It's astounding how one thing can ruin your entire day and destroy your entire emotional state.

i finally have a coherent personal narrative, and here it is. It’s quite long, but i think of some interest, and might be encouraging!

-Mentions of suicidal ideation, emotional and financial abuse, emotional incest, fatphobia, misogyny, capitalism. Whatever the qpr equivalent of romance is. Ends happily-

I felt for a long time that i should have died when i was 20. Not in the sense that i deserved to, but in the sense that by then i’d accomplished as much as i ever would and was therefore obsolete– taking up resources unnecessarily.

When i was 13, i felt forced to choose between my parents. My bus driver/karate teacher, a kind person who i very much admired, advised me to flip a coin and then, if i didn’t like the result, pick the other. I chose my mother and (privately) pledged absolute loyalty to her (I was obsessed with LOTR at the time and felt that it was the purpose of my life to be a Sam for somebody).

While she was single and struggling to keep the farm and raise my brother (a toddler then), that devotion was used and rewarded. There were times i thought with satisfaction that i might as well be her husband, as well as a parent to my beloved brother. I was proud. I felt righteous. The joy of supporting and protecting her was real. The intermittent anguish of being a minor who could legally only do so much to help was also real. (I believed in laws then).

When I was 17, she remarried (a perfectly nice, wealthy man, as devoted as me and much more powerful) and i went to college. I slowly imploded across all four years, though I didn’t realize that until nearly the end. I think now it was because nothing i could offer her was needed anymore. Every time she treated me like a child instead of the valued partner i had been, i was crushed. Emasculated. i began to feel positively Tortured without understanding why. It sounds like a villain’s origin story, doesn’t it?

When it started affecting my performance, i could only think the trouble was that i was pining for a married professor, as you do. I had fallen in love with him, and made myself his best student (and then his TA, and then began to feel gross about it, quit, and started avoiding where i knew he’d be, all without telling anyone). Once my decline became known and answers were demanded, this was all i could offer in explanation.

I didn’t blame anyone consciously then, but i think now i felt betrayed by how my friends and family reacted. They all thought i must have seduced him (or vice versa if they were generous) to be so torn up. It was too foolish to become suicidal over a crush. They didn’t believe me, or accused me of grandiosity, when i said the professor didn’t even know how i felt. I have always struggled to keep in touch with people, and once my oldest friends gave me the Adultery is Bad talk, it was hard to keep trying.

Everyone did their best and we were all very young. I didn’t understand any more than they did. But still, i can acknowledge now what it would have meant to have just one person who believed in me regardless of understanding. On a deeply hidden level, i felt that my mother, at least, owed me that, after years of faithful service.

But horribly, once it became clear my suicidality was almost entirely passive, she turned on me. She was very frightened. I guess she had also been thanking her lucky stars all that time that i wasn’t turning out like my dad, but here i revealed myself at last to be a freeloader, just like him. I was supposed to go to medical school. I had been the pride of the extended family, the eldest and purest of my generation, a marvel of the local intelligentsia, and i wound up dragging myself back home inept, directionless, cringing, the same as so many unfortunate young cousins and neighbors who’d used to have me pointed out to them as an example. Who would my brothers look up to now?

I endured living at home for a few years. My mom couldn’t keep up the punishment constantly, so although there was no telling when she would start in on me again, or whether she might finally go through with evicting me, there were beautiful things too.

I worked for her husband’s business for no pay, which i understand now was abusive, but i have always enjoyed working with my hands, and when they left me to it, it felt like the old days, like i had a use, even if it was now peripheral. My brothers weren’t sure what to do with me, but we still had fun when we could. The animals comforted me, and it’s special to be able to give affection and gentleness to a creature who depends on you. The woods and mists and early mornings and silent moonlights were still beautiful, and gradually i could appreciate them again. When i was with people, i felt my disgrace abjectly. But on the farm there were many chores to be done alone.

The more i recovered, the more trapped i felt. I even, very alarmingly, spent about two hours one afternoon silently consumed with resentful feelings towards my mother (this hadn’t happened since i was 10). I began to be afraid of losing control and doing something desperate (I totaled two different trucks during this time, on roads i knew well, for no apparent reason). I had given up my spot at a medical school i would not get into twice, and the obvious escape was to reapply elsewhere. I attempted this, and sabotaged it, multiple times.

I got a job at a nursing home, which was hard on my back but full of wonderful people, and was forced to quit when it made me late to my shift at my stepfather’s business too many times. By this i understood that a local job was not getting me out of there. I asked for money to get an EMT certification and was refused. I applied to many online jobs, none of which i had enough time to make money from. I called up one or two branches of the military, and was rejected for being too fat, thank God. I applied to medical school again, and managed to not sabotage it enough that i was accepted into a master’s program instead. It was across the state, five hundred miles away.

And still it might have come to nothing, as i had no conscious plans, actually, of staying away once i was done with this master’s program. The expected thing would be to go on to medical school, but i was only anticipating the first day of being free and couldn’t imagine anything more than a week in the future. I looked at the amount of debt i was taking on for this, knowing in my heart that i would not get a job that could pay it back, and was only relieved that they hadn’t caught onto me and i could still get loans.

There are a lot of things in my story that aren’t what they say is healthy or proper. I shouldn’t have romanticized my own parentification, i should not have had feelings for a 50 year old man, i should have kept trying with my friends, who have good hearts and only made one mistake before i ghosted them, i should have kept telling the truth, i shouldn’t have taken moral injury from things that weren’t my fault, i should have been properly angry with my mother at some point, i should not be grateful that my tendency is to harm myself rather than others.

One person alone should not have been able to save me.

In the second month of my year away, i was in a study group with my roommates and some of their acquaintances, and i laughingly shared some anecdote or other that i thought was harmless. I don’t remember whether anyone else laughed, but one person said: “That sounds kind of fucked up.”

“Oh,” I said, embarrassed. “Eh, well.”

Nothing more was made of it, and we went on studying. Later, this same person saw me sitting in the cafeteria alone and came to sit with me. We met to study again, just us two, and they showed me a video about white tears and watched me closely for my reaction. We compared ideals and found them the same. We came up with a project to collectivize flashcard-making for our class and had to meet frequently to carry it out. “We’re colleagues,” my new friend said, firmly, when people asked if we were together. We discovered ethical problems with the program and protested them, formally and informally. We were accused of being too insular. We talked about our families, and they said things like: “That’s not okay, you realize that, right” and “I think if more people loved the way you do, I’d have a reason to smile in the morning.” It became normal for my eyes to be sore from crying.

Neither of us got into medical school that year. We got an apartment together after graduation, and worked together too until i was fired (I was new to challenging authority and not very subtle in my distaste for our bosses). My friend’s parents wanted them to quit too, to come home while they reapplied, but they said: “Not without Autumn.” So after some negotiating, we went to live with their folks for a while…

We’ve been together for 5 years now. At first I did the same as I’d always done, but my partner made it clear they don’t want self-abnegation from me. I started trying to have boundaries, paradoxically, to make them happy. I’ve dipped into therapy as money allows. I’ve been reading and thinking and writing. Above all, I’ve been loved.

And all this time, I’ve still been deeply ashamed. I’ve spent the last ten years in some degree of emotional pain 24/7. But somehow, two weeks ago, another thing happened that shouldn’t, and i suddenly knew that i was a human being like any other.

I still feel that I should have died when I was 20, but now it’s in the sense that people say, “You shouldn’t have survived that! What a miracle!” Still existing feels like a bonus. I might live a long time from now and i might not. Either way, I’m incredibly lucky to turn my face to the world and know that i am a creature in it, like other creatures. I am well. It’s good that I’m alive.

Postmortem- Chapter 4

Kokichi visits the others in the dining hall. Saying it doesn't go well would be an understatement.

tw: suicide attempt/mention

ao3

A few days had passed since the nurse informed Saihara and the others that Ouma was awake, yet he still remained unseen by the others. Holed up in his room, purposefully avoiding the others, Ouma was doing less than well. He barely ate, hardly slept, and had no social interaction besides minor occurrences with the nurses.

Time passed incredibly slowly. Ouma had tried keeping a journal to prevent himself from going insane, but quickly discarded the idea after being paranoid that someone would eventually read it. There was a TV in his room, which was his main excuse as to why he was always in his room whenever the nurses asked, but in reality it did little to keep him occupied. He would stare at the TV for hours, imagining himself in the killing game, thinking about what he could’ve done better in order to make his plan work.

Ouma’s plan had failed, and he only had himself to blame.

Not Momota, for revealing himself in the Exisal.

Not Harukawa, for starting the killing game when it should’ve ended.

And not the mastermind, for instigating Harukawa’s actions via a flashback light.

If only he had lied more… No, lied less. Not lied at all?

Every single variation on what could’ve happened was jumbled in Ouma’s brain, swirling around in a hazy fog, clouding his mind’s focus and distracting him from the present.

Why did he even care so much about the killing game? It was all virtual reality, so who cares if his plan had failed?

…

Ouma just felt useless. He gave his life for a plan that didn’t even work, only to find out that even if it did work it would have all been for naught, as the killing game was just fabricated.

He knew that it was pointless to think about what he could have done. He knew that, yet he continued to think about it. Intrusive thoughts permeated every crevice of his mind, taking control of his voluntary thoughts and forcing him to obsess over what he could’ve done better.

Maybe he was selfish, craving recognition for having successfully saved everyone. If his plan had worked and succeeded in exposing the corruptness of the killing game, he could emerge from his pod with a smile on his face, being greeted with open arms and smiles from the rest of the group for ending the killing game. There would be no need to isolate himself from everyone, hiding himself away in his room, and he wouldn’t feel the crushing burden of guilt in his chest for lying to everyone.

If his plan had worked, his lies would be forgiven and the evil reputation he had built for himself would be expunged. But his plan hadn’t worked. It failed. And now he had to deal with the consequences.

Setting Ouma’s twisted thinking aside, the reality of the situation was quite different. The others didn’t care that his plan had failed, they only cared that he tried. After all, Akamatsu had tried to kill the mastermind and failed, yet everyone still forgave her. They felt the same about Ouma, acknowledging his efforts to end the killing game even though his efforts were unsuccessful.

The only difference in Ouma’s case was the fact that he committed multiple atrocities during the killing game: his constant lies, falsely claiming to be the mastermind, and, above all else, causing the deaths of Gokuhara and Iruma. But everyone had committed malicious acts during the killing game, such as murdering someone in cold blood simply for personal gain.

In actuality, even Gokuhara and Iruma had forgiven Ouma. The only person who hadn’t forgiven him was himself.

This had held him back immensely, distorting his thoughts into thinking that everyone else had yet to forgive him. Naturally, when backed into the corner of now having to live up to his actions, Ouma did the only thing he knew how to do: he lied, lied, and lied some more, trying to lie his way out of the situation at hand.

Ouma knew that his time was running out. He couldn’t run forever, and would have to go see the others eventually. That is, if the others were even truly alive. The nurses could have been lying about that, after all. Ouma truly trusted no one.

He had mulled over his options in his head for a while: he could wait it out in his room until one of the nurses forced him out, or he could take the initiative and go see the others himself. Having someone visit him wasn’t even an option; Ouma knew that no one would ever come see him in his room.

Sighing to himself audibly, he pushed himself off the bed, knees wobbly from laying down for so long. It was now or never, he supposed. He exited the room and made his way to the dining hall.

----------

Once he arrived at the entrance of the dining hall, Ouma lingered outside for a bit, listening to everyone’s voices. He could make out what was most definitely Momota talking to his “sidekicks” about what was most likely some nerdy space thing, as well as Tojo announcing what she had prepared for everyone to eat. Bracing himself for the worst, Ouma steeled himself and pushed the doors to the dining hall open.

As soon as he opened the doors the dining hall went dead silent, all eyes landing on his pale and sickly form. Ouma paid no mind to their staring, instead proudly announcing his presence to the group, as if it wasn’t already obvious.

“Ta-daaa! I, Kokichi Ouma, have arrived in the dining hall of this sad little hospital! Bow down to me, or face the wrath of one thousand suns!”

His announcement was met with wide eyes and gaping mouths. Momota seemed bewildered, dropping his fork onto his plate with a loud clank, while Harukawa’s piercing glare was immediately upon him. No one spoke, thus prompting Ouma to continue:

“Man, you guys look like you’ve seen a ghost or something! Well I guess that’s not too inaccurate, what with me being totally dead and all!” Ouma announced cheerfully.

“Holy shit, dude…” Iruma began, “You look like shit! When was the last time you ate somethin’?”

Ouma’s smirk only grew at these words. Of course it was Iruma who chose to speak up first. Ironic.

“Well if it isn’t my dear Iruma-chan! The last time I saw you was when Gonta strangled you on the rooftop of the virtual world! Hey, how did that feel by the way? Did it feel as disgusting as you look, you filthy slut?” Ouma chirped, raising his arms behind his head.

“Umm… Gonta no think we should talk about the killing game…”

“Puh-lease! Are you telling me to just ignore everything that happened in the game?” Ouma brought a finger to his lips, then pointed the accusing digit at Gokuhara. “No one tells the great Kokichi Ouma what to do!”

“Cut the crap, Ouma!” Momota interjected, standing up from his seat fiercely. “We all know you hated that stupid game just as much as the rest of us, so cut it out!”

“Oh? Is that so?” Ouma tilted his head innocently. “You mean you really believed all that crap I said to you in that Exisal hangar? How pathetic! Guess the great old ‘Luminary of the Stars’ is as stupid as ever!”

“Do you want to die?” Harukawa stated flatly. “If so, I have no problem taking you out right now.”

“Take me out, hm? Sorry Maki Roll, you aren’t really my type... “ He examined his nails, as if they were more interesting than the conversation at hand. “I’m gonna have to pass on that one!”

“Don’t…” Harukawa muttered, eyes downcast.

“Don’t what, Maki Roll?”

Harukawa’s gaze returned, pure wrath emanating from her entire body. “Don’t fucking call me that!!”

In a flash, Harukawa had leapt out of her seat and sprinted up to Ouma, a kitchen knife in her hand. Now that the killing game was over, she could kill someone without being executed for it if she got caught. Within seconds, she had Ouma pinned against the well, a knife to his throat. Harukawa applied ample pressure to the knife, making marks in the tender flesh of his neck.

“Well… this is… Gh!” Hearing Ouma try to speak led Harukawa to apply even more pressure to the knife, adding to the burning sensation he felt on his throat.

Several gasps could be heard across the dining hall, as well as the movement of chairs and shuffling of footsteps towards Harukawa and Ouma.

“Maki Roll, don’t!!” Momota shouted, “We all promised to get along! You can’t do this!”

“Watch me.” The first prickles of blood appeared beneath the knife, dotting the pale skin of Ouma’s throat.

Ouma didn’t dare to speak, lest Harukawa try to slit his throat wide open.

“Stop it, Harukawa-san!” Akamatsu cried.

A few gasps for air and choked sobs escaped Ouma’s lips before she finally let him go, his body collapsing in a heap on the ground along with the knife.

Momota immediately ran up to Harukawa to hold her back, preventing her from doing anything else. Akamatsu and Saihara went up to Ouma, helping him back to his feet. The rest of the group watched from a distance, too afraid to approach the scene.

“Calm down, Maki Roll!” Momota held on tightly to her, not letting her go. “Just leave him be!”

“I can’t! He just walks in here, provoking all of us like that after not showing up for over a week… He deserves it!!” Harukawa wasn’t struggling much, indicating that she had at least calmed down a little bit, although she was still quite furious.

“I know, but… Just let me talk to him, okay? I know what he said in the hangar had to have been the truth… I’m gonna talk to him later and try to get the truth out of him.” Momota reassured her.

Saihara and Akamatsu were at Ouma’s side, attempting to help him stand back up. He was already weak enough as it is, and having a knife to his throat didn’t help. His vision was blurred and fuzzy, and he barely recognized the other two at his side. It was strange, having people by his side to help him up after being so alone in the killing game, but he wasn’t in any position to reject their help. He accepted their outstretched hands, begrudgingly.

“Ouma-kun, are you okay?” Saihara asked, lifting him up along with Akamatsu.

“Nn… I-I think so?” Ouma had one hand clamped around his throat, his other arm going limp at his side.

“Here, move your hand. Let me see your throat.” Akamatsu suggested, gently placing her hand on Ouma’s. He  removed his hand from his throat to reveal a small amount of blood and a minor cut. Nothing that wouldn’t heal on its own.

“...’M fine…” Ouma drawled, pushing them away. “I’m gonna go back to my room…”

“Wait! At least let us-” Saihara was cut off by a wave of Ouma’s hand as he staggered out of the dining hall by himself, one hand against the wall for balance.

Unbeknownst to the others, Ouma had slid the knife underneath his shirt, taking it with him back to his room.

-------

Ouma shut the door behind him, flopping down on the hospital bed. He immediately broke down crying, grasping onto the blankets of the bed tightly, his knuckles turning white.

Why couldn’t he just act normal? Why couldn't he just walk in there and apologize for his actions? Why did everything have to be so complicated?

Everyone was so happy without him, too. No one even came to visit him to see how he was. They didn’t want to, and they never would. They were all perfectly content living their lives without him.

Ouma was used to this kind of isolation during the killing game, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. During the killing game he cast aside his personal feelings for the sake of the group, enduring all kinds of pain in order to see everyone else smile in the end. If they were happy, he was happy. But being selfless had its limits.

Ouma felt selfish for wanting to be included with everyone. Laughing and smiling with everyone, talking about what they were going to do after they were released from this place; He just wanted the same feeling of happiness that they all had. And he felt incredibly selfish for having such desires.

He sighed into his pillow then flipped himself over, staring at the ceiling. Remembering that he had taken the knife with him, he slipped it out from under his clothes and held it in his hand.

Selfish.

You’re so fucking selfish for wanting to be happy with everyone else.

Ouma sat up straight, still grasping the knife tightly in his hand.

If only you had really died during the killing game.

No one even wants you here.

You would be better off dead.

He brought the knife up to his throat, wet and sorrowful tears streaming down his face.

Better hurry up and finish what Harukawa-chan started.

Closing his eyes, he prepared to slit his own throat.

SNK 127 Review

0/10 This chapter sucks. Continuity is dead.

In my last post I said if we got flashbacks, it’d be damage control for the last chapter. I was right.

The first couple of scenes in this chapter are clear attempts to clean up the last one’s mess. We never saw Jean and Mikasa make contact with Hange, and here, we do.

Honestly, I think this could’ve been handled better.

Jean had something of an arc in chapter 126, where it seemed like he genuinely had chosen to follow Floch, only it turns out he was working with Hange all along. So I get why these scenes are presented out of order. It’s an attempt at dramatic tension.

It fails, though, because not enough time was devoted to showing Jean working with Floch. Jean stood next to Floch in some scenes. That’s it.  

Let this be a lesson to aspiring writers everywhere. If you want to do a story arc, or even just a mini-arc, make sure you have the time for it. If you can’t spare the time to do it justice, it’s better to just cut it completely.

Hange’s character is much better served this chapter. I forgot to mention this last time, but Hange’s character was screwed over pretty hard last time.

Her arc has been about growing into her new role as commander. She failed to constrain Eren, and Floch, and everything’s gone to shit in general, and she doubts her own leadership.  

Then, after escaping the Yeagerists with Levi, Hange considers just walking away and living out in the woods.

They chose not to.

This is a major turning point for her character. She’s beaten down and has a chance to walk away, but she gets back up.

This major plot beat has maybe a few panels devoted to it. At most.

We don’t see the choice get made. In fact, it’s kind of implied that Hange didn’t consciously make that choice at all. Hange is building a cart to lug Levi around, and he notes that Hange’s doing that because they can’t stay on the sidelines.

Was Hange building the cart because they’d already decided they weren’t quitting?

Or were they going to use that cart to carry Levi to the eventual site of their woodland hut?

Was Levi just pointing out that Hange is doing what they’ve always done?

Or did what he say convince them in some way?

Who knows, because chapter 126 is still a rushed mess on every level.

Whatever Hange’s motivations or line of thinking, it should have been shown during the scene in the woods, when it happened, not in this flashback to a completely different scene.

Character development happens when characters make revealing choices. Showing the character’s motivation separately from the resultant action dilutes the poignancy of that character development.

It’s actually worse than that because not only was Hange’s thought process shown after the fact for no reason, the moment the choice itself was made is not shown at all.

The moment where Hange is surrounded by the ghosts of her fallen comrades would’ve been sooooo much better if it had been in the forest with Levi. It should have been in the forest with Levi.

Hange already chose what they were going to do, so there is no gravitas to this moment. It’s just exposition. This could have been a powerful moment. Instead, it’s just Hange monologuing about their motivation.

When the same happened with Erwin, we saw his struggle as it was happening. We were in the moment, so we felt the weight of Erwin’s struggle. He was bearing out his feelings, agonizing over having to throw his life away unfulfilled.

In 127, Hange is sitting in a chair, explaining her thinking, agonizing over nothing because she’s already decided to throw her life away, and is apparently already at peace with it.

This is what damage control looks like. Isayama fucked up and he’s trying to make up for it.

And even then, we still don’t have the explanations we badly need.

Why did Annie choose to help? She’s not doing this because it’s the right thing to do, she just wants to see her father again.

How did they convince her that they could deliver on that?

It’s the same with Pieck and Magath. They didn’t want to just do nothing, but what convinced them that this was better than doing nothing?

Mikasa asked Hange what the plan was, and their response was basically, “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

So in other words, they have no plan!

Jean raises a good point about stopping Eren: it’s a death sentence for them. Hange’s only retort is that it’s the right thing to do, so they have to do it. This is great.

Genocide is inherently wrong, thus the answer to genocide is not more genocide. With this many lives involved, tit-for-tat is not acceptable.

In some cases, there may have to be retaliation, but there are always limits. These moral limits have a general applicability to them. Of course there are exceptions, but they apply in almost all cases.

I love how Hange explicitly rejects Eren’s dumbass egoist worldview.

“‘Just bringing freedom to this island is enough for me’ Do you think a single one of them would be so narrow-minded as to say that?”

Eren doesn’t just care about Paradis. He doesn’t care about the outside world.

He seemed torn about whether to rumble the world. And he did cry over having to potentially rumble the refuge camp.

Gather around, children, because I have some very mean things to say about Eren here: let me tell you something about crocodile tears.

Crocodile tears are when you feel sad for something, except it’s fake, because deep down, you don’t care. The expression comes from an ancient legend that crocodiles cry for their prey while eating them.

Eren agonized a lot in the lead up to making his decision.

-rolls eyes-

What a drama queen!

Rumble the world, or not? If you have to take time to decide which is right, you’ve already failed.

Eren never truly cared about the outside world. He’s just doing this to bring freedom to Paradis; the lives of everyone else is a nonfactor.

It’s great to see Eren finally getting the dragging he deserves. He is, in fact, a narrow-minded ass.

Jean’s point still stands, though. And even though Eren is obviously indefensible, people still keep making excuses for him.

Hange says their “cowardly idealism” is what pushed Eren to do this. Note that this is the second time they’ve said this.

Uh, what?

Was making reasonable overtures of peace to the outside world cowardly?

Obviously not.

Establishing relations with other countries? That sounds reasonable.

Making contact with pro-Eldian advocacy groups? That sounds reasonable.

What about this is cowardly?

And what’s so idealistic about hoping for peace when there are possible paths to it?

Hange did nothing wrong. Eren is the one who did everything wrong.

Eren’s friends were actually working on a solution. They were trying to make a lasting peace between the Eldians and the world.

Meanwhile Eren was just bumming around not doing anything!

Could there have been a peaceful solution?

Beats me, but I’m not going to spend any thought on coming up with one.

By now, I think it’s clear that the point is that there is no peaceful solution. We saw Paradis try and fail repeatedly. The story in general has not even entertained a possible, peaceful solution.

Creating a Wall Titan “nuclear umbrella” over Paradis won’t work. Eren will be dead in a few years, and they don’t want to continue the Reiss’s gruesome traditions.

Armin’s idea of a targeted rumbling won’t work either because it’ll only increase the world’s resentment towards Paradis.

The point is that sometimes peace isn’t possible, but also that excessive violence isn’t justified. I don’t know how the story will end, but I don’t think it’ll be a happy one.

It’s always uncomfortable whenever the series talks about history and playing the victim. It’s such an obvious commentary on Japanese politics, I cringe every time.

Past Japanese war crimes are a very big factor in Japan’s relations with its neighbors. China and the Koreas are still indignant over the crimes Japan committed, and they feel the Japanese haven’t been apologetic enough.

Paradis is obviously a mirror of Japan.

Island nation with a sordid past that leads to rocky international relations even today. That’s Paradis and Japan.

The series’ stance is that these past events should not be such an issue anymore.

That’s not wrong…but I have a reservation.

The biggest flaw with the Paradis-Japan connection is that the Eldian Empire ended thousands of years ago.

The Japanese Empire ended 75 years ago. That’s not much.

China does overplay the war crimes issue, but there are still real issues with how the Japanese have responded. Many Japanese people are still taught a cleaned up version of what happened.

If anything, China should be called out on abusing the issue of war crimes for political reasons. Their government uses it as propaganda to rally popular support and distract from domestic issues.

In Attack on Titan, the Marleyans are not called out for that. They’re called out for playing victim over something that happened 2000 years ago.

The Marleyans, used by the story as a clear parallel to Japan’s neighbors, are portrayed as in the wrong because “it was a long time ago.”

Let me tell ya, that’s not a good look. What we see in the story is just close enough to reality to draw comparisons, but just different enough to be arguably offensive.

I will say it’s nice to know what Isayama thinks on a given issue. Annie calls out Mikasa and Armin on not being prepared to kill Eren if they have to. She aks how they know he’ll even listen to them.

Armin: we won’t know until we try.

Brilliant.

You can tell who’s side Isayama is on whenever the characters argue because the side he’s against will be the one with the dumb platitudes.

Mikasa: How are you going to stop Eren?

Hange: We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Annie: How do you know talking will work?

Armin: We won’t know until we try.

Then…stuff happens.

Annie claims Mikasa will fight her if Annie tries to kill Eren, even if Annie’s just trying to defend her homeland.

Then Mikasa draws her swords for no reason, and Annie looks like she’s about to titan shift for no reason, then…Annie backs off for no reason.

There were definitely some plot beats missing here. Annie instantly goes from getting ready to shift to backing off. What happened?

And why did she back off? Her point still stands. She said Mikasa would fight her if she tried to kill Eren and Mikasa did not deny it.

The only plans of attack discussed have been (1) talking Eren down, and (2) killing him. It looks like they’re going with plan (1) now, but Mikasa is clearly not going to let Annie go through with plan (2) if (1) fails.

That’s a pretty important issue. And Annie raised it herself, only to just drop it for no reason.

Why does Annie think her time is better spent here than on a boat heading to the mainland?

Getting to her father in time to die with him sounds a lot likelier than stopping Eren, especially when killing him isn’t an option.

And then we come to Yelena.

You know, actually, this chapter has a lot of the same problems the last one did. Lots and lots of rushed plot beats that should have been fleshed out more.

One of the dumbest tropes in fiction is when a character looks into another character’s past off screen, learns sordid things about them, then exposition dumps about it.

Oh, look, this chapter exists.

This is lazy, lazy writing. Instead of a flashback montage with narration, we get some word balloons.

Why is this happening? Anything would have been better than this. There could have been a few more pages devoted to this. He at least could have come up with a better way to deliver this information.

Is Isayama just that dead set on finishing this manga before 2021?

Then Yelena delivers a monologue of her own. I can only assume that it is stupid on purpose.

Speeches like this have been given before in Attack on Titan. Annie gave one in her arc.

“You think you’re better than me?! Well you’re not! You’re a shithead just like me!”

-Annie, basically.

Kenny gave a similar one too. He said that everyone is a slave to something, even mother’s to their children. Then he asked Levi if he really thinks he’s so virtuous and then he died.

I mean, I don’t know what you’d call someone who, all else being equal, fought for the sake of their children if not a “hero”.

Yelena’s speech is dumb and that’s the point. It’s drivel that sounds smart, but is really just edgelord crap.

“You give yourselves to the sublime excitement that is the idea of saving hundreds of millions of lives.”

Christ, not this again!

Claiming good deeds aren’t really good because people do them to feel better about themselves is very common on the internet. You see it all the time on Reddit.

In fact, Yelena even says it like she’s trying to sound smart.

“The sublime excitement.”

-SIGH-

The problem with this reasoning is that it’s moving the goalposts. Yelena is redefining altruism and selfishness to get the result she wants.

You could think of many examples of people doing things that are obviously selfless.

Take a soldier. Let’s say their platoon is on patrol, and then the enemy tosses a grenade at them. The soldier dives on top of the grenade and shields his platoon from the explosion. But obviously, he dies.

That was selfless.

-puts on crazy, blonde, mop-top-

HOWEVER!

WHAT IF SHE SACRIFICED HERSELF BECAUSE SHE WANTED TO BE REMEMBERED AS A HERO?

DID YOU EVER THINK OF THAT!?

Shut up I know this actually did happen in this manga that’s not the point.

Yelena has redefined selfishness to cover everything people do, and at that point, the word becomes useless. She’s wrong because when you think about it, “selfish” is a meaningless word in her worldview.

Yelena then proceeds to list off all the bad things everyone’s done, as if they’re all to blame for it.

Annie did awful things, I won’t argue against that. And she doesn’t seem very apologetic about it, so Yelena actually has a point there.

She also has a good point with Armin. Destroying the port was excessive, especially since it never ended up helping in the end. The port was destroyed to delay a Marleyan attack. Too bad the Marleyans just attacked via airship instead.

Reiner broke the wall, but despite what the man himself says, he was still just a brainwashed kid at the time. I don’t think it’s entirely right to blame him. He’s very apologetic about it, either way.

The Battle of Liberio never should have happened, but the Survey Corps was forced into it by Eren and they did what they could to limit civilian casualties.

It’s the same with Jean and Falco. Jean almost killed Falco, but only because Falco got in the way. That’s on him. Not. Jean.

Gabi killed Sasha, but it was a battle! Wars are ultimately fought to the death. If you go into the military and don’t expect to die, you’re clueless. There was no foul play with how Gabi killed Sasha. She boarded their airship, and shot her. That’s war.

She wants to believe that these people are just as bad as she is. Because if everyone is a piece of shit, then she isn’t so bad in comparison. It’s a common tactic people use to rationalize their own shitty behavior.

But she’s wrong, and they all prove her wrong. Jean can’t forgive Reiner, but he doesn’t let that get in the way of stopping Eren.

And no matter what Yelena says, it’s selfless what the 104th and Hange are doing. Long term, stopping Eren is a death sentence for them. They don’t care.

Leave it to Reiner to give the most Reiner response to Jean possible.

“I felt really bad about it afterwards.”

“Don’t forgive me. I don’t deserve it.”

“I’m sorry.”

That was the cringiest thing in the whole chapter. Good on you, Jean, for beating him for it.

(Not really)

This chapter was about everyone coming to terms with working together, but I feel it was half-baked.

Magath and Jean’s fight wasn’t really resolved, just dropped.

Annie and Mikasa’s fight was also just dropped.

None of the bad things Yelena brought up was commented on or dealt with. They weren’t dropped; they weren’t even taken up!

Reiner and Jean’s fight was properly dealt with, but that was it.

Now we’re heading into a fight with Floch and……I guess the emotional processing is over?

You know, I take it back, this chapter was better than the last one, but it still had a lot of the same blatant issues.

Rushed plot beats, unwieldy dialogue, and undercooked plot developments.

So.

On to the next chapter?

Oppa Knows Best | Part 1

Word Count: 6k Genre: Smut, Angst Summary:  If there is anything a lot of people can agree on when it comes to college, it’s that college is about much more than just education; it’s a whole transformative experience.  The person you were before college is not the same person you will be after college, and no one knows the truth of that statement quite like you do. You just didn’t expect to change so much so fast. A/N: this is like my fifth friends to lovers story and there is no sign of me stopping any time soon lmao  Warnings: This story contains a very unbalanced power dynamic between the two main characters that is unhealthy and shouldn’t be tolerated irl. If someone treats you this way irl please run. This is a fictional story and the plot is basically just a vehicle for the smut. Contains slutshaming and controlling behavior. Also the dirty talk is painfully corny and pornolike so be warned lol. Oppa kink if it wasn’t obvious.

Even though you and Jaehyun were only one year apart in age, he had always babied you, to the extent that the one year you were forced to be apart for the first time since you came onto this earth—on account of him beating you to college first—you spent it lost and adrift like a puppy trying to find its way back to its owner.  

Which was completely ridiculous and melodramatic since, during that year you spent apart, Jaehyun never let a day go by in which you didn’t talk to each other. He called or texted you every single day no matter how busy he got and basically kept in better contact with you than even your school friends whom you saw every day. But still, his physical presence was something else. When it came time for you to go to college, there was no question about which one you’d choose, and he didn’t even bother to ask before bringing you all the papers that you would need in order to apply to the same college he attended. He guided you every step of the way lest you make any mistake and get rejected, and before you knew it, you were under your guardian angel’s wings again. Everything was as it should be. Your world was back on track. All the pieces fell—wait, what did he say? He thinks you should get some space from him? What the fuck is he on? You had this whole thing planned ever since you were little kids, and he seemed to be fully on board with that plan up until now. Isn’t that the entire reason you were here?  

“I’ve been on your back ever since you were born, but this is college, angel. You’re supposed to let loose a little and experience new things, and you can’t do that if I’m always around you like a second shadow. You’re on the same campus as me so I can still get to keep an eye on you and keep you safe. I don’t need to be your roommate too and be all up in your business all the time. You need a little space to grow and discover yourself.” 

He had explained it all so eloquently, so maturely; it made you want to gag. Who the fuck said you wanted space? It sure as hell wasn’t you. The entire reason you chose this college was so you can re-suture your hip to his and never separate again. If you had wanted space, there were a million other places you could’ve gone to instead of here. His whole explanation sounded like bullcrap to you, and it was just so unlike him. Your Jaehyun, Mr. overprotective in the flesh, telling you that he should back off and let you get loose? Yeah, you’re calling bullshit on this.

It didn’t take you long to find out the real reason why he refused to room with you, and it was just so typical, you actually burst out laughing in spite of the pain when you had caught him red-handed. You see, Jaehyun has developed a curious little womanizing streak in your absence. It was both unexpected and entirely predictable. Jaehyun was a man after all, and he had spent his whole life being the exemplary good boy who every mother wished her son would be more like. The only girl he interacted with beyond some cordial, totally neutered socialization was you, and you can unfortunately testify that your relationship was nothing more than an older brother-little sister type of thing. So of course odds were that he would give in to his physical needs eventually, and they say that the more repressed you were, the more freaky the meltdown gets.   To his credit, he tried to shield innocent, little you from his promiscuous ways, but alas, he was doomed to fail from the start. You just can’t hide your rendezvous when you’ve gone through half the student body already. Yup, shit sure got freaky. You wouldn’t have been nearly as crushed about this new development if it weren’t for how stupidly in love with him you are. Yes, stupid, dumb, idiotic you had to be every fucking cliché in the book and go and fall in love with your handsome, charming best friend who, of course, saw you as nothing other than a little sister. It was easy to delude yourself back home where your entire world was only a few blocks wide and Jaehyun’s sole attention was on you, but now he has dozens of beautiful women willing to warm his bed every night, and he’s burning through them like he was hell-bent on making up for the years of celibacy he had endured back home. Still you had enough sense of humor and self-awareness to laugh your ass off at the look on his face when you busted him. For a hot second, he tried to claim that the woman he was in bed with, who he didn’t even know the last name of, was his girlfriend and not the night’s flavor. You had sat there and listened to him dig himself into a progressively bigger hole until his partner finally cracked from the awkwardness and exposed his ass.

As much as you wanted to hate him for lying to you and, most importantly, for being with anyone who wasn’t you, you really couldn’t. He remained the same Jaehyun you’ve always known, always around and always there for you. He never let you down. It’s just that you now knew he wasn’t some kind of pure angel, but a grown man with needs and a very healthy sexual appetite. You could no longer continue to live in a fantasy world of your making where he was going to proclaim his love for you any minute now so you can go on and live the happily ever after you’ve been promised by every movie ever. You couldn’t even go the easy route and hate the women he slept with, call them sluts and whores and claim you’re so much better than them. Truth is, if you were in their place, you would’ve slept with him too. Who wouldn’t? He’s handsome and sweet and smart and the sun shines out of his ass. Any girl would be lucky to have him even if just for a night. You could only wish you were so lucky.     But despite how so uncharacteristically rational you were about this whole thing—and you gotta admit, you were damn proud of yourself for it—it was all still so surreal, and that feeling, that weird emptiness that came to reside in your chest in place of the fanciful love that once bloomed there, couldn’t be shaken off by any number of rational arguments or self-reflection. And you didn’t know what you had to do to fill that void so it wouldn’t swallow you whole.   It messed with your head sometimes, the emptiness; it told you that this was all his fault. It said that he had tricked you into wasting your life on him, that he purposefully fed into your delusion by the inordinate amount of attention and love he lavished on you. It spoke to you of how differently your life could’ve been if you had known how he felt from the start. For one, you wouldn’t have planned your whole life around him. And now you were stuck, forced to keep living in the ghost town you had built for him. So, desperate enough to take another page out of the book of clichés you so loved, you decided that since your years worth of love for him couldn’t possibly be replaced by the tepid, superficial affections that came with crushes and brand new relationships, you were just gonna have to go old school and fuck the bad feelings away. And surprisingly, it worked. For a couple of months, you attended every party on campus you could get into and refused to head home until you had someone in toe. It was awkward at first, for someone with zero experience like yourself, but you had lost the love of your life and were determined to find even a little bit of pleasure in this hell you suddenly found yourself thrown into. That determination paid off, and soon, you were floating high off your sexual awakening and all the new kinds of pleasure that came with it. Before coming to college, you never really thought about sex all that much, just the occasional guilty session where you’d rub one out to the thought of Jaehyun’s hands on you and him telling you what to do like he always did in real life. But those were few and far between and you always felt bad about it afterwards. Now it was entirely different. You reveled in your encounters. It felt good to allow yourself to feel pleasure and share it with someone who genuinely desired you. You got off on it—the effect you had on your partners. Contrary to how your dynamic was and is with Jaehyun, you were shocked to discover how much you enjoyed being the one in control every once in a while. It was much more than just sex to you, it was like discovering a whole other aspect of yourself that you never knew existed and would’ve never known about had Jaehyun not broken your heart. You were enjoying yourself and experiencing new things, just like he told you to, so it was just so fucking hilarious to see him right now, angry and pissed off at you for following the very same advice he gave you. You had noticed the building tantrum a week before it got bad enough for him to confront you about it. He always happened to be at the same parties you attended, and whenever you looked his way, he was always watching you, an ugly grimace on his face and an ominous look in his eyes that told you he was seconds away from ripping apart the person who was daring to touch you limb by limb. He was furious and visibly not in control of his emotions. Perhaps that was the reason why you could decipher another emotion in his eyes that you never saw directed at you before, desire. You didn’t know if it really was the first time he looked at you that way or if he always has but knew better to hide it, but that shit was like a drug to you, and you did everything in your power in order to fan that flame. You wore progressively more revealing clothes and acted progressively more wanton. You made sure he always had a good view of you as you put yourself in all kinds of compromising positions.   All your hard efforts culminated to this—him dragging you behind him to his dorm room after he snatched you away from the arms of your dance partner, whom you were practically dry humping on the dance floor.     Jaehyun flings you through the door and slams it behind him, his demeanor chilling. You’ve never seen him this angry before. You genuinely didn’t think that your guardian angel was capable of looking this menacing but somehow you managed to get him to this stage. It didn’t help that his bangs, which were normally styled down to give him a soft and fluffy look, were now sleeked back, making his features look severe and accentuating the fury in his eyes. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, huh? What happened to you?”  “Enjoying my college life?” You hold your head high, refusing to feel belittled by him. “Weren’t you the one who told me to?” “I meant make friends and join clubs, not be the first contender for the title of campus whore!“ He shouts. You knew Jaehyun was drunk, catastrophically so, otherwise he wouldn’t dream of using that tone with you, let alone call you a whore, but it still pissed you off. You also happened to be equally as drunk as he is and fully prepared to retaliate. “Kinda hard to win that contest when you’re the reigning king. Or is it ok and cool when you fuck a different person every night but it’s dirty when I do it? I never took you to be so sexist, oppa.”  “Don’t play dumb, ___. It doesn’t matter what I think of it. You could pretend we live in an ideal world all you want and that a woman and a man can be treated equally, but this is the real world, sweetheart, and it’s ugly and unfair, and it doesn’t care about those naïve ideals you have cooked up in your pretty little head.” Jaehyun gets up in your face and taps on your skull with his fingers, mocking you. “The fact is that a man can sleep around and not catch any flack for it. Hell, he might even be idolized. But a woman like you does it and the size of her tits and how tight or loose her pussy is are the talk of every guy on campus. You may be enjoying yourself now but it won’t be so fun for you when you realize that you’ve made it so all the guys here think you’re only good for being a warm wet hole for them to stick their dicks into.”  You were hurt. Jaehyun has never talked to you like that before. Even during his worst moments, he always took care to choose his words carefully so he wouldn’t hurt you, but now it seemed like he wanted to hurt you. He was being vindictive and petty and nothing at all like the Jaehyun you knew, and it hurt you so bad but it also made you angry beyond belief. You weren’t stupid. You were perfectly aware of how fucked up this world is, but he’s your best friend and he’s supposed to be your slice of utopia in this world. That’s what he had always been. Even if the world was unfair, he always supported you and offered you reprise from it, not parroted the bigotry back at you and made you feel like you have to accept it. If all the guys on campus really thought that way about you then they could go fuck themselves. Anyone who adheres to that ridiculous double standard isn’t worth you wasting a single thought on them. The problem lied in the person that already meant the world to you and yet chose to treat you the same way all those fuckers did. “Do you see me as a hole to stick your dick into as well, oppa? Is that why you’re so fired up about this?” He gapes at you, scandalized. “Are you insane? Don’t talk like that.” “Why? It’s the truth. I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me lately. Your dick wants to fuck this easy pussy, but your head is all conflicted about it because I’m your innocent, little girl and you’re not supposed to be thinking that way about me.” “You must be out of your fucking mind.” He hisses, and it really amazes you how he seemed to be getting angrier by the minute. You didn’t think it was humanely possible, but here he is reaching new heights with it. It should scare you off and that is clearly his intention, but the defensive undertone to his words rung clear in your ears and piqued a dangerous blend of curiosity and self-righteousness within you that urged you to expose him for all his lies.   He was standing so close to you that you only had to raise your hand in order to place it on his chest, “It’s ok, oppa. You’re a man too.” You slowly trail your hand up and down his firm torso, your ears attuned to the way his breathing got less steady with each pass of your hand over his lower stomach. “You’ve spent your whole life trying to distance yourself from the perverted and less civilized of your gender but this whole thing is forcing you to realize that you’re just like them, and all it took were showing a little bit of skin and being a little provocative for you to get off your high horse and deal with the fact that you want to wreck your little angel.” Your hand slides up to latch onto the nape of his neck, nails scratching lightly at the small hairs they find there. “You talk about other men, but it’s really you who is thinking those dirty things about me, right, oppa?”   Jaehyun remains frozen and unresponsive, but you could practically feel the barely suppressed anger unfurling under his skin. “So are you going to grow a pair and do something about it or are you going to continue hiding behind your fake concerns?” A tick in his jaw is all the warning you get before he’s grabbing a hold of you and bending you over the arm of the couch. Your shout of indignation cuts off into a sharp cry when you feel his large hand smack your ass. He might as well have slapped you right on the face for the flush that instantly colors it red. But it won’t be alone for long as Jaehyun seems intent on turning your ass even redder than your face is, delivering harsh, incessant smacks to both cheeks. “You just don’t know how to shut up, do you? You think you’re too grown to listen to your oppa anymore, huh? You think this is all fun and games?” He growls. “Oppa! What are you doing?” You shriek out. You were beside yourself with humiliation. Yes, you were goading him just a second ago but you never imagined he would actually do something like this! He chuckles mirthlessly, not stopping his assault. If anything he spanks you harder. “Where did the confident, sexually forward woman go? You’re gonna act all innocent now that you’re faced with the consequences of your actions? Well that’s too bad, angel, it’s a little late for that. If you wanna go around wearing big girl panties and acting like a slut, then you’ll be treated like one.” Fuck, this was so wrong, not just because of the degrading position and the way he was speaking down to you, but because of how much it was actually turning you on. The rumble in his voice and the rough, open-handed strikes he pelts your ass with do nothing but make you squirm with arousal. As you’re stuck trying to juggle between coming to terms with the embarrassing effect he has on you and simultaneously trying to hide it from him, you get struck with a sudden epiphany. You realize now why you had always allowed him to control your life; simply, you enjoyed it. You were just blissfully unaware of how much you’d enjoy him forcing you to submit to him. “Look at this, your skirt isn’t even covering your ass properly. Such a fucking slut.” He tuts, his hand taking a reprise from spanking you to rub over your red, exposed skin. “I can fucking see your pussy from here.” To prove his point, he insinuates his hand between your thighs, his fingers easily coming into contact with said panties. “Fuck, you’re so wet.” He purred, thrilled by your body’s honesty. “You like this, don’t you? You know you deserve to be punished.”  Impatient, he rips the panties down your legs and hurries to put his fingers on you again, moaning in appreciation when they touch the bare, velvety skin. “See? You’re a good girl. You just needed oppa to remind you.” Hearing him praise you like that, you couldn’t help yourself; you feel your pussy clenching around nothing, causing a small dribble of arousal to come out of your hole and coat Jaehyun’s fingers. “Damn, you really are needy. Now I see why you’re sleeping around so much. You can’t help yourself. You need someone to fill you up and take care of the ache in your pussy. Do you want me to do that for you, baby girl? Do you need oppa to stuff you with his cock and make the pain go away?” You feel yourself on the verge of tears, humiliated like you’ve never been before. Jaehyun is making you sound like some kind of a sex-crazed nymphomaniac which you weren’t at all, but it was hard to argue his point when just the light touch of his fingers on your pussy and the faint whiff of his cologne that permeated the air were making you hyperventilate. Feeling embarrassed but desperate, you push your ass back onto his finger and whine, hoping he would take some pity on you and spare you the degradation of having to say it outloud. He responds to that by removing his fingers entirely to deliver two cruel smacks to your already red and sore ass, his wet fingers leaving sticky stains on your cheeks. “That’s not how we ask for something, brat.” “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You wail, “It just hurts so bad!” “Where does it hurt, baby?” He coos, pretending to be concerned. He trails two fingers up and down your slit a few times before they settle against your hole, dipping inside shallowly. “Here?” “Yes! Please, oppa.” You cry out in frustration, putting all your effort into stopping yourself from pushing your ass back again to take his fingers deeper into you.   He hums, pleased with your answer, and rewards you by pushing his fingers all the way inside you, the width of them stinging a bit, but it still felt better than anything you’ve ever experienced before. Guess it’s true that sex with someone you love feels intensifies everything. You were getting so close already, and you try to pull your legs together to rub them against each other, but Jaehyun places himself between them and forces them back apart, smacking your ass with his free hand then massaging where he hit when he hears you whimpering in pain. “You’ve done so well already, don’t misbehave now.” He pumps his fingers in and out of you, and your legs shake with the effort to hold yourself up and keep them spread. Jaehyun notices your distress right away,“Oh, are you close, angel?” He taunts, “Are you that needy? Or do you just want oppa so bad?” “Please, can I cum?” You deflect the question, not feeling up to the effort it would take to lie to him but also not prepared to reveal your lifelong crush on him while you were bent over the couch getting fingered by him. That’s not what your nine year old self imagined it going at all. He sighs, but lets you get away with it. “Yes, sweetheart, you can cum.”   “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” You repeat like a mantra, feeling a sense of unrivaled euphoria ravage your body at how good his fingers feel inside you and how long you’ve been waiting for it. You’re boneless by the time your orgasm dies down, leaving you exhausted and vulnerable to the effects of the alcohol that was finally taking a toll on you. So when you hear the sounds of a zipper going down and a foil package getting ripped opened, you whine insolently, worried that your poor tired body might not be able to survive getting fucked by him if he continues being this rough with you. “Hush, brat.” He slaps you, this time over your sensitive pussy making you spasm in shock before falling boneless again. He gathers you in his arms and lays you on your back on the couch, pulling your thighs tight against your chest. Keeping your legs spread and heels in the air, he pushes himself inside you, grunting, “Take my cock like a good girl. This is what you wanted after all.” When he’s all the way inside you, his breath leaves him in a shaky sigh, and he takes a moment before he starts moving. But when he does, he doesn’t hold back, snapping his hips into you as hard as he had smacked your ass earlier, as if intending to make this into a punishment as well.  It was certainly just as humiliating, for he pushes your top and bra up to your chin so he could leer at your breasts as they bounce up and down with every thrust while his hands keep your legs spread wide with your heels up in the air. You felt every bit the slut he was accusing you of being, and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from drenching his cock in your juices, overwhelmed by a crude sense of pleasure at being manhandled and used by him, at having the man you’ve loved all your life claiming you in such a primal way. “Fuck, you’re tightening up.” He drawls, the words heavy on his tongue as he snaps his hips into you harder to overcome the resistance.   Are you gonna cum again? You like my cock that much. baby?” You turn your head to the side, trying to bury your face in the cushions to hide from him, but Jaehyun doesn’t allow it. He stops his movement and tugs on your hair sharply, forcing you to face him again. He bends down so his upper body is draped over you, his face mere inches from yours. The new position has his other hand pressing your thigh harder against your chest, making it cramp, and you whimper in pain. “Oppa, it hurts.”   “Say it, angel.” He lets go of your thigh and moves his hand to your lower abdomen, his thumb hovering just above your clit. “Tell oppa how much you like his cock and I’ll let you cum again.”

His gaze pierces yours, ordering more than asking you to obey him, and it’s a crime how sexy he looks even as his skin glistens and his bangs stick to his forehead with sweat. His figure looms over yours and he exudes a dominance you were no match for. You never were. So, meekly, submissively, you give him what he wants. “I like it so much.” “Like what?” His gaze doesn’t free yours as his hips pick up the pace again. It smolders, lighting your every nerve ending on a fire that is fanned by the grunts and moans that escape through his clenched teeth as he feels your walls clenching down on him.   “Your cock, oppa. I like your cock so much.” You really did. His cock fills you up just right, just a little bit too big so it give you that delicious burn as it forces its way between your walls, but not too big to actually hurt you. All that sleeping around must’ve did wonders for his skills because he knew just how to move his hips, which angle to hit to make your mind go blank and submit to him. “Please let me cum on your cock.” You whine, fearing that the overwhelming pleasure might short-circuit your heart if it didn’t find a release soon. “Plea—AH, fuck, Jae, Jae!” It only takes a couple of flicks of his thumb to have you spasm around him. He fucks you through it, grunting with effort as your walls get even tighter, making it harder for him to keep fucking you, but he doesn’t stop. Your orgasm feels never ending as he drags it out in order to reach his own, stretching your nerves thin with the over stimulation. Finally, finally, his hips stutter and he give you one last brutal thrust before he groans and collapses over you. His sweaty body, his hot breaths in the crook of your neck, and his cock throbbing inside of you as he cums almost suffocate you. The heat of him around you, inside of you, is overwhelming, and you feel like you’re trapped inside a furnace. Just before you start gasping for breath, he gets off of you, taking care to not let the condom slip inside of you as he pulls it off and ties it then gets up to dispose of it. Without his body warmth, and his warm presence, your entire body erupts into goosebumps, and you quickly yearn for his suffocating heat once again. Luckily, Jaehyun’s absence doesn’t last for long. Ever the gentleman, he comes back with a wet, warm towel that he uses to clean up the mess you’ve made between your legs. When he’s done, he tosses it to the side and scoops you up in his arms, taking you to his room. He sets you down on the bed gently, taking care to avoid putting pressure on your bruised bottom. You’re like a rag doll in his hands as he strips you down and dresses you up in one of his big shirts. He then grabs some cream, and coaxing you to lie on your stomach, he massages it on your reddened bottom, kissing the top of your head softly every time you wince in pain. When he’s done with everything, he engulfs you in his arms and whispers a soft good night in your ear.      

And sure it felt great to be treated so tenderly by him, that was one of the reasons you were so ready to submit to him in the first place; Jaehyun always knew how to make it worth your while. He knew how to pamper you so you’d strive to please him in order to get more of it.

On the surface of it, this looked like everything you’ve ever wanted, if only it wasn’t ruined by your knowledge that it was decidedly not. This isn’t a boyfriend caring for his lover after sharing a heated moment of intimacy. This was… well, you didn’t even know what the hell it was, and the huge question mark that hung in the air kept you from deriving any sense of enjoyment out of the situation.

You need to talk about what just happened. You needed to know what this means. Did Jaehyun like you too or was this just a sexual thing? Does he even find you sexually attractive or was he just drunk and pissed off? Is this something that could possibly happen again? Can there be something more?

You had so many questions to ask, but your eyelids were heavy and your mind was heavier, and before you knew it, it shut down on you mid-thought and plunged you into the blissful land of slumber.

“Let’s go get your stuff.”

“What?” You croak, barely having woken up yet, not to mention that some motherfucker was pounding on the inside of your skull like he was trying to break out.

Jaehyun stares at you, his eyes unnerving and entirely too sober. “You’re moving in with me. I need to keep a closer eye on you from now on. I won’t let you continue living this kind of lifestyle.”

Just like that, all sleep flew from your mind.

“What the actual fuck, Jaehyun?” You explode, “At least make a girl some breakfast before you go full chauvinist on her.”

“That’s not funny.” He deadpans, “I’m worried about you.”

“Well, you don’t need to. I’m a big girl. I don’t need you to check for monsters under my bed anymore.” You retort, incredibly annoyed that this was the direction the conversation was taking. This isn’t what you thought you’d be talking about. Dumb, little girl.

“Here we go again.” He rolls his eyes, and your cheeks flame at how condescending the gesture was. “You’re just a child who is playing at being an adult. You don’t realize the mess you’re getting yourself into. I can’t stand by and let you ruin yourself like this. I’ve taken care of you your whole life and I’m not about to stop now, even if you’re going to hate me for it.”

“I’m not your fucking doll, Jaehyun. Don’t I get to have a say in my own life? God, are you even listening to yourself?” You massage your forehead, unable to contend with both the headache and the unreasonable man. It was different when you were drunk and horny and trying to get into his pants, but now his words sounded just as ridiculous to you as they were. “If I had known you’d turn into this sexist, controlling asswipe the moment I did something you didn’t like, I would never have come here.”

He flinches at your words, looking wounded, but you can’t find it in you to feel sorry for him. He brought this on himself.

“I only want what’s best for you, angel.” He takes your hand between his own but you yank it away.

“You think slutshaming and controlling me is what’s best for me? It’s what’s best for you. You can’t handle that I’m not the virginal little girl you used to know and that I’m now a woman with an actual sex drive. You don’t like the ugly truth it’s making you confront about yourself so you want to force me to wear my old skin again so you can go on pretending you’re still the nice guy you always thought you were. You’re such a fucking hypocrite, Jaehyun.”  

“You’re right. I am a hypocrite. I criticized you for the same thing I gave myself a pass for, and that’s not fair.”

“Thank you.” You mumble, finding it strange how he gave in so easily, but feeling relieved nonetheless.

“So I should stop too. I won’t fuck around anymore. I’ll clean up my act and go back to being the older brother you deserve.”

“What?” You sputter, dumbfounded. “That’s not what I’m saying. You can fuck whoever you want. I don’t care.”

Your protest was weak and you knew it. You did care, a whole fucking lot. You were accusing him of being a hypocrite, yet here you are, ready to denounce your sexual awakening in exchange for keeping him celibate as well. It just hurt so bad to see him with all those women, and it never, ever got better. So if the price of you never having to see that sight again is sacrificing your own sexual freedom then would that really be so bad? You’ve lived through that before. You’re used to it.

“I know you don’t.” He gives you a strange smile, one you’ve never seen on his face before, and yet it feels so profoundly familiar. When he takes your hand in his again, you let him. “But I care. I care about being someone you respect and look up to, and I won’t achieve that by sleeping around.”

“I would still respect you even if you slept around, oppa. It’s your choice. I don’t want to snuff out your love life.” Your words said one thing, but your body language said another. You were looking at him with big, wet eyes and a woeful face that you knew he could never resist. You were playing the role of the martyr who is willing to sacrifice her own happiness in order to make him happy, because you knew that Jaehyun would never allow that to happen.

“You’re not snuffing out my love life. I can still date.” You couldn’t keep your face from visibly falling at that, and he hurries to clarify, thinking that your problem lied in his double standards again rather than your jealousy over him being with another woman. “And you can too! I’m not against you finding a nice guy and building a long lasting and loving relationship with him. On the contrary, that would make me so happy.”

He gives you a bright smile that you mirror with your own soulless one, but he doesn’t notice your lack of enthusiasm, and continues on. “I know that sleeping around isn’t necessarily a bad thing nor does it make you a bad person, but I just want to make sure that no one is taking advantage of you and that you’re safe and with someone who deserves you. Of course, he’d have to come through me first.” He chuckles, but this time you don’t even bother giving him a reaction.

“Is that alright with you, angel?” His knuckles caress your cheek softly, and you close your eyes, leaning into his touch and resigning yourself to a life of being wrapped around his finger. “Yes, oppa.”

A/N: I’m on hiatus so I don’t have time to pour over this story as I normally would have so excuse the cheese and the cliches. Anyway feedback keeps me alive so I’d love to hear from you guys.

Ace Mindhunter - 3rd Interview

Characters: Simon Blackquill, Athena Cykes, Shi-Long Lang, and a rogues gallery of AA villains. Fandom: Ace Attorney. Pairings: N/A. Warnings/rating: 16+, I would say. Talk of heavy themes such as death and abuse, plus cursing. Spoilers for every AA game up to Spirit of Justice, AAI2 included. Gratuitous amounts of headcanon for antagonists. Summary: Simon Blackquill is roped into a Behavioral Analysis project along with Athena Cykes. They must sit down with convicted murderers for interviews, in hopes of finding out just what drove them to their convoluted crimes.

3rd Interview Furio

Date: June 11th 2028 Time: 4:34 PM Location: Interpol H.Q. - B.A.U. Office. “Frank Sahwit. A burglar who was caught in the act by the owner of the apartment he'd broken into. He killed her in a blind panic, then shifted the blame onto her ex-boyfriend. He gave testimony about it in court and everything.” “No.” “Hmm... Cammy Meele. She was a flight attendant, but also a member of an international smuggling ring. She helped move things across the border. When an Interpol agent showed up to check the cargo hold of a plane, she panicked and shoved him so hard that he fell off the side of a flight of stairs. She tried to hide his body and when it was uncovered by accident, she scrambled to pin the blame onto a colleague. Looks like her cover-up was blown before the police could indict the wrong person.” “... That is even worse.” “Lucky number seven, then! Richard Wellington. A small-time con artist who mistakenly thought a police officer was on to his scams. He killed the cop, framed the cop's girlfriend, then hit the girlfriend's attorney over the head with a fire extinguisher just before the trial. … There's Mr. Wright's name again. I'll have to ask him about this one.” “The subject meddled with the court process, hm? We're getting warmer. The scammer has earned himself a spot on the consideration pile.” “We don't have a consideration pile yet. Only rejections.” “Then, by all means, start one.” Athena cleared some space on the desk they were meant to share, then placed Wellington's folder in the center. The rejection pile was a substantial one, the pile of profiles yet to be assessed had dwindled so badly that they had very few options left to them. Was this the best Lang could provide? “Next we have...” Athena reached for the assessment pile and opened the top folder. “Florent L'Belle. Eww...” “Pass,” Simon said and for once, he had Athena's full agreement on the matter. One more for the rejection pile. Athena ruffled her hair in a frustrated manner and Simon leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. There were a few water stains there, perhaps even mould. Interpol would spare no expense when it came to their investigations, but they must not have thought very highly of their Behavioral Analysis Unit if it were condemned to a shoddy basement office. Athena reached for the next folder and flipped it open. “Looks like we're moving on from petty criminals to the big leagues, now. Paul Atishon. I remember that guy... He was a corrupt politician who made a deal for a national treasure with Khura'in's Minister of Justice, then panicked when an archaeologist with an actual moral compass impeded that deal. He killed the archaeologist and at first made the death look accidental, then attempted to shift the blame onto a revolutionist when he got into hot water about it.” “Was that murder premeditated?” “Sure, but there was a lot of clumsy improvisation involved. I don't think there was a single strong thought going through his head beyond wanting to win some dumb election he was in. He was trying to live up to his grandfather's name, though, so that may be... something.” “... Consideration pile.” “Then, how about Redd White? Former CEO of Bluecorp, but also a blackmailer on the side. He killed a defense attorney who had the evidence necessary to expose him and shifted the blame onto her little sister. Looks like this one was definitely premeditated. He roped his secretary into his lies, even though she knew he was the real killer.” “Hnnn...” “Simon! You have to stop being so picky! If you keep shooting every possible interview down, we might as well give up!” If he was being truly honest with himself, Simon was torn on that concept. He'd been selected for this project without his knowledge and his cooperation had, to some degree, been coerced. Spitballing with criminals who'd already been judged felt out of place for a prosecutor. A more productive way to spend his time would've been to return to his usual cases. That way, he could put more of these killers behind bars. Still, there was always that possibility that their research could bear fruit in the long run. That he could apply the insights he gleaned from it in the courtroom. Perhaps the profiles they compiled would serve to sharpen his sword, allowing him to prevent wrongful convictions, or even the crimes themselves. Aside from that, there was a very tempting reward at the end of this road. He would have to trek his way through the mud to reach the Phantom. “The next one, perhaps,” he said, tearing his gaze away from the ceiling and back to Athena. “D'accord! You'll love this one, I'm sure of it! Dahlia Hawthorne, convicted for the murder of her ex-boyfriend! There's two murders that everyone suspected she was involved in, but they couldn't prove it in court. Then a few more counts of confirmed attempted murder and-” Athena broke off quite suddenly, then groaned and tossed the papers aside. “Says there that she's already been executed. They must've given us her file by mistake.” Simon could almost feel his will to keep breathing leave his body. Almost. Distraction came in the form of Lang, who had entered the room so quietly that Simon hadn't even noticed him until he was standing right next to them. Though not exactly giving off a warm glow, he wasn't in a sour mood either. He was, if anything, pleasantly courteous. “Well well, if it isn't our part-time shrinks.” “Please refrain from using that word,” Simon said to him. “What, part-time?” “Hmph.” “Good to see you, Shifu,” Athena called cheerfully. Simon bit down on his feather, the muscles in his jaw straining. “Shifu?” “That's what everyone around here calls him! Didn't you know?” Athena chuckled, then pressed a fist against Simon's arm. “Don't worry, just because he's my shifu doesn't mean you can't be my sensei.” Simon opened his mouth, then closed it again. “How goes the hunt?” Lang asked, perhaps changing the subject on purpose. Athena propped her elbows up on the desk, one hand playing with her earring. “We're having some trouble selecting our next target. Most of the profiles we were given don't meet our criteria.” “Or they're outright deceased,” Simon snapped, waving a hand at the profile in question, which had been scattered across the floor by Athena's fling. “Let's see... Dahlia Hawthorne, huh? Sorry about that. Some people say her vengeful ghost still roams the courthouse. Maybe that's how her name got in there.” Lang gathered up the papers as he spoke, then clutched the folder under his arm and stood upright again. “What have you got from your first two subjects? Anything useful?” “Dee Vasquez and Roger Retinz are difficult to compare,” Athena mused. “Mr. Retinz's murder was carefully planned out, Ms. Vasquez's was a spur of the moment thing.” Lang shook his head. “We already knew that. I'm asking what you found out.” “The Diva Producer's murder has some stains of sexism on it, but they are just that. Irrelevant stains. She took a life because she was threatened, then covered it up because she believed she had done nothing to deserve the punishment in her future. Her remarks suggest that the target of her frame job was chosen out of convenience, not out of spite.” “Hmm.” “As for the Greasy Producer, he suffers from a very typical form of narcissism coupled with internalized insecurities and self-loathing born from childhood abuse. The most-” “Not so fast!” Lang stood up a bit straighter and for the first time since Simon had met him, he looked confused. “Don't narcissists think they're God's gift to the world? How can a guy be a narcissist and still have self-loathing?” Simon sighed and raised a hand to the bridge of his nose, pinching it. “You are not familiar with the concepts of implicit and explicit cognition?” “Uh.” “Explicit cognition,” Athena began, using a slow pace as she sorted out her words, “is something that a person does consciously. Like, say... Explicit memory is when you study for a test and try to memorize all the important things. You remember things because you make an effort to remember. Implicit cognition is a subconscious thing, like associating a certain smell or taste with a past event. Basically, implicit cognition influences a person's behavior, even when they themselves have no conscious awareness of it.” “To summarize, the Greasy Producer's explicit self-esteem is high in order to compensate for the implicit self-esteem, or lack thereof,” Simon concluded. “Though, he confessed to us as Mr. Reus that he is aware of the implicit issue. He did refer to himself as a 'fuck-up', in the end. He's simply unable to remedy the internal disorder and that leads to further chaos.” Lang leaned himself against the side of the desk and as he attempted to move his hands into his pockets, the Hawthorne folder almost slid out from under his arm. “Right. Okay, I get it. That's great stuff.” “While different in most aspects, Retinz and Vasquez did share one important similarity,” Athena pointed out. “They both believed that their victim deserved to die.” “And was that belief misguided?” Lang asked. “In Mr. Retinz's case? Definitely. But I'm not so sure when it comes to Ms. Vasquez. Did the police ever find out whether that Manuel guy was murdered or not?” “Dunno. I could ask around, but since the supposed killer is dead, opening an investigation now would be a waste of law-enforcement's time. Lang Zi says: There's no use crying over spilled milk.” Simon frowned and Athena clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. That was as far as either of them was willing to go when it came to ancient plagiarism. Spilled milk, indeed. Lang paused and glanced down at the pile of folders left on the desk. “So what's these criteria you have for interviews?” “We certainly cannot use too many of these blind panic murders,” Simon said. “If you wish to diagnose the illness which is plaguing this city, we ought to be focusing on the composed planners. The grand names who stood tall even within the prison walls. Gavin, Gant or Alba, perhaps.” “I'll let you talk to someone like Gant when I'm sure you can walk away from that with your heads held high. This unit hasn't exactly got much of a reputation for itself and the last thing we need is for the inmates to think we're weak little pups.” “Can you at least think of some inmates who went out of their way for the frame job? Like Mr. Retinz did?” Athena asked, once again playing with her earring. “... Yeah. Yeah, I got one. He should be in the archives somewhere. Poisoned a guy's coffee, then hid the body and acted out the murder all over again in disguise to fool witnesses. As soon as the blame was shifted onto some innocent waitress, he disguised himself as a defense attorney and botched up her trial on purpose.” “Warte ein moment... I think I heard about this.” “I'll bet you did.” “Mr. Wright's name sure keeps popping up in a lot of these cases...” Athena drummed her fingers along the desk, narrowed eyes directed towards the far wall. “What was that guy's name again? Umm... Cheeto...” “Furio Tigre,” said Lang. ------- Date: June 12th 2028 Time: 2:00 PM Location: Interview Room. Simon still remembered their next subject quite well. Tigre had been one of the loudest inmates in death row and that reputation was sure to continue until his execution. Any attempt at anger management had failed and so, the guards had instead allowed collateral damage. The amount of times they'd had to carry a broken desk or splintered fragments of a cot out of Tigre's cell, Simon couldn't count. It'd been once a week, perhaps. With that in mind, Simon steeled himself to protect Athena from physical harm. He also knew that he might have to lower himself down to Tigre's level in order to be heard. The door from the prison side opened and Tigre was led inside by two guards, each holding onto one enormous arm. Almost ten years in the clink and a ripe age of 51 had done nothing to break down the tough guy demeanor. He was tall and broad in every sense of the word, but not exactly untainted. His spiky black hair held streaks of white and a scar ran across his left eye. Worst of all, his skin was tinged with a spray tan so unconvincing that it would make Klavier Gavin look as if he’d genuinely spent due time in the sun. When it came to the presence of artificial tan within prison walls, Simon had stopped asking such questions long ago. That this man had ever attempted to pass for Phoenix Wright was laughable, but not as laughable as the knowledge that the entire courtroom had been fooled. “I AIN'T TALKIN' TO NO FEDS, YOUSE HEAR?!” he was shouting with such ferocity, Simon could feel the ground shudder. “GWOOOOAAAARRR! GET YOUSE HANDS OFFA ME, OR ELSE!” The therapy animal which entered behind them was so small and quiet, Simon wouldn't have seen it if he hadn't known to search for it. Once Tigre had been settled down in his chair, the two guards backed away with such apprehension, it was evident they expected he might require more restraining. Perhaps he would've, were it not for the immediate change in his attitude when his eyes landed on Simon. He smirked, fingers curling around the edge of the table and nails digging into the wood. “Well well weeell... If it ain't our old jailbird. How's life on the outside been treatin' youse?” “It has been treating me quite well. Certainly, I can get a night's sleep without being disturbed by raving fruitcakes such as yourself,” Simon responded, which was both a truthful statement and an attempt to put his foot down. “Watch yourself, Tweetie! Just 'cause youse got outta here don't mean I can't still break youse kneecaps! Where do youse get off, actin' all high and mighty?! You think youse better than us, huh?!” “As I did not truly stain my hands with blood of any kind... Yes, I believe I am.” “Feh! Youse stained your hands plenty! Just look at how many of us youse had tossed in here! We shoulda strung youse up so high not even your little bird could reach your carcass!” Simon had no immediate comeback to that. Believing he was on the same level as every single killer in the clink was the sort of weight he'd carried around plenty over the past seven years. Now that he was recovering, he couldn't very well allow Tigre to push him right back into that mindset. Even so, it was true that some of residents in death row had been moved there by his hand. “You need to stop your bellyaching!” Athena snapped at Tigre. “Who do you think you're kidding? You've got nothing else to do with your day, right? Then you might as well answer some questions for us!” Not at all fazed by her words, Tigre squinted his eyes at Athena. Then he glanced towards Simon. “What's dis, then? Youse need your girlfriend to hold your hand? I was expectin' a loser like youse to die a lonely virgin.” Simon was no stranger to the sharper sort of prison tongue. Even so, he felt an overwhelming sense of humiliation and raised a hand to his face. The last thing he needed or wanted was for anyone to believe Metis Cykes's daughter was his girlfriend. He wouldn't want the inmates to think that his partner for this project was his girlfriend, either. Such a thing could be very damaging towards the interview process. As for Athena herself, she kicked at Tigre from under the table, causing the man to yelp and jump up from his chair. The two guards were by his sides immediately. “I said cut the crap!” she yelled at him. “We're here for a serious project and if you won't participate, we'll walk right out of here! You can spend what's left of your miserable life all by yourself and nobody will be around to hear you scream!” A dreadful silence fell. Just as everyone else in the room, Simon found himself staring at Athena and never before had he seen a more formidable foe. The last thing he'd expected was for his investigative partner to lower herself to Tigre's level, certainly not in order to defend him. It hurt his pride more than the notion of 'dying a lonely virgin' ever could. Tigre seemed unnerved, this time. A single drop of sweat ran down his temple. He wrung his hands together and sat back down. “All right, all riiight... Women, right? So what's dis project?” Athena set the recorder down on the table and began the usual speech of the Behavioral Analysis Unit and their intended questions. As she did so, Simon watched Tigre go from tense to bored, then finally to lost. Perhaps the words had been too formal for his mind to comprehend. “Uhhh. So you're gonna do a pop quiz?” he ultimately asked. “Something like that. And we'll be recording it, if that's all right.” “I dunno about dis... Dat sounds like an invasion of... y'know, privacy.” “You don't need to do this if you don't want to,” Athena assured him. “Well, all right. I'll do it as long as I knows I don't gotta.” Athena frowned and sat back in her chair. If her impression of Tigre was already odd, it was nothing compared to what happened next. The man leaned down to pick something up from the ground and set it down in his lap. It was a hairless chihuahua, dressed in a pink jacket so bright that it could veer straight off the known color spectrum and phase itself out of reality. Simon knew better than to stare. Athena did not. “W-What...?” she asked. “GRAAAGH! What're'youse lookin' at?! Youse never seen a dog before?!” Tigre roared at her. The chihuahua in his lap trembled, but not because of the volume. It was simply a standard setting for the animal. “Of course I have! I just wasn't expecting...” “Youse take your eyes offa Mitzy right now, or youse can kiss your interview sayonara!” “Jeez, sorry!” Athena hastily began shuffling through her papers. “Let's just get started with some standard questions.” “And you will answer the lady with due respect, lest I slice your tongue from your filthy mouth,” Simon said, now that he'd finally found his voice again. “Yeah yeah...” Athena cleared her throat. “You're originally from New York, but you moved to Los Angeles when you were 28, is that right?” “Uhhh. I dunno. 28 sounds about right.” “You don't remember how old you were?” “Who cares how old I was?! What's dat change, huh?! If I moved, I moved!” Simon wondered whether the defensive attitude was hiding a far grander secret. If it were, they wouldn't get it out of Tigre too easily. They would need to manipulate him into it, just as they'd manipulated Retinz. Athena must've realized the same thing, for she proceeded towards a different angle. “So what made you decide to move in the first place?” “Damn, talk about nosy questions...” Tigre huffed loudly, then raised a hand to the chihuahua's head to pet it. He must've been quite gentle, as the tiny and fragile creature didn't so much as flinch at being stroked by enormous fingers. “I moved to L.A. because the people here are chumps.” “Chumps?” “Sure. Couldn't start a good loan company in a place like New York. Everyone's all wisened up to it. But here in L.A.? Hah! People are desperate to live dat big Hollywood dream!” Athena stopped to take a few notes. As she did, Simon decided to try and take some lead in the conversation, or else be completely emasculated. No other inmate would take him seriously if that were to happen. “What of the family you left behind?” he asked. Tigre frowned. “What about 'em?” “Were you still in touch with them? Would you return to New York for the holidays, perhaps? I would assume the Tigre family gathers 'round a nice, dead antelope for Thanksgiving.” “Grrrrr... I told youse to watch yourself, Tweetie,” Tigre growled at him. “What do I care about family when I've got a business to run? Holidays were a huge cash-in moment. Lotsa new loans goin' out, too. Everybody wanted to buy their missus a new sports car, see, and then another one for de mistress.” “Not even a season's greetings was sent to New York, then?” Simon asked, only to receive a deadpan in response. “You did have family, did you not? Or were you perhaps raised by a pack of tigers in some Brooklyn back alley?” “ARE YOUSE MOCKIN' ME?! WHY, I ATTA SMACK YOU SO HARD-” “Hold it, hold it!” Athena called, raising both hands to try and put a stop to further argument. “We're getting off track, here. Let's talk about something else instead, all right?” Tigre seemed content to do just that and Simon made sure to shoot a grin his way. “This whole story about how you murdered Mr. Elg and why you did it is really complicated. Do you think you could explain what happened in your own words?” Athena asked. Somehow, the question seemed to irritate Tigre. He tisked loudly and glared towards the wall. Following that, he ran his fingers along Mitzy's head, then under her chin as he spoke. “I needed money, see. On account a' Viola's operation. And it was damned idiotic. I had people all over town owin' me money, but none a' those losers could pay up. Not a dime! So I met with Elg, see. He was gonna gimme some fancy schmancy virus I coulda sold on the black market for millions. It woulda paid off my debt to Viola's family just like dat. Then as we're sittin' there, havin' our coffee, dat wise guy goes and wins the damned lottery! 500,000 big ones! He woulda paid off his measly 100,000 debt and left me in the lurch, see. It was the millions I needed. Way I figured, that was what he owed me for keepin' me waitin', too. Interest, y'know. So I killed 'im and took the virus.” Simon felt that there was quite a bit to unpack, there. Far more than they currently had time for. They'd have to pick this apart piece by piece, just as an attorney would cross-examine in court. “You killed a man because you believed he owed you more money than he truly did?” he heard himself ask, despite knowing deep down that was hardly the best approach. “What about it, huh?! You wanna go?!” Tigre grabbed at his prison uniform with both hands, looking just about ready to rip the fabric. What that would accomplish, Simon had no idea. “Stai calmo,” Athena said. “Let's take it from the beginning. You mentioned something about an operation for someone named Viola?” “Y-Yeah...” Tigre was back to absentmindedly fiddling with Mitzy now, his fingers adjusting her jacket. “Was she your girlfriend?” “No- Well- See... Viola's from a real influential family...” “The Cadaverinis, I believe,” Simon supplied, once again throwing a smirk Tigre's way. “They are the biggest mob family here in this 'chump-filled' city. Should one disrespect a Cadaverini, one will find themselves wearing concrete shoes at the bottom of Los Angeles River. If I recall correctly, this tiger sitting before us crossed Viola Cadaverini's car in the most unfortunate way possible and she did not walk away unscathed.” Tigre's eyes narrowed into a ferocious glare. “So... Wait, Mr. Tigre wanted to pay for Viola's operation because he was the one who caused the accident that hurt her in the first place?” Athena rubbed at her own chin, looking doubtful of the story. “Listen! I had to pay!” Tigre shouted at them. “Ol' man Bruto woulda had my head if I didn't! Those damned Cadaverinis! They think they can just make a guy do anythin'!” Athena raised a hand to her chest and closed her eyes. Widget was glowing a bright yellow through her fingers. “... You didn't feel bad that someone ended up in the hospital because of you?” “I had the right a' way! She was the one who didn't look before zooming into the street! And I was the one drivin' a scooter! If anyone shoulda been hospitalized, it woulda been me! But nooo, I got lucky on account a' my helmet and she has to go crack her skull on the steerin' wheel! How's that my fault, huh?!” For a split second, Simon thought that Furio made a good point. If indeed he'd had the right of way and Cadaverini hadn't been paying attention, it would've been hard to fault him for the accident. Then Simon remembered just who they were sitting across and came to the conclusion that the only victim of this story was Viola Cadaverini, who would be fooled by such a despicable man. "She wouldn't just let it go, either!" Tigre was still raving on and on. "Me bein' sentenced to death still wasn't good enough! Dat fuckin' BITCH tried to poison me while I was in here! What, just 'cause I tried to take care a' her?! Who cares if I loved her or if I didn't?! I was doin' right by her by tryin' to pay off dat hospital bill and givin' her a job and shit! Now she's snatched my damn business! Tender Lender was MINE, you hear?!" Athena drew a deep breath, Widget still emanating a yellow glow. Knowing what that color meant, Simon placed his arm on the table and leaned in towards Tigre. "If you don't cease your caterwauling this instant, I will have you muzzled!" "Up yours!" was Tigre's response, though he simmered down all the same. A nimble shake of the head, then Athena continued. “So you took Mr. Elg's virus by force, as it was the only way for you to pay off the Cadaverinis. Could you not simply have stolen it without killing him?” “What, and have him come for me with a buncha coppers? I woulda been the prime suspect once he'd figured out the virus was missin'!” Athena squinted, then turned her gaze towards Simon. He couldn't quite fight off the smile that was dawning on his face, so he allowed it to flourish there. When at last it became clear that Tigre wasn't seeing the problem with his logic, Simon took delight in sharing just that. “Forgive me, Tony Tiger, I must ask,” he prompted with mock delicacy, acting as if he were speaking to a toddler. “What sort of fool would report to the police to inform them that a powerful computer virus, crafted by his own hand, has been stolen? I would daresay that producing malware is an even worse crime than lifting the CD it is on. Had you taken it from him by force or through an underhanded ploy, such a weak man would not have been able to do a thing to prevent it.” Tigre looked dumbstruck, another pearl of sweat rolling down his face. Simon could swear that the spray tan was mingling into it. Three seconds of silence, then Tigre was roaring yet again. “GRRROOOAARRR, YOUSE MOCKIN' ME! I KNEW IT! DAT'S IT, I'M OUTTA HERE!” Sure enough, Tigre made to stand up, cradling Mitzy firmly with both hands. The two guards looked quite uncertain. Athena rose to her feet as well, darting forward to block Tigre's path. Simon was by her side immediately, ready to shield her, should there be a need. Fortunately, Tigre's hands were so full of chihuahua that he couldn't land a punch even if he wanted to. “Wait, wait, just one more question!” she insisted, spreading out her arms. “... What?” “I can understand why you might re-enact the murder to establish an alibi and shift the blame for the murder onto someone else. But why did you...” she trailed off for a second and Simon could swear she was fighting off amusement. “Why did you impersonate a defense attorney? Wasn't the phony murder already good enough to have Ms. Byrde convicted for your crime?” “Pssshh, please. Just 'cause I was a humble loan shark, you think I hadn't heard about all those miraculous turnabouts that kept happenin' in court whenever Wright was involved? I couldn't risk havin' him figure out the murder I set up was a sham.” “Hold on... Are you saying you did it because you felt threatened by Mr. Wright?” “WHO'S THREATENED?! YOU SAYIN' I'M A COWARD?! NOBODY CALLS ME CHICKEN! JUST 'CAUSE HE'S GOT A NICE, COZY BLUE SUIT AND A HALF-ASSED LAW DEGREE, YOUSE THINK HE'S BETTER THAN ME?! WRIGHT'S GOT NOTHIN' ON ME! I COULDA FLATTENED HIM LIKE A PANCAKE! I COULDA SNAPPED HIM IN HALF LIKE A TWIG! FUCK HIM AND HIS LITTLE GIRL SIDEKICKS!” “I was only-” Tigre wouldn't hear any more, instead snapping at Simon. “And YOU! Tryin' to make me out like some kinda idiot! HAH! You really do think you're better than us, movin' right from prison into some big ivory tower on your high horse! If dis is how your little science project works, good luck with the rest of the killers in here! The guards are gonna be scrapin' your guts offa dese here walls and I will fuckin' laugh and LAUGH!” Much as Simon yearned to spout a comeback, he knew that it would be a pointless battle. The only way for him to come out victorious was to be above Tigre's rage, for being dragged down by it would take him to depths he'd rather not see. He crossed his arms over his chest and met the man's gaze with fierce eyes of his own. “Mr. Tigre, please don't-” Athena attempted, but it was no good. “GOOD DAY, MADAM!” Tigre stormed from the room so fast, the two guards had to rush after him in a panic. The moment the door slammed shut behind them, silence fell. Simon stopped the recording device and began to gather up his papers, a feeling of uncertainty nagging at him. Had they just single-handedly ruined the interview? What would Lang say when he found out about this? “... As always, Tony Tiger allowed his emotions to get the best of him. Had he been able to channel his anger into something productive, he would've led quite a successful life,” he remarked, if only to lighten the mood. Athena stared at him. “Simon... Did you seriously not get it?” “Get what?” “Mr. Tigre... He was never angry. Not once during the entire conversation. He was afraid.” “Afraid?” “Afraid of the Cadaverinis, afraid of Mr. Wright, afraid of our questions... I think he was even afraid of what you think of him, now that you're acquitted.” The notion was so backwards that it took a long time to truly sink in. When at last it did, Simon found himself walking away from the prison with a smile and a light, bubbly feeling in his chest. To Be Continued

Dead of Night

Since he was a boy, Bickslow always found it difficult. Sleeping. He had an immense amount of freedom presented to him at an early age, following the death of his parents, and that lead to a lot of terrible choices being made along the way.

For a long time, out on the street, he kind of couldn't sleep well. Anywhere. Because someone was always after you. After making it to Fairy Tail though and finding his way there, he found that the night just suited him by that point. He would sit up in his room at the dormitory all night, reading comics and learning spells when he was young, lamenting life while chain smoking when he grew. As a man now, the bad habit had eaten away at him and, though he could tumble out of his bed for practice or jobs, if the Thunder Legion was on any sort of break in Magnolia, he'd only go back to his apartment and sleep all day so he could stay up all night, watching movies on his lacrima while discussing with his babies the myriad of topics that crossed his mind.

The night life was just his most productive hours, was all. Daylight made him squint his eyes, having to hide them behind his visor, and things were much softer at night, he found, other than just the light. People whispered and music was hushed and it was just much calmer, outside. You could hear the animals out in the forest better and even when he was all alone, in his apartment, he found himself trying to be silent about it. Hushed. His lacrima would stay down low, hardly more than a candle or two lit, and the babies knew to keep their nonsensical rambles to a minimum.

Papa had a lot to think about. They usually left him to it.

Still, the hours weren't too great for a social life. It was bad enough, being gone all the time, off on jobs, but then when he was home, yeah, he was around to go out to dinner or hangout late into the night, but as he grew, he found that less and less people were only about that. Staying up all night partying and carrying on. People liked to meet for lunch. Women liked to be taken out. During the day. Or at least not to only have an attentive partner during some of the daylight hours. When he was around to be that. Which he rarely was.

But meh.

Bickslow had a hard enough time finding a woman who was interested in him. It was a lot of work to get a woman to look passed the face tattoo and strange dolls that floated about. And when he did find one, he was kind of tired of her already because he'd already been chasing her for a good point at that part and it was boring. Once that was all done with.

And what kind of guy would he be, huh? Being interested long term in a woman who was interested in a fucked up person such as himself? If she was into face tattoos and delinquency, then he probably wasn't into her.

A catch 22.

Maybe.

He wasn't quite sure what that was, but it felt like it applied to his situation well enough.

It was weird though. When it happened. Really weird. Which suited him, because he was really weird, but…

Lisanna was always kind of a misfit too. Sort of. She was more aligned with the inner circle of Fairy Tail than he was, really, as she spent years hanging off Makarov's golden boy, Natsu (while, you know, Bickslow hung off the real golden boy), and she was Mirajane's little sister, which carried a lot of weight too.

But when she arrived back from the dead, it was to an all new guild and all new people and her siblings, even, were different. Life didn't wait for you, while you were gone. It couldn't. Things moved on. They had to. He was sure she didn't blame them. How could she? It was through grace or fate or luck or, maybe, just sheer chance that Lisanna had been saved. Been given a second chance.

She had no right to complain about anything.

So she didn't. As far as he knew. Lisanna seemed just happy to be around, at any given point, and would spend time with anyone. Her brother seemed to be the only one that she'd go out on jobs with though and Mirajane was content, really, to have her just hang around the bar most days. Where she could glance at her. And grin. Because she was there. Lisanna. Alive. With them again.

She wasn't so clingy to Natsu in those days though. No. He was gone a lot, on jobs, and she was always friendly with most everyone in the hall, before her death, so it was only natural that she'd fall so simply back into that roll following her supposed revival. Or was it just a return?

It didn't matter. She seemed to not really wanna focus on it, up at the hall. She threw herself into whatever everyone else was into and drifted around the hall some, kind of glad to just take it all in again. As time went on though and days became years, she did find herself hanging around the Thunder God Tribe a lot.

This mainly had to do with Elfman and Ever's hot and cold antics which Lisanna enjoyed greatly because it gave her something to tease her older brother about. Not to mention giggle about with Mirajane. Evergreen usually didn't take well to other women, but she did see the benefits of Lisanna. Whether she and Elfman were off or on, it was great to have the youngest Strauss about to tell her every single thing the man was doing when they were apart.

Because she had to know.

Every single detail.

It was through this that Lisanna and Bickslow became friends. Sort of. She seemed to like Freed the most out of all of them and they would spend time together even when Ever or Elfman weren't around to torment, as Lisanna seemed to take great amusement out of the rune mage and his seriousness. He liked her as well. She listened to his complaints from jobs and seemed to understand the woes of leadership. Or at least was sympathetic to it.

Bickslow would hang about in times like that, occasionally, and it was a different dynamic, the one he and Lisanna formed with one another. She was goofy, underneath it all, and he had the same ailment, though he hid it beneath his dark surface, and they could cut up to the chagrin of Freed at times.

He wouldn't consider her a friend. Not really. Something more than an acquaintance and more, even, than the others in the hall. He liked Lisanna enough, the seith did, and he didn't mind too much one day when she sat down at the table with him, just him. They spoke and he drank and when it was time to close down that night, he mentioned that he wasn't headed home just yet and, since Mirajane still had to stay so late, closing up, he could walk her home. If she wanted.

"So you don't gotta wait for your sister," he explained and she almost rejected him, bringing up the fact that she was a super powerful mage too, you know, and could take care of herself, but…

They were having a pretty good conversation before that and it beat walking about in the cold all alone.

"What are you going to do?" Lisanna asked him eventually as they strolled through the dark, silent streets. "You said that you weren't going back home yet-"

"I'm not."

"Then-"

"Just go walk around the park some. Be a vagrant for a bit. Then go home. Smoke. Watch a movie."

"Long night."

"That's the goal."

She offered to go with him and Bickslow was kind of hesitant because, yeah, he wasn't minding his night up to that point, hanging out with Lisanna, but they were pushing some hours together by that point and they couldn't possibly force any more conversations.

Not to mention, he didn't know what her intentions were, exactly. But she seemed to just not want the night to end yet and they were guild mates. Friends, fine, yeah, whatever.

"I guess you can tag along," he gave him eventually with a bit of a shrug. "If you wanna."

"Only if you wanna, Lisanna," his dolls all insisted and she didn't drink, but was pretyt giggly in the late hour.

"But," the seith added as they changed their path then, her no longer leading and him taking over, "there is a rule."

"A rule, huh? Just to hang out in the park? At night?"

"Yeah."

"Gotta hear it then, I guess."

"Keep talkin'," he explained simply, "to a minimum, huh?"

She giggled at first, thinking this was some kind of joke, but when he just shook his head, she teased slightly, "Afraid of waking the ghosts?"

"Somethin' like that."

She giggled once more though and when they finally got to the park, the moon was high in the cloudless sky and it was kind of mystic out, it felt. Their conversation was dead, but neither he nor Lisanna seemed to feel any heaviness over this. Lisanna kept glancing up at it, the sky, and Bickslow found he kind of liked looking up there too.

"Stars are out," he muttered and she shot him a look before putting a finger to her sealed lips and, well, what could he do but tug at his visor and nod.

When the park got boring, Bickslow naturally headed home and he sort of forgot that he was supposed to take Lisanna back to hers until they were at his and he started to speak, but found the sound dying on his tongue and she was beaming at him because she was having a good time and didn't seem too exhausted either.

"Stay up late often? Kid?" he asked once they were inside because they officially weren't outside and that meant that the no talking ban was lifted. Still, he whispered it and Lisanna had been to his apartment before, once, when he had a party and Ever made him invite her and Elfman, but it was different just the two of them.

Everything felt different just the two of them.

"The best hours," she assured him in a hushed voice back. "You said something about a movie?"

Snickering, he could only nod his head. "If you're up for it."

They watched two, actually, that night, and as the second ended and the sky was turning that strange mix of deep purple and light blue, Lisanna dipped out finally. He offered through yawns to walk her back home, really walk her back home then, but she said she only wanted to get there before Mira took off for the morning shift.

"Hopefully," she sighed as she left, "she didn't notice I never made it in."

He'd found out when he rolled into the hall much later in the day, the evening really, to meet up with Freed and Evergreen, that Mira hadn't noticed. Lisanna told him this as she served him, just starting her shift for the night, and Freed questioned him as the Strauss woman left them, what exactly she was talking about, but the seith could only shrug.

"Maybe I hung out with Lisanna Strauss last night. Ever think of that, Freed?"

"No," his friend said with a shake of his head. "And I don't think I rather like the implications."

"Was a silent night, I'll tell ya that much."

"Please stop talking to me about this."

"Lots of hushed whispers."

"Bickslow-"

"Stars. I saw stars."

"I really wish you would find another person to discuss this with."

Bickslow didn't want to though.

He knew to cool it though, when Ever came about, because she might say something to stupid Elfman and then the joke would either get his ass kicked by the muscular man (an attempt, at least), as well as it getting back to Lisanna, which was the last thing he wanted.

Eventually, he found himself alone again, bothering others around the hall as he drank and waited. He wasn't sure for what. That night, he'd wanted to just go home and hang out in the darkness and decompress a bit. They would be heading out on their grueling jobs soon enough, him and his two best friends, maybe even Laxus, which meant that he should be prepping for that, but…

"I thought," he offered when Lisanna got off, "that I could walk ya home again. If you wanted."

She got off before closing (because Mirajane trusted no one to close up the place other than herself) and seemed eager at his suggestion and wow, it had never been this easy before. To get someone to actually hang out with him. Even Ever and Freed took a bit of convincing.

"I probably wouldn't be able to sleep," she offered as they left the place, "anyways."

"Never can," he agreed easily. "Better to sleep durin' the daylight, anyways. It's too bright for being out long."

"That's one reason, I guess, yeah," she sighed and he didn't press because, really, he didn't care much. Not then. He just wanted to get back to his place so that he could see how close, exactly, they were to having the same feelings about the night.

There would be no movies and no park. No. Only his music lacrima, lighting up, and deep self-reflection. He kind of thought Lisanna would bail on that one because there were no stars or silent comedies. But nope. As they sat about, he muttered some thoughts sometimes that she found funny enough and his babies glowed green, softly, in the darkness, to replace the stars as they were provided with before. She didn't even call his musical tastes crummy or nothin', like most people would. Like he would admit they would.

"It really," he told Freed as the man only groaned and prayed his face wouldn't show his embarrassment, the next time he saw the youngest Strauss sibling, "set the mood. The music. And we talked til the sun came up, after. Magical, really, it felt."

"I wish you had another friend."

He did.

But he couldn't tell her about it because she'd get all pissy. Ever thought she was the only one that could fuck a Strauss. And, well, she was, actually, but his story would imply otherwise and you couldn't have that.

They couldn't hang out again, for a bit, because he took off on his jobs and, when he returned, she was never around in the evening, it seemed. He heard something from Ever about she and her brother going off on a job, at one point, but other times he saw her hanging about with Natsu and Lucy and the like, so he just let her be.

Eventually, of course, the darkness found them both sitting around the hall, almost waiting for one another it seemed, and when he offered to walk her home, it was easy for the woman to accept.

They went to the park again that night, but they didn't walk around for long as, after picking out a spot, he and Lisanna fell onto their backs on the soft grass and they stared full up at the starry sky, silently, for a long time.

"Hey, Bickslow?"

"S'pused to be quiet," he muttered as he didn't even glance at her. "Lisanna."

"What do you think about? When you stare up at the stars?" She hummed some, softly, and said, "I think about how, probably, right now, they're looking up at the same ones. In Edolas. And in all other sorts of planets and worlds and… But I think I'm probably the only one."

She didn't think she'd get an answer back, he could tell, because she turned her gaze from him and back up at the sky. It was only then though the man spoke. His visor was pushed up and his hood was off and he felt the cool wind as it blew over them in ways he typically didn't.

"I remember," he told her softly, "when I was a kid. Lookin' at 'em. And my Papa told me that each one was a different universe all together. And when you're done on this one, you get to go hang out in one of those then. Billions of 'em, I bet. Just waiting. For you to try each one. You don't always get put back with the people you want, each time you go to a new one, and I bet that would suck, but he told me that sometimes, maybe, you do. All those combinations, you almost have to."

"I like that." She was looking at him again, he could feel it, but he wouldn't her. "Like… I'm not looking at the same stars as everyone I left back in Edolas; I'm looking at them. And they're looking at me."

Nodding some, he added, "But I wonder some times. When you do go on. When you do get to a new one. And maybe you do meet someone from one of the other billions you'd been to. Do you know? Or would that ruin it? Or do you just feel a connection to them, yeah? One you can't explain. That you don't understand. Until you're separated again. Just to hope you get it again. Maybe different, maybe not, but somethin' like what it was. Maybe that's why I'm friends with them. Freed and Ever. Why I like Laxus so much. Fairy Tail so much. Because I've been with you all before. We've all been with each other before. Or at least some of us with one or the other. Could you imagine that? I wonder if every tie we cross paths, all of us, do we raise as big a commotion as we do here? ON Earthland?"

She hummed in response before her eyes fell away from his face and onto his chest. His babies littered it, dormant it seemed, for the time being.

"Maybe," she whispered softly, "when you meet someone you knew before, that you connected before to, you don't have to leave them. Again. When it's your time to go. Maybe you get to go. And you wait on them. To join you. Like your dolls. Maybe they're people you knew, before or now, who are waiting on you to join them. And your magic just lets you see it. Let's you realize it. And the rest of us have no clue."

"Maybe," he agreed as he blinked. "Lisanna."

When the sky started to lighten and the stars began to fade, he wasn't shocked to find Lisanna snoozing. He'd heard her doing it for a good hour or two at that point. But he only reached over gently to shake her shoulder with a yawn as he got to his feet.

"Don't want someone catchin' ya, kid," is the best advice he could offer. "Sleepin' in a part. Leaves bad impressions."

Freed was the one with the jokes though, that time, when he and his friend met for dinner at the hall.

"And what things, then, did you and Lisanna get up to?" he questioned. He'd been there, when they left together, and though he squeezed his eyes shut and pretended not to notice, the horrible images that he was certain the seith would paint that evening were ingrained in his mind already, conjured up or not. "Hmm? What vague, graphic thing did the two of you-"

"Lisanna and I are friends," he told Freed simply and there was little play in his voice then. He said it in a rather commanding way too, as if affirming this to the rune mage who, obviously, had assumed them more by that point anyhow. Due, of course, to Bickslow's own boasting. "So maybe just lay off, huh?"

Freed frowned, but knew his friend to always be a bit off, so he didn't push the subject. It wasn't as if he were too keen to get into the nitty-gritty of it anyhow.

"If you wanted to do somethin', tomorrow night," Bickslow found himself asking Lisanna a few days later. Days. Because he met her during the day time, as she didn't seem to be around at night recently. But that day there she was, working bar through bleary eyes and he only rubbed at his own as he made an offer to her. "Then do you think that you could meet me in Hargeon? After sundown?"

He had no way of knowing if she was even planning on staying out late that specific night or whatever, but Lisanna nodded not soon after he spoke and it was set, the location and the time. All he had to do was make sure not to get drug out on a new job between then.

They had dinner together, given they met so early in the evening, in Hargeon and their conversation was light and jovial then, like it usually was, used to be more often, when they only spoke about teasing her brother and Ever, or giggled over Freed's serious nature.

After exploring the city until an unreasonable hour for most, they found themselves drifting towards the docks and Bickslow had already rented them a tiny row boat and it was kind of comical, really, maybe, the two of them paddling off into the night together. If they sprung a leak and both drowned, no one would ever be able to explain what exactly they were doing.

"Are we dating?" she asked after they'd rowed a good bit from the dock and where just sitting there, on the single piece of plywood that stretched between each sides. The bench. Seat. Neither knew enough about boats to know if it had a true name. They faced away from one another, though they were forced to touch one another, at the sides, and he looked out into the more ocean that awaited them forwards while she watched the glimmering city behind them. "Bickslow?"

"Not like any datin' I've ever done," he replied simply and she only shrugged some.

"You'd be the expert," she assured him as she reached with one hand, up, for one of his babies as it floated close enough. She didn't grab the floating doll out of the sky, but rather guided him then, down to her lap, where she only grinned down at him. To the doll's father though, she whispered, "Out of the two of us."

"Do you wanna date me?" It was foggy that night and he watched as it rolled over the waves around them. "Lisanna?"

She considered this in silence for a few before saying, "If this is what it is...dating… Then I wouldn't mind it, no. This is nice. I… I wanna keep doing this."

"Who said we had to stop?"

"No one. I was just-"

"It's good to talk, sometimes, kid," he told her with a bit of a sigh, "but other nights, I think, it's just better when we don't."

And she had to agree.

When he rowed them back to shore, the pair took the train back to Magnolia together as the sun came up, and it was almost blinding by the time they arrived, but she only yawned, heading one way as he did the other.

This went on for some time. This late night game they were playing. There was no pattern to it, no rhyme or reason, but as the season only got colder, they found themselves doing it more often than not inside of his apartment. Which was just as well. Lisanna could just as easily kill the early morning hours there as she could else where.

"Why don't you like to sleep at night?" he whispered one night as they sat there, on his bedroom floor, and his back was up against the bed while she laid before him, nearly there, really. Sleep. But not quite. He could tell as he puffed at his smoke and enjoyed the music. "Kid?"

"Something changed," she admitted to him softly and she didn't even think about it. Didn't hesitate. "When I went there. To Edolas. Not that place on it's own, but whatever happened to me, when I got sucked up, I think… I think maybe I felt it. Just for a minute or two. The darkness. What really comes for you. When you… Sometimes when I close my eyes, if I'm not really exhausted yet, then I won't be able to sleep so fast. You know? And then I have to think about it, as I shut them, and I don't… I hope your dad was right, Bickslow. That we get to go somewhere else. Other places. With or without people we knew before. Just...other worlds. That it keeps going. Infinitely. For all of us. Because if it doesn't...and what I saw, the darkness, is all there is… I just hope, I guess, is all."

"Yeah." And it burned that time, the inhale, but the exhale felt so good. So very good. "I hope too."

"Bickslow..."

"Hmm?"

"Maybe one day," she whispered as she drifted off, "we can go on a real date. Do you think? I don't even know what that means, but-"

"We will," he assured her,. "Lisanna. Promise."

"But still this too, right?"

"Yeah," he agreed and smiled some from the thought. "Can't sleep without it."

He never thought he'd find someone that would enjoy it as much as him. Those early morning hours. On top of that, someone he wasn't bored with. Because it wasn't a chase. He wasn't after Lisanna. It all just kind of...happened. And she wasn't into his face tattoo or too old to be so edgy attitude. She just liked to be around him. To talk about the same things as him. Listen to the same music. Snicker at the same movies. Sit, for hours, under the same billions of other universes that loomed above them.

To think, he was that old before he realized that's what he shouldda been looking for all along.

He kissed Lisanna for the first time when she left his apartment in the early dawn hours that next morning and she only giggled, there in his doorway, while he grinned and his dolls sang softly behind him, nonsensical and ready for bed it seemed, but to the amusement of the two people they were serenading.

Only, when he fell into bed after pulling his curtains closed and tossing a blanket over his head, he just couldn't fall asleep. His body wanted it. It needed it. But it was rejecting it as all he could think about, instead, was Lisanna and what they'd do, if they ever did go out. Really go out. Somewhere where everyone saw and what would Freed say, to learn that it wasn't nearly as whirlwind as he'd made it out to be, before? And that they were headed towards being, finally, much more than friends?

"Rough day?" the rune mage asked when, before the sun even began to set, Bickslow found himself staggering into the guild for a late lunch rather than an early dinner.

But he could only shake his head, Bickslow could, as he knew he'd have to turn in early that night. Especially if he was gonna get up bright and early the next day (well, by noon at the latest) and prepare for whatever and wherever, exactly, he was gonna surprise Lisanna with a date to.

"No," he ywaned to his friend as Freed only stared. "Not at all."

tumblr survey no. 4

1. What is something in your life that you feel hopeful about right now? My potential as a community-level social worker. I have been loving my practicum so much, and I feel so valued there. It is doing wonders for my professional confidence, and I feel that my experiences I am currently having here are going to serve me so well for my future career.  2. What was the last thing you worried about that turned out better than expected? Moderating workshops at BLC last weekend. I am not great with public speaking, did not understand the moderator role very well, and barely got an orientation to what was expected of me but it ended up being actually fairly interesting and a good networking opportunity.  3. Name somewhere you are planning on visiting in the near future? I am hoping to go Jasper at some point in the new year to visit my Danish friend who is moving here for the winter season to teach snowboarding.  4. How often do you go grocery shopping and how much food do you usually get in one go? It depends. I have been a lot better at making my own meals this semester, because I spend less time at Famoso. I am still not great at planning for like, a week or more’s dinners. I tend to go to the grocery store, buy what I need for a single recipe, and don’t get anything else. 

5. What is a meal you eat extremely often? Or do your meals & food choices vary a lot? Porkchops with tzatziki, steamed broccoli and rice. Cheap and easy to prepare and fills you up.  6. When was the last time you felt unable or unwilling to speak your mind to someone? Honestly...... I do not tend to hold back in this regard.  7. What was the last thing you changed your mind about? My respect and appreciation for people in my life who have assumed certain leadership roles.  8. Who was the last friend you saw, and what did you do together? I saw Maeghan, Madison and Cayley last night. We had what we affectionately call a “blob hang” which is basically where we all get together at someone’s house after our respective work days, drink wine and bitch. 

9. Who tends to show up in your dreams? Do you ever wonder if you appear in anyone else’s dreams? Whoever I am sleeping with at a given time. I’m sure I do. Dreams are weird that way. 10. What is something you wish you could say to someone who is no longer in your life, or something you wish they could know? Sometimes I do wish I could talk to Zara and ask her what went wrong with her friendship to all of us in high school/what the unspoken words between everyone are. I don’t think there is anything I wish she could know. She probably knows most of it.  11. Instead of flat earth, what do you think of the simulated earth theory, that we’re basically all just a giant computer program or virtual reality? I used to think about this when I was young. I would entertain the idea in my head that we are all just spectacles in a lab somewhere that is part of the “actual” universe. Obviously, we have no evidence for this. It’s just funny to think about.  12. What worries you most about your future? That my lack of clinical experience in practicum will prevent me from getting well-paying jobs in social work, and that changes in our political climate in Alberta and Canada will see an even further tightening of the social services/not-for-profit sector that forces a lot of budgets to get cut and less jobs will be available.  13. What is something you do to feel better when you’re scared? Scared? Um. That one’s kind of hard to beat.  14. Who do you feel you can count on the most in life? Is there anyone you wish you could count on more? My family.  15. What makes you trust someone? When was the last time someone broke your trust? Hm, I don’t know how to really explain it. I just feel like I can with some people like if I feel comfortable talking to them. 16. When was the last time you shared a secret with someone, and how did they react? What even are “secrets” anymore? I told my friends this morning about a sexual experience I had recently that I thought I might keep secret but they just laughed and we moved on.  17. Are you more likely to give advice or to ask for it? I do both fairly equally, I think. 

18. When was the last time you felt totally lost, figuratively speaking? How about literally? The last time I felt totally lost was shortly after I finished my degree requirements for the journalism program and had to apply for jobs. I was not used to not being in school, I had no idea what I was qualified to do, I wasn’t taking care of myself, and I needed to pay my bills. It was awful and very stressful. In terms of literally being lost - god, I don’t know. Maybe when Sydney and I were drunkenly trying to find the train station downtown on Canada Day. LOL.  19. In what ways are you emotionally strong? In what ways are you emotionally weak? I am emotionally strong in that I can handle/actually often instigate confrontation of issues. I like things to be out in the open, being discussed and addressed as they come up. I am emotionally weak in that when I begin to like someone I become extremely reliant on their affection to build up my own self-worth, and I do not handle rejection or extreme criticism well.  20. What is the strangest book you have ever read? How did you find out about it? Maybe A Scanner Darkly. Connor told me about it.  21. Do you prefer to watch movies or tv alone or with other people? Is there anything you refuse to watch alone? I’d much rather watch alone unless it’s a fun ass show like Queer Eye.  22. What was the last thing you broke? How about fixed? The zipper on these boots I bought from H&M! FUCK, I’m so mad about that actually. They are the perfect boots. The last thing I fixed was... I cannot recall.  23. Is there a sign or symbol that means a lot to you for whatever reason (eg. seeing certain animals or birds, 11:11 or other repeating numbers, syncs, butterflies, hearts in nature, etc)? Not really.  24. Do you have any personal ghost stories or paranormal experiences? No! So lame. I’m sure if I thought harder about it, I could conjure something up (pun intended) but I am actually REALLY easily scared and if I start reading about this kind of thing too much before bed or something, I’ll get like... sleep paralysis or some shit like that. It’s not good. My mind is weak.  25. What do you get complimented on the most? My handwriting, my eyes and my hair.  26. What is something unusual that you find attractive? Someone tall and super super skinny.  27. What time do you tend to eat your first meal of the day? And your last? The current routine begins with a cup of earl grey tea and 2-3 fried eggs with salsa around 8:45am before I catch the train to go to practicum and/or school! Last meal - who knows. Between 7 and 8pm.  28. What was the subject of the last video you watched? LMAO it was like a history of Kelly Ripa and Mark Counsuelos’ relationship.  29. When was the last time you traveled out of town, and where to? To Korea! In May.   30. How would you describe your overall aesthetic? I literally wear the same outfit every day. Black tights, black skirt, some kind of coloured top and black boots. Hair that is never done and bags under my eyes and giant backpack. Done & done. 

Sand Mixed With Peach Juice by L’Oreal

I died a few years ago. At the very least, that’s what it seems like. On that fateful evening in November, I had wrapped a noose around my neck and hung myself. I had lost consciousness, then came to, noticing the following: Hanging up by a noose hurts like hell. Your passage ways are constricted, plus the pressure of all of your bodyweight is being placed on your neck. I took myself off the noose, then punched the bed, frustrated at my own cowardice. It was around this time I got admitted, and then medicated. Ever since that time, I’ve just been hovering around, feeling like a ghost trapped in purgatory. To be perfectly honest, it actually does feel like I’m in purgatory.

What got me to this point would be long and tedious. However, there was someone I was hoping to meet again. She was just a twenty year old girl meeting the big world. How we met was quite something else. My friend at the time invited me over to his place, saying that another friend of his was coming. He stated that she was seventeen. Being twenty-one, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Why in the hell are we hanging out with a high-schooler? I came anyway. I’m not sure of the reason, I think it was due to me having relationship problems and not wanting to deal with them. That girlfriend of mine (well, ex-girlfriend now) was draining the life out of me. It had gone on long past the point of us needing to break up, but I was optimistic. Maybe one could even call us foolish. Maybe we were just young. At any rate, I found myself at my friend’s house, sitting on the familiar couch that I’ve plopped myself on for five years straight, inside the house that had begun to feel like my own. My friend came down the stairs, and the door opened, and thus she had entered the house and my life. She looked cute, but I wasn’t going to hit on a literal child.

I can’t recall the conversations we had word for word, but I do remember us becoming friends immediately. She was from Arizona, was a complete stoner (without being annoying about it), had done the same drugs as I, and had a boyfriend, who seemed to be super controlling. She was Mexican, and her name was Taylor. Taylor Hernandez. It tickled me how she had a Spanish last name and an English first name.

I spent the rest of that summer going to my friend’s house, hoping to come across her, as well. She almost always came, usually with food from the restaurant she worked at. My friend ate it, I ate whatever was in his house. Like I always did. We talked about everything and nothing. At some point, the friend who introduced us would become the third wheel. To his dismay, he even became the butt of our jokes.

The summer passed, we exchanged contact information, and then she went back to her life in Arizona. The seasons went by, both of our relationships ended, and we continued to talk over the phone. We wouldn’t become close until the end of next summer. We did LSD together, along with her boyfriend at the time, for a good portion of that summer. At some point, they had an argument and he left. The main factor was likely due to her shoving him down the stairs. No, that was definitely the reason. It had something to do with his continuous acts of cheating. (Or at least trying, there were times he got rejected.)

It was around this time we started to grow close. Both of us were single and had a lot of free time. I wonder what I should call this short time period. Maybe “The Happiest Days of Our Lives”, or perhaps “Happiness Found in the Mundane.” I’m going to go with the latter, for the days were very dull and uneventful. Little did I know that these days would be some of the most joyful days of my life.

There was one particular day we dropped acid, then decided to go to McDonalds. Beforehand, she was showing me this skin cleanser. It had sand mixed in with peach juice. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you seriously think sand mixed with peach juice will help your skin?”

“Well, my skin certainly looks okay.”

“It looked okay to start with. If anything, that’ll ruin your skin.”

“Shut up.”

“Maybe I can make a living doing that. I’ll add California sand to lime juice and say that it’ll get rid of blackheads. I’ll make millions.”

We both laughed as she was applying literal dirt to her skin. I grabbed a bike, she grabbed a longboard, and off we went. It was dark out, and only the moon lit our way. We somehow managed to dodge every branch that came across our way. Looking at her back, I was imagining telling her kids all about our silly adventures. We made it to McDonalds, got paranoid because of the cops suddenly arriving (thankfully not for us), then went back to her place.

Later that autumn, she went back to Arizona, winter came, then I went to China. We spoke some more times, I left China, then we hung out, then we stopped seeing each other for a minute. I cannot fathom the reason why, we just stopped seeing each other. Winter came, I got put back on the car insurance, then I saw her again. I picked her up at her other friends house, then we got pizza. I remember paying for everything, but I didn’t mind. After all, is it not up to the older sibling to foot the bill?

We talked a lot during that icy evening. Once again, I cannot remember the exact words that were exchanged. We talked about opiates. We talked about relationships, and the horrors of the dating world. She called me a POS for casually dating two girls at once. I couldn’t help but agree with her. Being the true friend that she was, she wasn’t afraid to tell me when I was in the wrong.

I won’t delve too deep into the following months that followed, for I don’t feel like jotting down every memory I had with her, so I’ll skip ahead to the very last time I saw her. I arranged for my friend group and her to go get pizza, go bowling, and drink. We were all high on cocaine, and frankly, we were having fun. Me and her ended up at her place, where we finished off our coke and smoked some marijuana. We talked about many things, and for the first time in a long time, had a heart to heart.

“You know, I always find myself going to you whenever I have a problem, but you don’t do the same. Okay, like, you tell me about your problems, but…..you don’t talk about how you feel about them, you know?” For some strange reason, that sentence resonated with me. I decided right then that I was gonna rely on her more, like she relies on me. The next day, she went to Phoenix.

At this point, I went on a desperate love quest, speaking to her often on the phone. She was having an interesting time in Phoenix. She wasn’t quite twenty-one yet, so she had to ask her roommate to buy beer for her. I judged her for getting Tecate. She said that it was a great beer and that I was too picky.

I told her about the chick I was dating, and she in turn told me about this guy she was seeing. We gave each other advice and calmed each other down, making sure that neither of us went too crazy. I slept with said woman on the same night she told me all about this oxy pill she found. She didn’t respond for a day. I thought that she was just busy with her new life. In other words, I didn’t think too much about it.

The following morning, I got a message from her mom telling me that she had died. What do you mean she’s dead? What kind of silly joke are you guys pulling? She’s not dead. She’s the least dead person I know! After all, she can’t die. We both can’t, we had that conversation. We agreed that our one curse was that we couldn’t die. I called her phone multiple times. There’s just no way. She’s probably laughing at her own dark joke in Phoenix. She’s gonna enroll in the University of Phoenix, she’s gonna work in forensics when she graduates. That woman sure did love looking at corpses. She loved perceiving herself to be tougher than she actually was. She can’t be dead, she told me that it was impossible for her to die! She’s likely bothering a snail right now with her marijuana smoke. I swear she had a grudge against those things. She told me that her curse was that she couldn’t die. She’s not dead. She-

Her mom then called me, confirming that she was, in fact, dead. She thanked me for being her friend, then hung up. I couldn’t help but breakdown. I called my best friend and sobbed into the phone. I still wanted to be in denial. I wanted someone to call me and tell me it was just a joke, but I knew in my heart that was impossible.

I eventually got her in a jar. She’s currently inside my box with my prescriptions. I haven’t exactly felt the same since her passing. In all honesty, they probably never will feel the same. I loathe my birthday these days. When she passed, I was twenty-four, she was twenty. We were supposed to go drinking when she turned twenty-one, but God had other plans. I turned twenty-five that year. She remained twenty. I hung out with her sister to reminisce. The bitch just talked bad about her and ended up crying. A whole year passed after that. I turned twenty-six, my friend remained twenty. I hung out with her sister again and the same thing occurred.

It’s been two years now. I’ll turn twenty-seven, and she….will remain twenty. Her younger sister will be turning twenty-two. Twenty-two! I know that must be fucking with her, even more so than me. Even more so than Taylor’s other friends. Up until the bitter end, their relationship was rocky.

There’s no real lesson nor even entertainment value of this story. All I did was jot down my memories so that she can be immortalized. I still feel like I haven’t done her any justice, but in all honesty, I don’t think any amount of writing ever will. How does one convey intense platonic love? Amazingly, that’s all this was. Platonic love. A friendship that could last a lifetime. The bitter irony is that we would’ve lost communication anyway, what with her being in Phoenix and all. She would’ve made new friends and forgot about me. And you know, I would’ve been happy for her. I would’ve thought about her less and less, then we would be distant friends.

However, there is one thing that gives me comfort. She died happy. She was on her way to fulfilling her dreams, and whatever pessimism or cynicism she may have faced in the past had since faded, and she was looking to the future with a gleam in her eyes. And I know that she would want me to look at the world in the same way.

Google

As I approached Google’s New York City headquarters in lower Manhattan, I felt I had arrived. I felt that all of the hardship I’d faced in New York over the last two months was preparing me for this singular moment, for this complete cosmic affirmation that I was loved and cared for by a mysterious force beyond my comprehension. The sky was overcast and the temperature was warm and muggy. As I watched people walk by, I imagined seeing their faces again, but next time as a Google employee. I saw a homeless man on the street, and for a moment I felt like I was escaping the persistent shadow of dread that one day I too will become homeless, escaping the part of my destiny that might one day deign to lump someone like me in with someone like him. But who is to say he and I are so very different? At the very least, we’re probably both alcoholics. So as I watched the Google employees milling about in front of the building wearing their blue Google shirts, I imagined myself wearing one too. The winds of fate had become a tailwind that would carry me forward. They were right on time. I was going to be somebody. I would be able to stay in New York after all.

In May I made the hasty decision to quit my job in Garden City, Kansas. I told myself I needed to move to a city with opportunities more suited to a person like me, someone cosmopolitan and queer with a taste for the finer things in life. I’m a creative, vivacious personality who can thrive in any environment, so long as opportunity exists, I told myself. So I tossed the only job I’ve ever had that made me feel like a real person, one where I worked as a reporter at a local newspaper and was able to make a real impact on a community, and all so I could move to New York City, the city of rejection. I miss seeing my name in print every single day. I am gripped by the constant wonder of whether or not I will ever see myself in another byline. I can only pray that I do, and that it means something to someone, most of all myself.

I hate rejection. I got an interview to work at the Apple store. I was rejected. I sent my resume to numerous companies just to work at the front desk and never heard back. I took a weekend job at a coffee shop in Brooklyn and was effectively fired within two days after I pulled the pastry display down and into the sink while trying to retrieve a cumbersomely sticky cinnamon roll for a customer. Every time I had a lead on a job, I stopped applying for jobs. Up until today, I hadn’t applied for a job in two weeks. Applying for jobs is like asking people out on a date over and over and over again under duress of death and starvation, only to be ignored or told no just as many times. My mom says sometimes in life we get the short end of the stick, but lately I feel like I’ve had the short end of the stick shoved up my ass.

When a recruiter from a company called Vaco reached out to me, I felt my prayers had been answered. He was working for a “major technology” company that turned out to be Google. They were hiring a content curator to, simply put, curate news gathering on Google. This is a job I can do, I told myself. So the recruiter interviewed me over the phone and sent me a writing test. Within a couple days I heard back. I’d done “very well” on the writing test and was invited to attend an interview.

It felt predestined. A friend in Nashville’s ex boyfriend had taken up a hobby as a medium since discovering the power of positivity, or at least the perks of faking it. An uptight perfectionist prick who viewed other people as an accessory to his image was now a New Age gypsy with a penchant for crystals, burning sage and positive thinking. He told me my uncle who died of a heart attack said New York would be good for me. He said I’d get a job after two months. He said I’d work for the New York Times. Since moving to New York I’ve learned that the Times tends to stick to candidates from the Yale graduate pool in their application process. Maybe it will happen after I work for Google, I told myself. If I’m going to make the two-month marker, then Google has to be it!

Moments before I found out I’d been chosen for an interview, I had been crying in the shower affirming to myself that I’m worthy, I’m abundant, I am a highly sought after employee. It felt powerful in the moment, like my mind could reshape the curvature of my reality through sheer force of will and affirmation. A friend told me about her own affirmation meditations, and I figured I’d give it a shot. With everything going so well, I assumed they were working.

I’m not going to tease the predictable end to this story any longer. I didn’t get the job. It was funny because the feeling of destiny was so palpable, so concrete, enshrined in a prescience and certitude that was almost oracular. Sitting in the lobby and waiting for the recruiter, I imagined passing the neon “Google” lighting display every day on my way to the office on the tenth floor. I imagined waving every night to the grumpy girl at the front desk. Hey, Deb! Have a good night! I would have been working the night shift, and I wondered what it would be like to head into work at 7 p.m. and leave at 4 a.m. Google serves dinner to its employees, so I wondered what kind of friends I would make during those 6 p.m. meals I wouldn’t have to pay for. I wondered what kind of cereal they keep in the stocked pantry, which is also full of food I wouldn’t have had to pay for.

When the recruiter came down to the lobby, he looked me in the face and walked right past me, as if he immediately knew I wasn’t the candidate he had scouted on LinkedIn and spoken with over the phone. But I have red hair, and I think I reasonably resemble my LinkedIn photo, which also depicts a long-faced man-child with red hair, and so I wondered at the confusion. He was wearing short sleeves and skinny jeans. I was wearing black slacks, red leather deck shoes and a chic patterned button-up. I felt overdressed, and when I stood to wait for the recruiter to head my way after his lap around the lobby, I couldn’t help but notice the awkward glance he diverted to the wall when he realized he had passed me after looking me dead in the face. His chagrin seemed to say Oh fuck, or Time to waste everyone’s time, or Does this guy even work out?

When we reached the tenth floor he mentioned the building’s excellent view of the Empire State Building. He bemoaned the declining state of the newspaper industry. He hesitated when I called journalism “an art form.” I wondered if I was being too extra. I wondered if I was overdressed. I wondered why his jeans were so tight. 

When I arrived at the “team’s” office, I was greeted by the interviewers, a boy and a girl about my age, if not younger. One was an Asian man in a sporty little baseball cap. The other was a mousy brunette girl who couldn’t have looked any less pleased to be where she was at that moment if you’d painted the excitement onto her eyeballs. She looked me up and down with what could have been a smile, but probably wasn’t. Her counterpart, the guy presumably in charge of the operation, was friendly and casual. They looked like college kids. It was alarming. I felt like I was being interviewed again for the college newspaper. Still, during a routine round of questioning, I couldn’t help but notice that my hand was visibly shaking as I waved it around in the air like a baton to garnish my theatrical explanations.

After awhile, my nerves were soothed by the innocuous aura of the Asian’s baseball cap, so I decided to look to the mousey brunette to see if she could offer the same solace, but every time my eyes met hers, she looked away. It was as if she had a secret she didn’t want me to know. It was as if she knew they were wasting their time with me, and I was wasting my time with them — like they’d already chosen their desired candidates, and my presence was only a formality to satisfy the requirements put upon the recruiter by the company. Sometimes you can read a lot in a person’s eyes,  even when they aren’t saying anything — and she wasn’t. In the moment I couldn’t let myself think that way, but like a drowning man gasping for breath, my dying logical faculties were gasping to tell me the truth: They don’t want you.

After I was told I didn’t get the job, it all started to make sense. Though I was interviewed on a Friday in the afternoon at the end of the cycle, I learned from the recruiter that “a couple” of people simply had “stronger backgrounds” than I did, as if the interview wouldn’t have counted at all. He said they liked the skills I brought to the table. He said I seemed “a bit nervous,” but it wasn’t counted against me. If “a couple” means two, which was the number of openings, then, once again, I just barely missed the boat. What began as a moment of optimistic pre-destiny quickly became what was probably only the tedious act of putting the cap on an interview quota that would otherwise go unmet. I was, after all, not some special flower coddled by the universe in isolation from the homeless people on the streets, but a hapless stooge caught up in the callous machinery of workplace protocol.

For the last few days I have cried, because crying is like emotional masturbation, and masturbation has a way of making things feel generally better. When I learned about this opportunity, I put everything on hold and focused my energy on that singular goal, bearing in mind the classic delusion that all of my positive thoughts and psychic attempts at manifestation could deliver me any victory, regardless of circumstance. But life isn’t like that, and in New York I’m just one more hungry, masticating mouth in a sea of eight million others. I came here because I thought I was special, but I am learning that I am actually not special at all, and even people who seem special here and are applauded as such are actually quite ordinary. We’re all just stressed out ghosts haunting our very own diseased meat pocket. That’s about the extent of the magic.