful: after all the others aren't even doing this kind of math and also it's a defence mechanism.

"Evidence" in the show:

Five can only do so many jumps, and they're very costly to him. The mental strain from calculating even remembered equations on the fly or accidentally slipping and jumping without thinking keeps him tied down.

His jumping is fairly predictable - Lila figures him out in no time, possibly because it was quicker and more strategic for Five to memorise a few set equations than come up with any math on the fly.

He does jump quickly - at what point do we ever see him pause to work out how to avoid being caught in a wall? He automatically jumps away from threat or being thrown (thank you Luther). That speaks to me that it's at least in part instinctual, he defo wasn't doing equations as a bub either.

The most brilliant use of powers Does come at a moment: When he jumps forward at 13, he looks to have no plan for a set destination and just channels his pent up anger and goes. When he rewinds time, he doesn't have time to write on the walls or a book (how we've seen him calculate complex mathematics before) he just needs it and he does it.

Five does not manage to come back from the Apocalypse via maths - now don't get me wrong, It's more complicated than anything I could comprehend and that's very validly the show's reason why. But in the books he Does make it - this Five is bad at math, and he spent horrible years in the apocalypse trying to calculate something he couldn't whilst he was starving and not understanding it.

Why was he forcing himself to find a way out by math if his powers were instinctual? Five says it himself "I told you" he hears in his head every day out there - being frivolous got him stuck, now he needs to follow the rules to get out.

When Five does work it out, he gets it wrong - makes a typo, after having that moment of inspiration. (Again, very valid for Big Complicated Math but stay on this journey with me)

We see him rewind time once, did he stop after this because his abusive childhood training taught him 'shit now I need to work out the numbers before I can do that again don't fuck it up'

Five doing math looks absolutely chaotic (again, many, many reasons for this obvs but lets look at this one) his probability walls produce names out of thin air - where'd you get the names from Five? The phone book? Did the numbers spell that out for you after you'd stared at them long enough? Did you pick some arbitrary people living in the city and work backwards? Complex math yes, but also a brain not wired to do them struggling so desperately to make the numbers make sense. They're meant to make sense. They have to make sense. I wouldn't be in this mess if I had made them make sense the first time-

Five has some little tricks with his powers - swapping a gun with a stapler. That we see him use all of once despite how much of a power move that could be (Viktor's violin? Here's the baguette Klaus was eating) I like to think of this as he found this power instinctually, showed Reginald who Ruined It With Math, and again learned one single practical combat equation that was drilled into him and it was so heinous that he never wanted to play around with more.

SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4.... Five has a doctorate of philosophy on his wall, not a doctorate for math. Powers gone? Awful. No more math? Guess there's the silver lining everyone always talks about.

Anyway, this is just a fun uno reverse that I wanted to write a story about but could never find the full picture for, so here it is.

I liked the idea of in a world with the apocalypse diverted his siblings start to notice Five's struggles with math and gently start helping to re wire that part of his brain that Five didn't have the experience to notice was all Reggie's bullshit.

#tua #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #headcanon #Five is bad at math #it's like another language to him #I relate #let my number-illiterate Five be free #Reggie would have messed him up so bad with this #Five just staring at a textbook in a mute panic about how he's meant to be the clever one and has to get this right. Shit.

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samkerrworshipper · 7 months

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Sam/Kristie request where Kristie is overly anxious about meeting Sam’s family for the first time in Australia? With Sam sweetly reassuring her that she has nothing to worry about ofc ☺️

pinky promise?

sam kerr x kristie mewis

no warnings just anxiety and fluffiness with a supportive gf sam kerr

lol wrote this instead of cramming for my exam tomorrow so pray for meeeee xoxo

“Kris, open up, please.”

I tried to block out Sam’s voice, tried my hardest to ignore it, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do this, I just couldn’t.

“Kristie, my love, open up.”

I couldn’t move, my whole body paralysed by the overwhelming fear that I was feeling at the moment. I’d been going alright, gotten up this morning, eaten breakfast with Sam and gotten changed and ready to go meet her parents for the first time, and just as I’d been putting my mask on and picking up my things to leave the house it had all come crashing down on me. Sam had seen me in an array of states, panic attacks, mental breakdowns, she’d seen it all but this had come out of nowhere. She’d been picking up her car keys when I rushed from the door of our hotel room, running directly into the bathroom and locking the door behind me.

That was what had gotten me here, sitting on the floor of a fucking hotel bathroom, trying my hardest to calm my breathing, willing the tears that were flowing freely down my face to just fuck off. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, I had promised myself that I would be good for Sam, knowing how long she’d waited for this moment, it meant so much to her and I couldn’t bear to wreck it for her, but here I was, doing exactly that.

I heard the door click from behind me and open up, I hid my head very quickly in the shoulder of my jumper, not really caring that I knew I was going to now have to get changed all over again to take of what was now most likely a tear stained jumper, that belonged to Sam.

I could hear her footsteps cautiously getting closer to me, she was clearly a little bit unsure of how to approach this situation, but she also wasn’t a person who hid from confrontation, she faced it head on and I knew she’d do the same with this.

“Kristie, babe, look at me.”

I lifted my heavy head out of my shoulder, looking at the feet of my girlfriend who was standing about two metres away from me.

“Can I come sit down with you?”

Her voice was so calm but also so sure, there was absolutely zero room for confusion in her voice, she knew what she was doing, knew how to communicate with me.

I nodded and watched through bleary ears as the feet approached me and then slid down on the ground next to me, finding themselves next to my own.

Sam didn’t make any contact with me, besides our shoulders being beside each other and that was enough for me, just her presence was enough for me.

“Deep breaths honey, work on your breathing for me.”

I nodded into my own body, obeying Sam’s order and focusing on my breathing, slowly getting it to stabilise. My sobs slowly simmered down to silent crying, fat, wet, warm teards dripping down my eyelashes and onto my face, my face that I’d made look just right for Sam’s parents, everything had to be perfect.

“Good Kristie, you’re doing so well for me.”

Only once I’d calmed down did she initiate contact, very gently draping a arm over my shoulders, bringing my head that I’d tucked into my own body into hers.

“M’ sorry.”

Sam shook her head, one of her hands finding its way to my scalp and gently worming its way between the tresses and piecing their ways through the strands. Her other hand fell to one of my own, tracing little patterns into the sin along the back of my palm.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, how are you feeling?”

I brought my free hand up to my mouth, picking anxiously at my nails.

“I’m fine.”

Sam’s own hand came up to the one at my mouth, tugging it away back to my lap and then going back to her previous ministrations.

“You don’t have to do that with me.”

I bit down on my lip, I loved Sam, with everything I had. I loved how much she cared for me, but it didn’t make it any easier for me to talk about my feelings with her, even though I knew she would never judge me, she was the kind of human who accepted you no matter what and it was what I admired in her more than anything else.

“Do what?”

Sam’s hands continued their motions, slowly forcing me to relax a little bit more, my tense body slowly but surely giving in to her actions.

“Act like everything is alright in front of me, it’s very clearly not and it doesn’t have to be. Tell me about it.”

I cocked my head to the side, unsure about how to talk to Sam about this. She’d seen me mid panic attack, seen my at my worst but we’d never really talked about it, she’d helped me come down from it, let me vent to her whatever I felt like in the moment and then helped me book an appointment with my therapist for the first thing the next day, she’d never taken up the role of therapist, we’d never blurred those lines.

“Your parents.”

Sam’s eyebrow curled up at me, silently asking for me to explain.

“We were going to see them?”

I nodded furiously at her and I knew she was trying so hard to understand the source of my anxiety but she was clearly struggling with the lack of context.

“Kris, honey, I’m going to need a little bit more than that.”

I took a deep breath, tears were still dripping down my face but they were coming to a slow and felt less heavy against my cheeks.

“I’m meeting them for the first time and what if they think I’m not good enough, or that I’m not good for you? What if they hate me and they want nothing to do with me?”

Sam exhaled deeply, I could feel her breathing below my head, her chest moving up and down with every single breath that left her lungs.

“Kris, we’ve talked to them hundreds of times over skype, they love you, they are going to love you.”

She was right, we had talked to them plenty on the phone and skype, but it wasn’t the same, not to me at least.

“You don’t know that, what if they don’t? What if they hate me and then you hate me and we can’t be together anymore, you’ll have to break up with me and I can’t do that again, I can’t go through what happened with Rach, I can’t do it again.”

Sam nodded at my words, clearly taking it all in and trying to make sense of it all.

“Kristie, I’m not going to break up with you, I pinky swear, regardless of what my parents think. They are going to love you, I’m sure of it, but if they don’t then that’s okay, that’s their fault for not seeing everything that I see in you. You are so incredibly perfect and if they don’t love you as much as I do then that’s their own problem, they’re missing out. That’s not going to happen though, they are going to love you just as much as I do.”

I wanted to believe her, but my thoughts betrayed me and it sucked, because I wanted to believe her words but for some reason I just couldn’t manage to convince my brain that what she was telling me was the truth, apparently Sam noticed though.

“Kristie, have I ever lied to you?”

“You told me that you had a pet kangaroo when you were a kid.”

Sam snickered at my reply, but very quickly recovered.

“Have I ever lied to you about anything serious?”

I thought about it for a few seconds, sifting through my brain to try and find an instance that would apply.

“No.”

Sam nodded at my response.

“Exactly, so why would I lie to you about this?”

All of a sudden I felt the damn break and I was a blubbering mess, throwing myself into Sam’s arms and sobbing directly into her jumper.

“What if I’m not enough for them or you? What if I can’t be perfect or right for them and they think I’m bad for you? What if they think that you are too good for me, your fucking perfect at everything and I’m not and what if they see that?”

Sam’s hands were now on my back, rubbing big circles into my back. She was cooing at me, like you did to a baby and I hated it but it felt so good.

“Kristie Anne, nobody is perfect. I’m certainly not and you don’t have to be. You are enough, you are everything I ever want or need. You aren’t bad for me, they think you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Nobody is perfect, my parents aren’t and neither am I. They don’t expect you to be perfect and you know that I don’t, so don’t worry about it, or try not to worry about it. Kris, if you really don’t want to go see them we don’t have to, I’ll tell them that we’re feeling sick of something, but I think we should, I think that you need to overcome this fear and just bite it in the ass by meeting them, because I can guarantee that it’s going to be nowhere near as bad as what you are making it out to be.”

I was clinging onto Sam’s sweatshirt with all of my life.

“Promise?”

She nudged my head out of her sweatshirt, so I was forced to look at her eye to eye.

“I pinky promise.”

I rolled my eyes at her, and she smiled back at my normal annoyance at her childish actions.

“C’mon, let’s go, we’re late for brunch.”

I looked down at Sam’s phone, which was resting in her lap and realised she was right, we were running ten minutes late, which in perspective wasn’t that bad considering that I felt like I’d been sitting on the ensuite floor for four hours.

“Pinky Promise that if they hate me you won’t break up with me?”

Sam nodded at me, smiling and squishing my face reassuringly.

“I pinky promise.”

#woso #woso community #sam kerr #marry me rn #kristie mewis #kewis #these two make me feel single #couple goals #sam kerr is daddy

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missmeinyourbones · 1 year

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hi leah! maybe tobio enemies to lovers where reader thinks they're enemies but tobio is clueless 😭😭

send in a character + trope for a blurb

...

kageyama is an enigma, to say the very least.

because while he seems to be everywhere at once, you barely know anything about him.

he’s quiet in general, or maybe just focused, but all of that seems to be amplified when you're around. in conversations between mutual friends, he shuts down the moment you're involved. he stares at you in public, but never says anything even remotely friendly to you. he’s off, but it just so seems that he’s only off when it comes to you.

so with the evidence at hand, you've concluded that he just doesn't like you.

there is little you do know about him, you know his friends, the majority of them being on the campus volleyball team. you know his major since he’s in three of your classes and somehow always snags a seat directly across from you. you know his schedule, as he arrives early at the library on mondays so he’s on time for your class on the building’s ground floor.

so when you're also waiting in the library finishing a last-minute assignment for your shared course that begins in twenty minutes, it’s clear that you are on two different pages.

he sits diagonally from you at the table for four. acknowledging your presence with a mere nod, he distracts himself with his phone while you frantically throw yourself into your work.

but something just isn’t clicking today. you’ve reread the same sentence about six times now, and you still have no idea what the prompt is asking you. with a huff that can’t quite be stifled, you rub your eyes in frustration.

you’re hungry, in desperate need of a coffee, barely slept last night, and this assignment makes so little sense that you’re debating on taking the zero in order to spare your sanity.

and on top of it all, kageyama tobio sits diagonally from you at the ceramic table, silently watching your mini meltdown. there’s no amusement or blatant disgust in his look, but still, he idly watches your clear frustration.

and then he’s handing you a worksheet.

too checked out to care, you say nothing and look at the paper before you. it's his assignment, the same one you’re working on right now. and at first, you think he’s mocking you—showing off his completed work sure to get a top grade, while you’ve barely started and are on the verge of tears. you think it's an intimidation tactic until he clears his throat.

“uh, you can use that,” he breathes, “to help you outline yours.”

in complete shock, but too desperate to argue, you nod your head. “thanks.”

he nods back, and the only sounds in the library are the shuffling of students on their way to their next class and your pencil furiously scribbling down kageyama’s chicken scratch notes.

and just when you think that’s the weirdest part, he speaks up again.

“i’m gonna grab a coffee, if you want one.”

though your pencil halts its writing, your eyes don't leave your paper when you suspiciously shy from him.

"stop."

he frowns, "stop what?"

"being nice to me," you say as if it's the most obvious observation to make.

kageyama is at a complete loss for words as the accusation seems to come from left field. here he is, offering his pretty classmate his homework and a free coffee, and he’s being scolded? maybe he hit his head in practice this morning.

he sits on the comment for a minute before carefully treading, "am i not usually nice to you?"

your eyes meet his for the first time since the conversation took the turn. and while you look weary, you look a bit guilty too, like you weren't expecting a genuine reaction from him.

"i mean," your shoulders shrug out of pure awkward tension, “you're not not nice, but you're not nice either.”

"well i didn’t think not being nice meant being mean," he confuses himself with the double negative, "if that makes any sense at all."

your eyes fall back to your paper, "i guess so."

kageyama thinks he should leave, but then he remembers you still have his homework. so he checks the time on his phone and panics when he sees that there’s still ten minutes until class starts.

just when he’s about to speak up and make matters worse, you interrupt him.

"sorry, i just—" he watches you readjust in your seat, nervously shifting your weight against the wood and fiddling with your fingernails, "i thought you were supposed to hate me, or something."

oh, he definitely hit his head in practice this morning, maybe even twice.

"hate you?” his voice raises a bit too loud before he remembers that he’s in a library. he ignores the few judgemental glares being thrown his way when he brings his voice back to a normal, but still urgent, level.

“what the hell made you think that?"

you smile in the slightest, and kageyama doesn’t know if it's out of actual amusement or mockery, but either way it makes his stomach flutter with pride. he made you smile, by being an idiot maybe, but you smiled nonetheless. a win is a win in his book.

"i don't know. you're... quiet, and you have a staring problem."

he flushes at the last part, not knowing you’ve noticed his admiring from afar.

"and who said those were signs of hating someone?"

"well, they're definitely not signs of liking someone."

but you’re wrong.

because tobio’s extra quiet around you because he’s nervous. because he doesn't want to fuck up and say the wrong thing that ruins any chance he has with you. and he stares at you because he thinks you're so ridiculously pretty. because he would count your individual eyelashes and beauty marks if you’d let him.

he never thought his actions (or lack thereof) would be taken as negative things when in reality, they're anything but. so with a dumb look on his face, one of sudden realization and embarrassment, he smiles.

"says who?”

#ive never written for this man so sorry if this is bad LOL #hes not my cup of tea but i was willing to try!#i have like ... no feel for his characterization so if this is weird i am only human sob sob #kageyama x reader #kageyama x you #kageyama blurb #kageyama fluff #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio x you #kageyama hq

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viviennelamb · 1 month

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A soulmate means you're mentally, emotionally and spiritually compatible with one soul and you are eternally loyal to her, not just when it suits your loins or when you want a distraction to stave off bouts of loneliness. The key word is "soul," so this has nothing to do with physicality. To find your soulmate, you have to know what the soul is first, otherwise you won't know what you're looking at, wondering why everything is a match on paper but that person is being difficult "for no reason." There's a reason.

What prevents one from knowing who her soulmate is primarily vanity. Each lifetime our conscious memories and appearance resets, the only thing that remains is our progress towards or distance from realizing the Truth which reflects in our next lifetime. This familiarity is usually recognized in how that person carries herself: her mannerisms and other things that stick with souls and is hard to fake regardless of the culture they grew up in that lifetime. This is also true for enemies, there are people who become fixated on hating each other and it consumes their lives to the point where they respawn in the same family so they can conveniently continue their conflict.

I know who my soulmate is and once she stops being worldly, avoidant and steeped in egotism, I'll be here. If she doesn't heal from her egotism in this lifetime, we'll meet again in another. She's only temporarily confused, but I'll catch her up on the truth when she's ready to actually listen. Lust is really is the final boss of delusion & everybody is fighting for their lives. If a "solution" to your problem is in the external world, it's a false solution because it will disappear upon physical death. People say "happiness comes from within" as a platitude but when you actually live it, they think you're extreme. Cosmic optimism comes from your soul, not sex.

A common fallacy people believe with soulmates is that they have to align with you which isn't always possible. Since we're in the Dark Age, almost every soul is more likely to fall into deeper into egotism each lifetime instead of climbing out of it. You can't talk a soul out of her brainwashing. In fact, she'll think you're the brainwashed one for not hallucinating... whatever you say beautiful. Zero faith, zero science, zero proactivity, zero love, yet all the pride and meanness in the world, clearly. But these are the times were in. If you think you're not brainwashed, you need to trust in the soul's Intelligence more than what the parasitic ego is showing you at that time which helps her evolve faster.

Sometimes, we're meant to be in the background of our soulmate's life helping her free herself of man-consciousness, so people who think you're supposed to marry your soulmate each lifetime are wrong. She has her own lessons to learn and it's up to you to learn yours as well. I've chosen to get better at explaining the truth, improving my strength and resilience while waiting for the day she's ready to sincerely hear me out. In the end, everything that's meant to happen will happen, but humans like prolonging the inevitable because they think there's something to have here. I'm not going to pry anything out of her hands, if she wants the world she can have the world. God will give you everything you want, but one day, in some lifetime, you'll grow tired of believing your ignorance start letting God give you what you need instead.

Egos don't have soulmates, they have fuckmates. If you've met your soulmate, it's completely different from the fake love egotists talk about. Your soulmate would think you're too good to treat like a common whore and they will say this themselves regardless of how hyper sexual they are. Love gives even the most fucked up mind a moment of clarity.

The ego-identified soul has the memory of a hamster because she constantly lies to herself. So she will say something loving one minute and in the next she'll tell a lie. I used to think people like this were purposefully being abrasive, but they have a war in their minds. It's like dealing with somebody with dementia where they have moments of lucidity and you get excited just to see them fall into into mindlessness and this cycle happens repeatedly. At some point you let go of whatever potential you think they have, settle for their insanity and go crazy with them or take a step back and focus on your soul.

I'm only writing this because some people have no-so-covertly tried to find out my "type" so they can confirm I'm a lesbian. I don't have a type, but I'll be even more specific for you: there's only one soul. All I'm interested in is remaning lucid in this Dream, so I won't become prey to society's alien concepts of the "right way to live." I'm not interested in dating (as in going on dates with random people to find somebody to occupy my time and life). Dating has never crossed my mind as an option either.

Life is about devotion to God, which means the God in people as well. But nobody has to be devoted to an ego who hates her soul which is why I disagree with the commonly pushed concept of "loving everybody," (people who say this want everybody to love them). If you met your soulmate and she was in the throes of self-hate, you'd know to step aside because it's not about you. You have to let people emotionally develop on their own, there's no convincing them otherwise. If your unevolved soulmate is around you for too long, she's gonna get too relaxed and take out her immaturity on you, making you egotistical as well. Give her some motivation and let her suffer a bit lol.

Followers of Neville Goddard should know this much... if you're searching for something, that means you don't know what you want and if you don't know what you want, how will you get what you want? Only people who don't know what they want date, that's like window shopping for people. All of us meet the same souls from a previous lifetime, none of us are meeting "new" people. I'm not interested in anything new anyways, I'm happy with what I have because I know for a fact there's nothing better. I'm persistent, but I'm not pushy. What's ordained is ordained.

#doesn't matter if it's a trillion lifetimes souls are worth the wait and effort.#once you understand there's literally no rush. nowhere to run. no death. etc you'd understand.

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storiesbyjes2g · 4 months

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3.64 Babies

The next day was Sophia's first day off, and it was so nice to see her still sleeping beside me when my eyes finally opened. I smiled as I got up to prepare breakfast, remembering we'd have the entire day together for the first time. My goal was not to wake her, but rustling around the kitchen definitely did. She threw her arms around my waist from behind with a breathy good morning. She had such simple way of making me feel loved and appreciated it. I wanted to return the sentiment, but again, I didn't feel like the moment was right.

As we ate, we discussed potential activities to commemorate our first day alone together. Everything I suggested required us getting dressed and leaving the house. But to my surprise, she requested to stay home, put her hair up, and wear sweats. I guess we had done a lot of socializing that week. It didn't bother me one bit, but she wasn't as outgoing and social as me, so I agreed to a cozy day in because any time spent with Sophia was time well spent, no matter where or what.

She gasped as a random thought came to mind.

"The dog! We could adopt our dog today!"

"Oh right!"

We were supposed to do that yesterday, but my impromptu trip to Mama's house derailed that plan. After breakfast, we got dressed and went to the adoption website.

"See anyone you like?" I asked.

"All of them?"

"HA! Nice try."

We had trouble narrowing down our choices and had the agent bring the three puppies we liked the most. We hoped interacting with them would help make the decision easier, but as soon as she opened the crate, those little guys ran out and completely ruined our ability to think straight. They were all so cute and had distinct personalities. How could we choose?

I thought I liked the one with the spots the best. He was very playful but wouldn't stop barking and was annoyingly loud. The adoption lady kept yelling at him, and I could have sworn I saw him giving her the evil eye.

Sophia and I both liked the brown one, so he was a definite yes.

But there was something about the gray one. She kept following me around, probably because she knew we were meant for each other. I couldn't let the adoption lady take her away. Our original plan was to adopt one dog, but I was incapable of choosing between the two. Luckily, it took zero convincing for Sophia to agree to adopt them both, so we became parents of two adorable fur babies.

Their names were Kooper and Rosie. I wondered if they knew each other from the adoption center because they took to each other like dye in melted wax. We watched them play happily together for a few minutes and knew we had made the right decision to get them both. Training and raising two puppies would be tough, but at least they would have each other, and Sophia and I wouldn't have to constantly entertain them.

After watching them play for a bit, we bought feeders, beds, and toys like the responsible dog parents we were. Once everything was set up, we looked around and felt pretty good about this new journey we embarked. Sophia got on the computer to work on her exam prep, and I sat next to her for moral support, scrolling through Social Bunny.

"Can you believe we adopted two dogs?" Sophia asked.

I snorted.

"We're crazy."

"How big do you think they'll get?"

"Hopefully not too big. This house is pretty small, even for the two of us."

I couldn't catch the words as they exited my mouth, and I hoped she wasn't offended, seeing as I never told her how I felt about the house. I was stating a fact, not expressing disgust. But luckily, she agreed and said she'd been thinking about moving ever since I arrived, and the only reason she lived there was because of the cheap rent. She continued that train of thought, but I couldn't hear her over my own thoughts. I'd been trying for two days to keep my feelings inside while I waited for the right time to express them. But I felt something like a volcano building up pressure inside me, and I couldn't stop it if I wanted to.

"I love you," I shouted.

She gasped and clutched at her heart.

"Tell me again."

"I love you."

In what looked like one movement, she went from sitting at the desk to sitting in my lap and kissing me like the world would end tomorrow. Clothes began flying, and before I knew it, we were in Sixam again.

We laid there in a catatonic state for a few moments, panting, sweating profusely, wondering how our bodies could handle so much pleasure. If the woohoo kept getting exponentially better like it had been, I wasn't sure if I could survive this relationship, heh. Sweet Watcher! She was dangerous.

Eventually, I came back to life and got up to see about the ruckus in the other room. I saw a huge puddle on the rug. But when Kooper ran inside and shook himself dry—creating yet another puddle—I exhaled in relief that it was only water from the rain. Our life with those two was going to be action-packed. I could feel it. But I loved those little boogers already and wouldn't have it any other way.

Need to catch up? See what you missed or start reading here!

#ISBI challenge #sims 4 story #sims 4 gameplay #adolting #adolting gen 3 #luca winston murillo #sophia aguilar #kooper #rosie #I eventually fixed their eyes #anyone know what makes pet eyes break?#also? adopting 2 pups is one of the best things I've done in this game!#sim spice

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saltpepperbeard · 6 months

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WAAAAAAGHHG HEY ITS ME AGAIN IM SO SORRY I HAVE A THOUGHT AND DONT KNOW WHO ELSE TO GIVE IT TO: Im going to try really hard to be quick!! Still reeling from ep 8!!! (I have so many thoughts and emotions- tldr I know it struggled with pacing but I just really loved it. I’m so glad this show exists. Not going to recover anytime soon!! Excellent.)

I think the ending is a great setup for what could be coming next! Looking back at this season as a whole it feels to me like they had two major points they zeroed in on: 1- Edward’s state of mind. We spend a lot of time with him when no one else is- we’re with him in his head while he tries to process what he wants and how he’s going to get it. We see him wrestle with feeling unlovable, and then we sort of sit with him in his pov while he starts, (STARTS!! He’s not done yet!!) to understand that he IS loved and there ARE people waiting for him. 2- The Golden Age of piracy is ending. They lost The Republic of Pirates, they lost Spanish Jackie’s bar, Zhengs fleet, and they lost Izzy, the most pirate to ever pirate. After the couple of weeks(??) season two takes place- the OFMD cinematic universe is going to be different for pirates now.

ALL THAT TO SAY- after Izzy’s funeral, (rip king I sobbed lol) when Zheng asks Ed and Stede to team up- Stede says something like, “He needs a minute”/“Maybe give him a minute”. So they agree to help- but they stay behind to build their inn. (“It’s a fixer upper, but the bones are good.” ITS THEM ITS THEM THEYRE EACHOTHERS FOUNDATIONS THEY JUST HAVE TO BUILD ONTO IT TO MAKE IT A HOME IM GOING TO TURN TO ASH) this is a decision both of them make- this will give them time to just be. I think Ed still has a ways to go, and talks to have, and maybe needs some time to grieve Izzy, but Stede is there, and they love eachother, and they will be ok. Shit will still go down, and they’ll get involved again eventually, but they’re going to take a minute. NOW. That wraps up this season as a part two of a Three part show- we have a setup for the next big bad, and we’ve focused a lot on Ed (accompanied by Stede’s) issues/insecurities with a focus on Ed having to deal with his issues directly. He had to sit and talk, honestly talk. Do you know. Which half of our main pair. Has not done that?? The guy who the show still deliberately makes a point of showing us he is STILL. NOT OK. Granted, he had the end of season one to realize what he wanted and what he felt, but then we had so many moments this season of him reacting to those feelings but not actually talking about them to anyone. SO. What if the last season is meant to be point 2 revisited- piracy is still ending, the world is changing so how do we deal? And point 1, but FLIPPED. WHAT IF. Season three is Stede’s turn revisited??? Season three with Ed AND Stede TALKING and Stede genuinely coming to terms with the fact that the people he loves are not better off without him- that he doesn’t have to earn the love he thinks he doesn’t deserve?? What if he gets to take that final step into a new world where being a pirate can’t be the same as it was before, but that spirit carries on and now he knows he’s loved and has worth regardless?? I STILL WANT THAT MAN TO BE THROWN IN THE EMOTIONAL BATHTUB IS WHAT IM SAYING. I don’t know if this is anything, or if this is true or accurate!!! Do I just want to see them kiss and cry some more?? MAYBE. Aaaaagh I just really hope djenks gets to made season 3- he deserves to finish his pirate story and I would very much like to be here when he does. hbo max count your days.

Also I once again want to thank you for your thoughts and screams over the course of this season- you really are incredible at character analysis and it’s been an absolute pleasure to come running over to this corner after each episode to see what you think. Thank you for posting. YOU. are WONDERFUL THANK YOU <3 <3 (also. Also also. THEY KISSED SO MANY TIMES ED READ STEDES FUCKIN LETTER ED SAID I LOVE YOU AND THEY ARE NO LONGER SEPARATED. MARRIAGE. I CANT BELIEVE THIS SHOW IS THE WAY IT IS. There is still an owch but!!! It’s a good owchie now 😭😭)

I AM ONCE AGAIN HONORED TO GET SUCH A BEAUTIFUL STRING OF THOUGHTS IN MY INBOX??? <3

PARTICULARLY EXCITED, HAPPY, POSITIVE ONES SJDKSDS LIKE I AM HUGGING YOU SO SO TIGHT <3 <3 <3

AND ALSO, I'M SHARING SO MANY OF YOUR SENTIMENTS TOO SDJKJSHDKLS LIKE-

*INHALES* So seeing the little house in the BTS footage ~*~fucked me up~*~ because I just had a FEELING it was going to be both literal and symbolic for them and their relationship. A little house that's struggling, and falling apart in some places, but is still standing after years and years of battering. It's been through the wringer, yet it still flourishes with so much life and beauty. And it has the potential to grow into something even more beautiful and strong with some mutual effort and tender love and care.

AND THAT'S THEM!!! THAT'S THEIR RELATIONSHIP!!! Like, as you said, they're BOTH still so hurt. They BOTH still have issues to work on. But now they're there, together. They're standing on the same, rickety, wooded floors. They're there, ready to patch things, side by side.

AND YES, I've very much thought it was going to be Stede for Season 1's focus, Ed for Season 2's focus, and then both of them for Season 3's focus, but I do like your idea of it looping back around to Stede! Or maybe like, SHARING the focus. Because, as you said, Stede needs his fRIGGIN BATHTUB, and Ed still needs time to figure out who he is.

It's just such a delicious setup indeed, and I am crossing my fingers so so hard that it gets greenlit quickly for us here. There's just so much MEAT to their dynamic that's still left, still so much to be EXPLORED AND GROWN. AND ESPECIALLY, LIKE YOU SAID, WITH THEIR WORLD COMPLETELY CHANGING AROUND THEM TOO!!! THE BRITISH!!! THE REVENGE BEING CAPTAINED BY FRENCHIE!!!! ZHENG AND AUNTIE WANTING TO GET AT RICKY!!!!!! SO SO MUCH!!!!!!!

BUT anyway, thank YOU so much for taking the time to come in here and share YOUR thoughts, too! It's been such a delight reading them, and I'm so glad we could MUTUALLY SCREAM SDJKSDKLS <3

#Answered #oh-dear-gracious #OFMD #OFMD Season 2 #OFMD S2 Spoilers #Gentlebeard #Blackbonnet #Edward Teach #Stede Bonnet

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write-and-buried · 2 years

Text

Celestial Navigation

Part 3 - First Quarter

(gif by the magnificent @pedropascalsx)

Summary; ....well, at least your boss knows your name

Warnings; drug use (marijuana), casual touching - F!Masturbation, the raunchiest nastiest, dirty talk, Dieter being a chaos gremlin, some descriptions of a really terrible workplace environment.

A/N; Once again, the love, support and kindness you all have shown this fic has truly blown me away and I cannot express how much I appreciate all of it. This has been a rough week for me, so thank you for being my safe space <3

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Well… at least she knows your name now.

Leaving the office at 5pm on a Friday is a cardinal sin. The other interns watch you with a curious expression as you gather your wallet and phone, shoving them hastily into your handbag. You hope they aren’t looking close enough at your face to see the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. If you get out of here in under a minute, you can cry safely on the street.

There’s no crying in this office. You made it through the first round of layoffs, the relief an itch in your chest as you watched co-workers pack their desks, move their little succulent plants into cardboard boxes and vanish. All their work was farmed out to all of you, 100 people whittled down to seventy with the same amount of papers. It was inevitable that something would get missed.

And you missed it. A line in one of the thousand spreadsheets, not updated, the formula not copied over. Ones and zeroes that caused the math to implode, for everything to grind to a halt until they found your error, fixed it and resumed the churning pace, each of you glued to screens with headphones and mouths set into a grim line.

She didn’t yell at you. It was in the raise of her eyebrow, the twitch of her finger over her keyboard, the way you watched her manicured nails hover over the “delete” key, as if it would have real world consequences. It was an hour of dressing down, of explaining the mistake in its simplest terms, as though you were an infant, your first class of your first year. No sympathy for the late nights or caffeine fuelled mornings, where you dragged yourself into the office mere hours after leaving it.

“I want you to take the weekend and consider your future with this company.” She sniffed, her eyes narrowing as she looked over your attire. “We certainly will”

There’s nothing waiting for you at your apartment except a Lean Cuisine and a dead plant. The streets are full of people in the same business attire as you, listening to podcasts and talking on headsets, they part around you like a rock in a river, barely noticing the tears that are now flowing freely down your cheeks. Nobody would stop if you were screaming, it doesn’t matter that it’s silent.

You start to walk.

Fall meant blankets for Dieter. He pulled them from the linen cupboard in his kitchen with something akin to glee, emptying the shelves of the rainbow of fleece and thick comforters, spreading them around his apartment as he walked in and out of the balcony, breathing in the air that chilled his lungs.

Summer had left without a goodbye, no final send-off of scorching heat or sticky sidewalks. Instead, the sun rose one morning on air that felt crisp, that chilled lungs and demanded steam in a hot shower, for the tea to be steeped a moment longer, the mug to warm your hands. Taking on an orange hue as the stores changed from bright colours to warm earth tones, the occasional pop of Halloween peeking through as hemlines got longer. Dieter reached for sweatpants most mornings.

He called you once a week. He saw you once a week. That was the baseline established. You would come in on a weekend in the mid-morning rush, and he would get a call, Owen, or sometimes Molly letting him know of your arrival. It was his wakeup call some days, just a few steps away from opening his eyes to see you first thing. He fell down the last stair most mornings. You would sit and talk with him, people watch in his carved out corner as you drank your coffee, ate a muffin. You asked him about himself, and he answered you honestly.

You seemed wholly unsurprised about the drugs, the women, the men. He had only made oblique references, a highlight reel of parties and tabs of LSD, you even laughed when he told you about Bertha, the strawberry-banana weed plant growing in the abandoned bathtub on his balcony. You guessed correctly that he preferred to grow his own, no pesticides or interference. He’d used the seeds from his last harvest, grown her again and marvelled at the cycle of life. Owen brought up the used coffee grounds once a week for fertilizer. He got the jars from goodwill.

You admitted your own indulgence was a glass of good Chardonnay. He’d stocked his fridge with Chablis right next to the blueberries, his whiskey remaining on top of the fridge, bottles emptied and repurposed, growing flowers out of makers mark on his nightstand.

The phone calls were his favourite. The shyness about you disappeared, you were more willing to admit things, less willing to suffer the silence as he waited for you to expand on an answer. If you didn’t want to answer something, you told him and he asked a different question. Your favourite colour was of ruby grapefruits.

He smoked and painted while you talked, bowls of fruit and tidily rolled joints accompanying your laughter. He loved to make you laugh. It tugged at his insides when you said you rarely did otherwise. On the weekends you chatted with Owen and Molly, lingering at the counter while Owen ground and pressed, and Molly doodled on your receipt. They knew better than to charge you, so you compromised by buying someone else’s.

You had no tattoos, the only piercings simple studs in your ear. You’d looked interested as he slowly filled in the triangles on his forearms, but didn’t ask him. He was still resisting the urge to push, to unfurl his fingers and reach to touch you in those quiet lulls of conversation. Feel your skin again under his thumbs, as if he could ever forget the sensation.

The scent of melted dark chocolate and cannabutter was thick in his kitchen. He could feel a mild contact high as a fuzz in his limbs as he watched them blend together. A floured pan was waiting for the brownies off to the side, and so far he’d only burned the tip of one finger on the cooktop. His lungs were too old for the crispness of the air, and after a few days of sobriety in the guise of a tolerance break, he found the scribbled brownie recipe in a Julia Child cookbook he had been given more than a decade ago.

He would call you tonight. Your last call had ended with his honesty. You still seemed to hedge whenever he opened, this delicate dance of advance and retreat. Every time you asked a question, you knew the answer, but seemed surprised when he gave it to you anyway. It was well past two am, the streets quiet as he watched the fan spin above him, listened to you talk again about ambitions and goals and plans that had more steps than the recipes he followed.

You hesitated, faltering at the finish. He wanted to ask you “What then?” what happens when you check every item off your list, when you’ve undoubtably achieved everything you want to and there’s no moon left to reach for – which lofty star would gain the focus of your new pursuits. But he let the silence linger, waiting for the question he could taste in the air, smoke curling from the ashtray at his bedside.

“Dieter… do you ever wonder what the rest of your life looks like?”

“No Loulou… this is the rest of my life. Talking on the phone with you.”

“Sorry we’re closed”

The bell creaks your arrival, groaning under the pressure of the day as you shove the door open. You don’t know why you’re here, why your feet brought you, protesting the impractical heels that carried you blocks and blocks in the dwindling sunlight. Everything hurts from crying, your face angry hot from the tears. The reasons left you in the smog from screaming cabs, catching in the choking pollution until you were blind with it, left with nothing but a hollow despair.

“Did you hear, I said… oh fuck!” Owen turned and blanched as he looked at you, dropping the rag he was using to polish the gleaming machine.

“I’m ok, everything’s ok, I’m sorry, I just…” you start, shame creeping up your spine as you watch the colour drain from his thin face. He scrambles, beads clinking merrily as he ducks behind the curtain.

“DIETER!” His voice booms, loud and echoing around the empty shop as you jump, holding your elbows as you glance at the door, wanting to run, to go home to your dead plant and sad dinner and pretend you didn’t have a breakdown. To glance nervously at your phone with a glass of chardonnay and hope he calls.

Instead he appears, dishevelled in sweats and a bathrobe that’s at least three sizes too big. He’s wearing sunglasses, there’s a stain that looks like chocolate on his cheek. He carries with him the same frantic energy, spiced this time with fear as he sees you, takes stock of your appearance and points at the chair, the faded mustard yellow that’s unofficially yours.

“Owen, grab one of those veggie pastries, make a hot chocolate and fuck off” he says, his voice stricter than you’ve heard it before, a glint of danger as he watches you, the painful shuffle as you make your way through the mismatched desks and tables.

He crouches rather than sits, close enough that you can smell the air on him, the crispness of fall and spices that cling to his clothing. Close enough you could count the greys in his beard. He watches as you fold in on yourself, shoes dropping to the floor with an echoing thunk as you curl into the familiar softness of his company. He doesn’t say anything, his eyes darting frantically around your features as you hear Owen in the background.

There’s a clink, a steaming cup and a plate placed beside you, as Owen offers you a smile, palms Dieter’s shoulder as he leaves in silence. The lock sounds heavy as it clicks behind him.

“Eat, Loulou” he says, his hands splayed wide on the armrests of the chair. You watch as his thumbs tick like metronomes as he strokes the fabric. This is the closest he’s been, since that first day. He doesn’t touch you, besides the accidental brushing of clothed knees as you sit in the mid mornings. He gestures when he talks, tugging at his clothes or his hair, watching your own limbs as you sit still, pen poised in your grip, hovering over the journal you always intend to write in.

The pastry is good, full of rich vegetables and buttery soft flakes, the hot chocolate steals the heat from your face, distributing it throughout your body as he waits patiently for you to finish. He brings you an extra napkin, you dry your eyes.

“Owen can’t deal with crying women. We had this woman once, who would come in and read these tragic romances, and sob over her latte. He went to this bookstore in Hell’s Kitchen and bought her all these bodice ripping pirate novels and told her she was banned from reading anything without at least two nipples on the front cover.”

You hiccup a laugh.

“Her names Mallory, they trade Kindle recommendations for books with aliens with blue dicks now”

“I’m sorry Dieter, I didn’t mean to… I should just go, this was stupid, I’m sorry, I’ve worried you for nothing and it’s stupid really. Honestly, I’m fine, it was just a bad day, I made this mistake, and it was completely my fault and I should have known better and I shouldn’t be crying, I should have just done it properly the first time”

“Can I give you a hug?” He asks. “Would that be okay?”

He waits. Perched on the balls of his feet as though his knees aren’t screaming in protest, as if his whole body hadn’t been jolted by electricity from the sight of you in pain. The roar of primal rage that flooded every sense the minute he saw the tears glistening on your cheeks brought him back to his youth, to the cocaine fuelled bar brawls and waking up with sticky fists. He gave it up in his twenties, but found he felt the need to scorch the earth to find those that caused you pain. You nod. Just a tiny jerk of your chin, your eyes filling again as he watches your fiddle with the hem of your shirt, looking down to try and blink them away.

He's stronger than he looks. The baggy clothes hiding a thick frame as he lifts you, depositing you back onto the armchair, curled exactly the same with him beneath you. He wraps the bathrobe around you both, bringing his arms around your middle as your head rests on his shoulder. He’s warm. Soft and broad beneath you as you feel his body still when your hair brushes his cheek.

Its easier, to bury the words in his skin. To talk into his shoulder, your eyes on the pulse of his throat as you explain your day. The dressing down from your boss, the judgemental eyes on you as you left the fluorescent lighting of the office, the pain in your feet from walking here. That you weren’t even sure why you were here, just that you didn’t want to go home. His thumb smooths a steady rhythm on your hip, rubbing tiny gentle circles over the robe and your clothing. You can feel him breathing beneath you, his warmth floods your senses.

“You don’t have to go home” he says quietly.

He still thinks you’re soulmates. He still thinks that this friendship you’ve fostered is the kindling to a blazing inferno. You don’t tell him about the coffee dates you sometimes go on throughout the week, about the men you swipe right on Tinder, the hopes you pin to white smiles and JDs.

“I can’t”

“I have a batch of weed brownies cooling on the counter. A stack of movies and very comfy couch. Nothing else.” He says, shrugging so you look at him. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes” its an answer without hesitation.

“I’m not going to use your shitty workday as an excuse to tempt you into bed. We can get high and watch movies and fall asleep. That’s it – we’re friends right now Loulou, this is what friends do. Promise”

He hooks his pinkie into yours, nudging his nose against your cheek as he nods, waiting for you to agree. When you do, he lifts you to your feet, grabbing your shoes as you wander slowly behind the beaded curtain.

Everything is green. There are plants in every corner of the apartment. Apartment is generous for the room you’re standing in. Shaped in an awkward rectangle with a sliding door, a small kitchen is crammed into a corner, shelves sit uneven, their contents sliding drunk with gravity. A huge deep green couch in front of a large television, looking every bit as soft and comfortable as promised. Hiding behind a wicker screen is his bed, which is when you start laughing.

“Like it?” he asks, grinning as he flicks off light switches, darkening the hallway leading to the stairs. Its round. Huge and sprawling, pillows piled against the wall with crisp sheets tucked awkwardly on the rounded edges. You can see where he sleeps with the comforter, puddled in the middle and your brain provides you with an absurd image of him, a frog on this lily pad, talking on the phone with you as the ceiling fan spins above.

“It’s very you” you shrug, gravitating towards the corner, paint and canvases stacked like pizza boxes, a tower almost as tall as you. The easel is propped on a brick, the work only half finished as you look at it. Its streaks of midnight, deep rich blues as you look closer, the tiny speckles of the universe behind a moon made of spun lace, glued to the canvas. In the foreground, two tiny figures sit hand in hand, as if observing the webbing above them.

“This is beautiful” you say, reaching your hand towards the texture, stopping yourself at the smell of fresh paint. He hasn’t finished it yet, some white canvas peeking through the edges.

“Thank you” he says, grabbing your hand and pressing forward. Your fingerprints are left on the sticky surface, they come away streaked purple. “I’m going to suggest something that’s going to freak you out a little bit. Take a shower. I’m going to give you some of my clothes to change into – you can’t be comfortable all buttoned up like this. Half a brownie and a shower, and then we’ll watch some movies”

He wipes your hand on his shirt, taking most of the pigment with it as he strolls to his cluttered counter, a tray of half cut brownies waiting on the edge, balanced precariously. You can see the jars behind him, half full of buds of weed in mason jars. There’s an orchid growing out of a bottle of Makers Mark.

He grabs dark sweats from a haphazardly folded pile, pulls one shirt, then another, before settling on a third and giving them to you. From his pantry he gives pulls a towel in jewel tones before opening the door to his bathroom, depositing them on a cluttered vanity. You catch a glimpse of more plants before he skitters back to the kitchen, a knife held loosely in his grip as he ponders the slab of brownie.

“Have you…”

“I went to college Dieter” you reply, rolling your eyes.

He cuts two pieces, cutting one in half before offering it to you. The chocolate smells rich and heavenly, decadent in the weight of it as you take a bite, the flavours exploding across your tongue as you taste cinnamon and brown sugar, just a hint of the vegetal weed exploding across your senses.

He eats the other half, and then another piece as you finish yours. You notice the way he lingers on your lips as you suck the chocolate from your thumb. He points to the bathroom; you enter to another jungle. There’s a plant in a terracotta pot in the corner of his shower. All the soap is cluttered on the floor.

But the shower itself is a marvel. You lock the door behind you and stare, the giant square head protruding right from the ceiling, and you know it will rain down on you like that first day you met him, heavy and warm and soothing. You fold your clothes neatly, rolling them to fit in your handbag as you turn the water on, immediately jealous of the hot water streaming from his taps.

It washes down the drain at your feet as you turn under the heavy spray. The tension that had been slowly leaking from your pores turns to a gush as you relax, allowing your eyes to drift shut as the hot water hammers your shoulders, your palms braced on the tile. Idly, you wonder if Dieter had ever placed his hands here, if he stood in this same position.

It was cold enough to stand outside and will himself to calm down. The sound of the shower had his cock perking up with interest. It had been silenced by your tears as you moulded yourself onto his lap, but the idea that you were naked mere feet from him had brought it back to life with a roar. He forced himself into the cold, tucking himself into the waistband of his sweats as he looked over his apartment. He shoved the toys into the bottom drawer, wincing at the stickiness of dried lube as he made note to run them through the dishwasher in the morning. He turned off the overhead lights, grabbing a weighted blanket from the bed and throwing it with a grunt onto the couch.

The lava lamp on the coffee table gave off a blueish softness, making him feel as though he was underwater, his limbs heavy as he loaded up a bowl with salted cashews, grabbing a few sodas from his fridge as he scrolled through the DVD menu, waiting to hear the water stop.

Oh. Oh.

Oh, you look so good in his clothes. Your hair is still damp as you exit, clouds of steam billowing with you as if you’re a goddess come to earth, shoving your handbag into a corner with his laundry. His brain is static, all white noise and lust as he watches the way his shirt stretches across your tits. You’re wearing fabric that has touched his skin, that smells like him. You’re going to smell like him. His cock twitches dangerously at his hip.

“Dracula first” he says, amazed he found words other than begging you to let him taste what you taste like mixed together.

Everything is so deliciously warm. You’re under a blanket that presses on your thighs, the weight making you feel heavy. Everything is clouds and deep breaths, blurry and hazy, a film left too long exposed. Your fingers are salty from cashews, the texture on your skin making a pleasant hum as you shift closer to Dieter again. He’s blurry too, as though you’re looking at him underwater, and your palm, swimming in and out of focus makes you giggle, as you trace the lines he did, trying to recreate his steps.

“Mount of Venus” you say, your tongue thick and warbling as you press into the padded flesh.

“Mhm” he replies, deep and rumbling, an ancient carving next to you. You rest your head on his shoulder, your palm in his lap and wait.

“Pleasure” he says, his fingers twitching across the blanket. “Love of beauty, and expression. Warm and open, giving to others. Intimacy, sexual expression”

“You said mine was pronounced.” You grab his hand, flipping it in the mirror of your first meeting, trailing your fingers across his palm. You feel him shiver next to you. “Yours is too”

“Mhm” he repeats, his head lolling to look at you. He’s beautiful really. The blue shadows dancing across his features. His skin is soft, the lines deep in his face. There are mismatched patches on his beard, he’s greying around the jaw. You want to scrape a finger across it, but your arms feel too heavy to lift.

“I’m not going to kiss you Bette” he says, flipping his hand onto yours, matching those movements with a delicate touch. It races up your spine, flames licking at your senses as you sigh, shift even closer to him.

“Why not?”

“We’re high. And I made a promise. And I haven’t gotten tested, and you haven’t gotten tested, so even if I was going to kiss you, I’d have to deny myself everything else. And if I did kiss you, you’d vanish so fast in the morning, and it would take months to get back here. And if I want you like this by the New Year, it’s better to be patient”

He sounds sober in the moment. A determination in his voice as he presses his thumb into your pulse. You know he’s right. The tiny voice that’s drowned by weed shouts agreement. You would run from him in the morning – you’d know immediately it was a mistake.

“And if we weren’t?” you ask, edging yourself over the flame.

“Are you sure you want to know?” he asks, nodding to the TV, where Boris Karloff follows the Ave Maria to find a friend.

“Tell me what I’m missing”

“Have you ever been properly fucked beautiful girl?”

He watches the way your pupils’ contract. The tremble in your lip at the hitch in your breath. He feels your pulse jump beneath his fingers, feels the twin twitch beneath his own sweats. He’s thought about nothing but properly fucking you, of taking apart every put together piece of you and rearranging them between his sheets. Of finding every spot that makes you giggle, squirm, moan. Of what you look like covered in a thin film of sweat, of the way you swallow when you cum.

“Yes” you whisper.

“Liar” he accuses. “You’d be thinking of them right now, not wondering what I mean. Do you know what I mean Loulou? When I say I want to properly fuck you?”

“No” its breathy and soft, and he knows that’s exactly what you’ll sound like when he finally buries himself to the hilt inside you.

“I’ve thought about it a lot.”

He’s throbbing, thankful and mournful for the weighted blanket not betraying the weight of his cock pressed into his hip. He can feel it, the first sticky bead as it seeps into the waistband. You’re watching his mouth, your eyes focused on his tongue over teeth as he sucks in a breath, tries to calm himself.

“I’d start at your neck. I know someone in college probably got it right on accident. Found the spot where if you scrape their teeth just right, you’d whimper. That spot, and then the others, under your jaw, right down the middle of your throat. I’m going to mark you; my beard alone will leave you red. But I want my teeth as well, I want to brand it right over your pulse, watch it bloom like an opening flower. I want you weak kneed, grinding up against me because you’re already soaking wet.”

“Do you think you’re that good?”

“I know I’m that good. It’s the getting you naked part that will be a problem the first time. Because I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself. I think I’m going to destroy a bit of your clothing, my clothing, to begin with. I’m a fan of a good striptease, but I think that will have to wait until later. Once the ravenous hunger has died down a bit.”

You squirm. Just enough that he knows you’re pressing your thighs together, that some of the lazy warmth has concentrated right between your legs.

“I have to taste you. I’m desperate to taste you. Some days I lay on that bed and think about all the different ways I want to. I want to have you spread open on that armchair downstairs so I can see just how wet you are – I want you on my face, I want to pull all your weight on me, so I can feel how your whole body twitches when you cum. I want to watch you open for me, watch the way your clit swells every time I wrap my lips around it, the throbbing of your cunt before I even work my fingers inside.”

You whimper. Its enough to make him hiss. A strain against his muscles as he grinds his hips into nothing. You’re both unsettled now, shifting to find comfort against your own skin. His cock hurts, and you’re right here and you smell like him, and all he’s touching is your palm.

“You’d take one finger for me, easy. Two and three might take more coaxing, but I know you’ll take them for me. You’ll be so out of it by the first time I make you cum that the second and third will feel like a wave, crashing and breaking and not stopping. I think three might make you squirt; I hope it does. I want to be drenched in you, drink it down. I think you’re going to taste like blueberries, sugared and sweet and dripping. I want my palm soaked in you; this mount of Venus pressed right up against your clit. If you’re good for me, if you do what I want, I’ll share. I’ll gather all of you onto my tongue and spit it right in your mouth. Ill make you cum again with my tongue halfway down your throat.”

“Jesus…”

“You need stretching Loulou. I need to take my time, even though I’ll be fucking the sheets like a wild animal, getting them sticky and wet with how much I want you. If you’re sitting on my face, you might see me fuck my fist to take the edge off – a poor substitute as I’ve discovered”

“Why?”

“You know why” he replies, flipping your wrist to press against him over the blankets. He watches as your eyes widen, the thickness of him matching the delicate bones in your wrist. He pulls your hand away before you can curl your fingers in the fabric. He watches your free hand disappear beneath the blankets, the way your eyes glaze over as you press your fingers between your thighs.

“Once you’re ready, you’ll have to get used to it. It’s going to take time, for me to cram my cock inside you. You’re going to feel like heaven, and I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to hold off from pounding your slick little cunt. I’ll need you to help me, rake your nails through my hair, down my back, mark me up like I’ve marked you. If you need toys, I have them. If you want to watch the way you fit me I’ll film it.”

“Then what” he can see your hips rocking beneath the blankets. The lazy slow fucking of your own hand over his clothing makes him groan. He’s dangerously close himself, the weight of the elastic on the head of his cock enough to have him dribbling, he can feel it sliding over his skin, seeping into his shirt as he closes his eyes, willing himself not to cum.

“You’ll get fucked properly beautiful. I’ll fuck you until you can’t form words, until you’re drooling from my fingers in your mouth, until you can’t hold yourself upright. Until all your body knows how to do is submit to it. To give in and sink under and cum again, so hard you squeeze my fat cock out, so I can run it across that swollen berry of a clit and make you scream. Wherever I cum, you’re sharing. If its in your pretty little mouth you can’t swallow, I want to kiss you till its dripping all over your tits. If its inside you I’m going to fuck a dildo into you and lick it off. I want it on your skin, I want it on my skin. I want every time to be so fucking filthy we need to change the sheets. I want you as ruined as I am, for anybody else but me.”

“Dieter…” you whimper, your nails digging into his palm as he watches you stiffen, the little shudders across your skin as it breaks out in goosebumps, your mouth falling open in a moan. The bite of pain across his hand strikes the match and he cums, panting and untouched into his own skin, threading his fingers through yours to hold your hand, both of you squeezing in time.

He shifts, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he drags you to lay in the deep couch, curled up against his chest. You can smell the mingled scent of your release in the air as you press your face into his shirt, suddenly embarrassed as his hand rests between your shoulder blades.

“Then… we do this. You lay in my arms, or I lay in yours and we catch our breath together. There will be some differences, if you’re wearing a shirt, my hand will be up it, I can already tell I’m going to be obsessed with your tits”

You smile, some of the embarrassment shrinking at the matter-of-factness in his tone.

“And then we fall asleep, and when we wake up, we do it all again. That is the rest of my life Loulou.”

You can’t think of what to say. Shifting to place your hands on his hips you allow yourself the luxury of relaxing into his arms, his thumb stroking the same metronome on your spine as you close your eyes and let the exhaustion pull you under, a deep and dreamless sleep.

You wake before him in the morning. The sobering light coming from his balcony makes you stiffen. Fear boils like filtered water through your blood as you taste salt on your lips. His hold on you has slackened in sleep, allowing you to slip free without waking him, searching for your shoes, grabbing your handbag from the corner. Processing the night before isn’t an option. You need some distance to put it in a box, and label it as something other than the emotion coiling in your belly like an angry viper. You find your shoes on his counter.

As you walk past the couch he grabs your hand. You look down at him, his eyes bleary with sleep as he smiles at you. He says nothing, hooking his pinkie into yours and nodding. He lets you go, closing his eyes as you stand like a statue in front of him.

You don’t give yourself time to second guess the decision before you crawl back under the blanket. He reaches over you and presses play.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fic #the bubble fanfiction #the bubble fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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amethysttribble · 1 year

Text

Blinding, Scorching, Fleeting and Alive

@feanorianweek Entry 3: Celegorm (+ Caranthir)- Hunting

Caranthir and Celegorm are different as can be. They don’t really understand each other. But they’re bound together, through it. Even if ‘all’ is just a stroll through the market

This one goes out to my sister, whose birthday was recently, who to this day drags my ass out of the house and to McDonalds to go get a McFlurry ‘just cause’.

Tyelkormo spied Carnistir sneaking through the back door from his perch atop the kitchen cabinets and cried, “Oh, thank fuck, you’re here!”

His brother- in the same clothes he was in yesterday, now in complete disarray- startled, but zeroed in on him in an instant with those hawk-eyes of his. Moryo’s face twisted up in anger and he reached for a bowl of fruit. Then, he chucked an orange at Tyelkormo’s head.

“You jackass!” he snapped.

Tyelkormo laughed as he held up his hands to bat the orange away. Carnistir was quick enough to catch the orange on its way back down, and for a second he seemed about ready to throw it again. After a moment, though, he sagged and turned away, grumbling something to himself that Tyelkormo could not be bothered to understand.

As Moryo begrudgingly peeled his orange, Tyelkormo understood everything he was trying to say through his hunched shoulders and unusually unsteady fingers.

“So precisely how hungover are you?”

“Screw you, not all of us can be paragons of virtue and stamina.”

Tyelkormo laughed again, and swung his legs around to gracefully jump from on top of the cabinets. Once he was on the ground, he was quick to hop up onto the table that Carnistir had taken a seat at.

“I meant less in the sense of alcohol, and more in the sense of what did Lanye do to you last night?”

Carnistir levied a hefty glare- a very impressive expression, as it was partly inherited from Mother and partly inherited from Father, and all around violent- but Tyelkormo was not to be intimidated. It was rare that he truly got to tease Moryo about his long-distance, on-again-off-again lady love. He was going to make the most of the time this summer.

“Not all of us,” Carnistir huffed, “are so blinded by divinity that we ignore a good thing in front of us. She can do whatever she wants to me.”

Tyelkormo kicked him under the table, and muttered, “Ass,” but he was on a roll now.

“And you’re hardly better, hunting Maia instead of elfmaids or even deer when you’re away. Don’t think I don’t see you ‘practicing’ your Valarin ‘calligraphy’, writing letters to your new favorite huntsman, staring mournfully off in the distance. ‘Oh, Tilion, how I miss you, if only my cruel father hadn’t torn us apart-’”

“Okay!” Tyelkormo cried, kicking him again, harder.

Their cheeks were a matching color of red, which was never a good thing. Carnistir was laughing at him, in between throwing orange slices in his mouth.

“Do you actually want to do something with the day, or are you going to be boring?” he demanded, trying to change the subject. He didn’t like talking to his family about Tilion, Lord Orome, or the Hunt in general. Not even with Mother and Carnistir. It was just… that was private. Sacred. His.

“I want to crawl into bed and be hungover with my day. I don’t know what Lanye’s been experimenting with and growing lately, but that stuff was potent. I feel like half my brain is still numb from the smoke.”

“What I’m hearing,” Tyelkormo said, an idea alighting in his mind, “is that you’ll need to avoid Father all day.”

Carnistir pulled a face.

They both knew that if Father caught wind that Moryo had smoked and drank and kissed his way into a new day stupor that made it hurt to think, the teasing would be relentless. He’d be asked to recite to the first twelve stanzas of Rumil’s ‘On the Talking Things’. He’d be told to come assist with solving that new logic theorem. Mother might join in and require him to help the twins with arithmetic.

“What do you have in mind?” Carnistir grouched. Anything to get out of the house and away from their sadistic and easily amused parents.

“Let’s go to the market!” Tyelkormo exclaimed, grin massive.

Moryo groaned, slouching in his chair and starting to suck orange juice off his fingers. Tyelkormo just leaned in closer.

“Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ll get you a coffee, or a millkshake, or a shot of-”

“Is your only strategy to ply me with drinks?”

“I’ll get you a donut.”

Carnistir made a whining sound again, slumping down further an covering his eyes with his hand. Miserably, he said, “Why do you even want to go to the market?”

Tyelkormo shrugged. He didn’t really have a reason.

“Laurelin light. People. Move my legs.”

Slowly, Carnisitr began to peek at him from behind his hand, widening his fingers. Tyelkormo met his assessing glare with a smile, and waited. His little brother was an old grump. But he was just too damn easy- easy to manipulate, easy to tease, easy with drinks, drugs, and girls- for his own good.

Or, rather, as Moryo sat up and snapped, “Oh, fine!” Tyelkormo should perhaps say, his closest brother had a generous heart. But nah. He’d been too grouchy to deserve that.

Tyelkormo shot to his feet and cheered, grabbed Moryo, grabbed a nearby wicker basket, and bounded out the door.

“At least let me change,” he whined, but Tyelkormo was set and determined. He dragged them onto the path towards the town of Formenos. Only once their feet crunched over gravel- Carnisitr in his sandals and Tyelkormo barefoot- did he release his grip on his brother’s arm.

He started walking forward.

“I hope you know I love you,” Moryo grumbled from behind him, slowly trudging along. “That I love you so much, that I’ll let you drag me into town for no good reason. Are you listening to me, Turko? I said I love you!”

“Thank you, Moryo,” Tyelkormo trilled, laughing slightly to himself.

“You better be.”

He ignored Carnistir’s continued complaining and turned his head up towards the sky. The air was thick with moisture, and Laurelin was warmer than usual today. The Two Trees were probably beginning to flower, in that case. Every home in Tirion, Alqualonde, and Valmar would be covered in petals by the time their summer ended, and many were probably making pilgrimages to Ezellohar, at this very moment.

At this moment, as Tyelkormo and Carnistir walked further into the wild mountains of the northwest. They could still see the branches of Laurelin and Telperion rising in the distance, just barely. Beautiful.

“It’s a great day,” Tyelkormo declared, slowing his walk to lag behind and sling an arm around Moryo’s shoulders. “Isn’t it a great day? The weather’s so nice. Aren’t you glad to be out and about?”

“I’ve been out and about, I’m tired,” Carnistir sighed, leaning his head against Tyelkormo’s shoulder.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

“Shut up.”

In companionable silence, they walked the several miles into town, aiming for the high walls of Formenos. This feat of architecture was beautiful in its own way, Little Curufinwe was always sure to tell him, the walls high and beautiful and intricately decorated. Gems and precious metals created a shimmering mural, showing off the wealth and skill of this region’s inhabitants. One of Mother and Father’s great friends, Lady Lilotea, had designed these walls long before Tyelkormo and his brothers were born.

This time of day, with Laurelin blooming and vibrant, the walls were almost hard to look at. Carnistir certainly cringed away from the sight. But they were noticed and greeted from afar by the gate manager- responsible for tracking who and what entered Formenos, for trade and politics’ sake- and quickly ushered in.

There was a little bowing and a little expressed pleasure, and then they were on their way, towards the market.

“I do miss Tirion’s library whenever we’re here,” Carnistir said, “but the lack of pomp is much appreciated. It’s funny, I think Formenos knows us better than Tirion.”

Tyelkormo hummed in consideration.

He supposed that was fair. They spent so much time up here as children, half-raised in the desolate north. Nolofinwe used to comment that it explained why his half-brother’s sons were ‘half-wild’. He and Carnistir navigated the streets of Formenos with ease, because they used to run up and down them, chasing after local children and being chased in turn.

Father so rarely went to court then, far too busy with the arts college he and Mother established here. Too busy recruiting artisans from across Valinor to teach, take apprentices, and refine their craft. In those days, often they would be left to run free while Mother or Father was away for a time, only returning to Tirion for important functions or when Grandfather missed them.

Specifically, though, that was the childhood Tyelkormo and Carnistir shared. He was given to understand things were different with Maitimo and Macalaure- that Mother and Father hardly stopped moving when they were young. Little Curufinwe and Ambarussa were experiencing another childhood all together, and sometimes it worried Tyelkormo.

Would they be happy? Well adjusted? Close with one another?

These questions kept him looking back home, even when he was with the Hunt. He worried for his little brothers. Except for Carnistir. He knew how to take care of himself.

Why, they’d barely reached the edge of the veritable field of tents and stalls, when he broke off to trade a merchant for a cup of coffee. Carnistir got his much needed boost, and the merchant received a proverb.

“Prefer knowledge to wealth, for one is transitory, the other eternal.”

Tyelkormo chuckled, as did the merchant, who sent Carnistir on his way. When he met Tyelkormo’s eyes there was a sly, pleased grin on his face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Tyelkormo laughed, “I don’t understand you philosopher types.”

“I know you don’t,” Carnisitr said, smug. “You only understand the language of beasts, but the Wise Elves appreciate wisdom. There is no end to the material in Valinor, but cleverness is in short supply.”

“Blah, blah,” he replied, flicking his brother on the forehead. “So clever, but not clever enough to know that Elves are also beasts.”

“Our mastery of language and reason sets us apart from beasts, that’s been proven again and again. Did you read nothing at university? I mean it, Turko, I wonder sometimes where Mother and Father picked you up.”

Sometimes Tyelkormo wondered where his erudite parents picked him up, too. His brand of skills was so very different… The self-sufficient Noldor did not appreciate them quite so much.

Rather than dredge that up- that was for drinking from the bottle with Moryo, collapsed in the same bed, sad and miserable and not alone- Tyelkormo rolled his eyes and mocked, “So reasonable, so well spoken. Yet all the answers you search for are at that university. There are other ways of understanding the Song, you know.”

“I don’t want to understand the Song,” Carnisitr laughed, talking a sip of his coffee. He was perking up now. “I want to understand life.”

And life certainly breathed in Formenos. There were colors and smells and sounds and people surrounding them at every avenue, something new to look at in every corner. Tyelkormo was so curious to see what they might find; Carnistir had always been curious too.

As he could not find it in him to bicker anymore on such a glorious day, Tyelkormo took Carnistir’s arm again and started wandering.

Together, they meandered through the stalls, looking at wares and sideshows and people. Often, Tyelkormo would stop to look at carved tokens, unrefined materials, taxidermied animals and leather goods. For a little pink granite statue of a horse that reminded him of Nahar, he traded two dozen fine partridge feathers that he’d kept on his person for precisely this purpose. Once they walked away, he placed the statue to his lips and breathed out a prayer.

Carnistir looked unimpressed but didn’t say anything.

He was more interested in the stalls set up with people offering advice, readings of the past and future, and debate. There was an entire corner set aside for the purveyors of words, and Tyelkormo spent an hour loitering behind his brother’s shoulder as he bandied words back and forth with philosophers, soothsayers, and just simply, ‘the wise’. At one point, Carnisitr was led into a rousing discussion with one nis about the role of the Ainur in their society.

About whether their connection to Iluvatar constituted their being considered a different class of citizens, or if they and their kingdoms should be brought down to the levels of Elves, just one more group among Teler, Noldor, and Vanyar.

This one drew a crowd, even though Carnistir and his conversational partner were in almost complete agreement- they only differed on the details on how to ‘dismantle’ the ‘religiosity’ of their role in society; and about whether it would just be better to leave Valinor- and Tyelkormo felt he had to excuse himself. From the first word, he had felt his blood rising, heat being pumped out of his lungs as anger and indignation and hurt emerged. But there was a difference between picking a fight with his brother at home and doing so in public.

Picking a fight with the public, which in Formenos almost unilaterally agreed with Father’s ideals.

Father always said that they must present a united front. That they could forever disagree in private, but never be divided in the eyes of their enemies- or even their friends. They were a family, after all. It was a horrible thing to fight with ones brothers.

That was usually the point where Mother said something sly about Nolofinwe or Arafinwe, but even hasty Tyelkormo knew that was a pointless fight.

Half-brothers were not true brothers. Tyelkormo knew this to be true, because when Carnistir infuriated him, he walked away. He found a stall selling donuts and bought two. He went and sat next to the fountain until the crowd in the distanced dispersed, and listened to birds chatter and argue, rather than Elves.

Nolofinwe would never afford Father that grace; Tyelkormo could also admit that Father didn’t really extend it either. But that was because they weren’t really brothers. They didn’t know how these issues should be resolved.

He’d beat the shit out of Moryo later.

It wasn’t long after people went back to their business that Carnistir found him. Flushed and happy, he took a seat next to him, and only when Tyelkormo passed him the powdered donut he got- traded a patch of mint he’d picked this morning for- did he look sheepish.

“I didn’t mean anything by it for you,” Carnistir said.

“Uh huh,” he mumbled, raising a doubtful eyebrow.

“I’m serious,” Moryo said through a mouthful of dough as he ripped into his treat. “If we stay, nothing has to change in practice, just perception.”

“What if that’s my perception?”

“People should be allowed to opt in, not-”

“We do opt in!” Tyelkormo snapped, teeth bared. People looking at them. He turned away from his brother with a snarl and took a vicious bite of the donut.

It was fucking delicious.

For a long time, they were quiet. They ate in silence, each angry. Tyelkormo could practically feel the steam rising off of Moryo. Eventually, his brother ventured to say, very quietly-

“Think of it from my perspective. Every time we search for answers, we get told that the answers are already there. What are you even asking for? It’s exhausting, because the answers offered by the Ainur perspective are limited; us at the university, we’re searching for something deeper. But every debate just gets sent up to the Valar, and then it’s over. It shouldn’t be that way. We shouldn’t be expected to rely on them for every matter academic, moral, and political. We shouldn't be chastened when we don’t, and we are chastened, Turko, just last year-”

“I know.”

Tyelkormo let out a ragged sigh.

“I don’t have an answer,” he said, irritated. “I’m not clever like you are, Moryo. It’s complicated. I just know what I feel.”

“Yeah, well…” Carnistir said, and it sounded like every word pained him. “I’m not clever like you are. And it is complicated. I just… I guess we’re all hunting for answers. In different ways.”

Again they lapsed into silence, but this time the tension had been drained some. Tyelkormo was the one to break there peace, saying-

“I’m still going to kick your ass for that later.”

“That’s fine,” Carnistir said. “I’ll make sure to knee you in the groin. Hey, you want to go crash at Lanye’s house for lunch?”

Like a blue sky breaking from clouds, Tyelkormo threw his head back and laughed. Just like that, all was forgotten.

“Sure,” he said, hopping to his feet. “Let’s go visit your girl. I want to see if she has as many hickeys as you do. Are you ever going to marry her, Moryo?”

“Of course,” Carnistir said, a sickeningly smitten smile on his face. “We’re in love.”

#i have not reread this but I think this one's really good #celegorm #caranthir #the silmarillion #tolkien #fanfic #tribble post #feanorianweek

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