#'i'm incapable of being able to exist fully in this world so this will be no different'

[pampushky]

Pam's A/B/O Encyclopedia!

Hi! Just gonna leave this here for some specific stuff to elaborate on with my specfic au's, especially for my Brutus series. Forgive me for possibly going too hard into world-building, but I was an Anthropology major who focused on the biological & cultural subfields, so I'm probably gonna be more detailed than needed!

General Information!

Canine- The wolf form that all humans in this universe can take! there are a few bits of sexual dimorphism related to the overall size, but mostly centered around the secondary sexes! Betas are average-sized wolves, but are quicker than both Omegas and Alphas. Alphas can be described as the tanks of the group, large, lumbering wolves. Omegas are the smallest of the bunch, but are often the most stealthy and agile. The smallest known canine in omega form was around the size of a large Shiba-Inu (35 pounds).

Dam- Used to refer to the omega who claimed/raised/birthed someone. Similar to mother, but specified to omegas!

Prime of a Pack- The generally accepted leader of a division within a pack. Usually, there are three primes; the prime Alpha, Beta, and Omega. These three are meant to work together to ensure that all of the pack's needs are met, representing each of the different secondary sexes, with all three holding equal sway and respect amongst the pack members. Presentation- After the intial, human puberty is done, the body starts to prepare itself to present the secondary sex. All three have unique aspects that give them their own advantages! This includes the growth of a knot and start of rut cycle in Alphas, as well as the start of the estrous (heat) cycle in omegas. Betas cannot be swayed by the scents of others, but they can make note of them and track them, even in human form. Omegas can often calm others down rather easily with their scent, but can also cause distress if needed as a self-defense mechanism. Alphas are known for being able to use their 'Alpha Voice' which can affect omegas and certain Betas. Scent glands also start to grow at this point, with each person having a unique scent that is often reflective of the place they grew up and their pack. (yes, even betas have scent glands in this au ehehehe)

Secondary Sex- The secondary sex of a human! Usually referred to as the secondary gender in other fics, but that never made sense to me (speaking not only as an Agender/trans person but also an Anthropologist because sex and gender are two very, very different things, yet both technically exist on a spectrum, and ascribing a social presentation/title to a biological aspect of the body always seemed so silly to me, because it then implies the existence of trans-secondary-gender people. Which i think could be so fucking cool to explore and see what that could look like, like could a Beta take hormones and transition into an Alpha? Could an Alpha transition into an Omega? What would that look like? IN THIS ESSAY I WILL---) There are three secondary sexes that a human can present with after they've fully gone through their initial puberty. Around 60 % of the world appears somewhere in the Beta spectrum (normal, biological human, as normal as a biological human can be), while the last 40% are split between Alphas and Omegas. Betas can reproduce with each other, Alphas, and Omegas, but beta-beta relationships have a nearly 100% chance of producing betas in offspring. Omega-Beta or Alpha-Beta couplings are shown to have a 50/50 chance of producing a beta or the other parent's secondary sex. Alphas are usually (with exceptions in some rare cases) incapable of carrying a pregnancy to term if they possess a uterus or womb. Alphas can reproduce easiest with Betas and Omegas, but Alpha-Alpha couplings have been shown to very rarely produce healthy pups due to medical advancements. Omegas are the most fertile of the three divisions and technically the least frequent, just slightly below the Alphas at 18% of the population fitting somewhere on the omega spectrum. All omegas (with the exception of medical issues) are capable of carrying a pregnancy to term and producing pups with Betas and Alphas. They cannot produce sperm to impregnate their partners, and as such, are almost always the carriers of pups. Sire- Used to refer to the alpha who claimed/raised someone. Similar to father, but specified to alphas!

[xairathan]

It's midnight, I'm procrastinating, it's time to put out all the thoughts I've had about Yushura into a place where people who are interested can find them; and if anyone wants to write her but isn't willing to put in the effort then save yourself the trouble and keep my girl's name out of your mouth so you don't show the world your ignorance.

I'm not touching story-specific stuff; we're extrapolating things about Yushura's life and being off of logical deduction, disability consciousness, and the grounding of the great work and thoughts of many crips of color. We begin.

Starting off with something I think I didn't get to do in any of my works and that the setting utterly snubs: if care and disability aren't a focal point of spacian developments, then you know that the disabled spacians have figured out their own remedies and methods of care. The earthians will have as well, but given the resource disparity, I would be surprised if the two were connected. tl;dr - Disabled community almost certainly exists and we saw absolutely none of it in the setting with "unique challenges to the human physique endemic to expansion into space" nice job gwitch

Which leads into the next part: I believe that there's no real-world corollary to whatever Yushura's condition is. That fits in with what Cardo Nabo said in the prologue. From the clues we're given in the light novel, I have taken the stance that it's most likely an issue of the heart; if not the heart, then the lungs. The most likely causes I can envision are likely (a) exposure to low-gravity in the womb, (b) exposure to space radiation in the womb, and/or (c) long-term, multi-generational changes to the human physique due to life in space. There is also likely not one singular cause that is the 'source'; these factors together likely compound potential health issues. Finally, it can be inferred from Miorine's recollection of her and Yushura playing tag that Yushura was fully able-bodied at some point in the past, and her condition onset after they lost contact. This might play into Yushura's severe hangups about luck, especially if both her and her brother are predisposed to her condition, but it presented only in Yushura.

If you intend to take any of the above knowledge and employ it in a medicalist manner, stop while you're ahead, educate yourself on the medical vs. social vs. political-relational models of disability, and then come back.

With all of this taken into consideration, the following is my imagination of Yushura's life. If at any point in reading this you feel pity, check your ableism at the door and go write something more your speed, like suIemio.

Yushura prefers low-gravity environments, and likely lives in a low-gravity section of the Lapis Garden station, or else on a ship that travels at a set speed. My best guess is 0.5G (half of standard Earth gravity) but honestly, does it matter when we have no real way to test it? Due to living in low-gravity most of the time, Yushura has very little muscle mass. While she can (and probably should) exercise, perhaps it isn't necessary or perhaps she doesn't want to. I don't know how physical therapy in low-G works.

Due to working in low-G environments, and due to her weak grip, Yushura likely relies on many specialized tools for her work. I'm thinking custom gloves, magnetic strips on her worktable to hold things, things that make it easier for Yushura to work for long periods of time without straining her body. In the light novel, we see that Yushura is capable of cooking jelly/various gelatinous foods, which is likely her main source of food, as eating messy foods in low-G is asking for trouble. However, this does not mean she is incapable of eating solid food, and I imagine a CTO gets invited to a fair share of lunch and dinner outings for work.

Unfortunately, we do not know whether society in the Ad Stella universe, where the GUND format was originally created to assist with impairments, is ableist. However, given what we know of the setting, I presume that most corporate stations operate at 1G and space travel operates between 0-0.2G, meaning that as per real life, not very much thought is put into accessibility and the comfort of the disabled. Also I couldn’t find anywhere good to put this but my headcanon is that her earrings are secretly blood oximeters.

For further questions, story-related questions and discussions, and additional fawning over Yushura, please find me at Xairathan anywhere.

Also her last name is Mirzakhani (Iranian) and her first name is Yushura (Arabic) you can't tell me she's pasty white you colorist fucks I bet you liked Sumeru too

(in case anyone asks my tl;dr for her personality is we don't really get to see it since the narrative suborns literally everyone, even the main characters, to its runaway plot; however, I too would be tired of everyone's shit if everyone kept coddling me and assuming that they know my body better than myself)

[kosmicposum]

Vent Post

Writing hasn't been the same for me for a while. I have so many ideas, but I no longer have the drive or passion to complete them anymore. I suspect it has a lot to do with my first full-length story that I actually made it through the first draft of had a co-author, and that co-author betrayed me in ways I can nor will never forgive.

For some reason, it doesn't feel as good to work on stories by myself. I don't think it ever did, either. Maybe I miss the daily conversations about the plot and the detailed scene breakdowns. Maybe it's the lack of someone with a different perspective offering words that work better, or that helped me take the scenes in more impact full directions.

Maybe I'm just too codependent to write by myself.

A million ideas I can never finish. Scores of characters that have no worlds to call home. Arcs that mean so much to me that never get to see their completion.

And I hate myself for not being able to do it. I'm weak for being incapable of writing by myself. I'm useless for my lack of drive and follow-up for things that I know would mean something to someone. Anyone. I don't even have someone who I can give daily updates to, or that fangirls anytime I come to them with one or more new chapters or character introductions. But on the other side of that same hand, I no longer trust people to share that much of my writing with anymore.

I don't know if I'll ever recover. It's been three years and I still haven't fully recovered. I'm able to write again, sure. I'm able to start a story and hammer out basic skeletons of the arcs and character paths. But I simply can't continue or finish them after a certain point.

Sometimes I get 13-15 chapters in and lose my drive. Sometimes I only get 2-3 chapters in and abandon it. I just....can't do it anymore.

And I hate myself for it.

I'm not looking for pity, or answers. I just needed to write this somewhere. Somewhere people could see it, so maybe others like me won't feel so alone. Maybe I want a heart or two to show *I* am not alone. I don't really know anymore.

There's just so much self-loathing now whenever I try to pick up a pencil or take to my keyboard. And every time I see the laundry list of WIPs I have laying around, it always makes me feel so shitty. Like I failed the characters. Like I failed as an author. Like I failed my younger self.

God, she used to be so passionate about books and writing. She used to be hungry and eager to keep up with current releases so she could be at the top of her game when she finally started publishing. So bright eyed and full of hope, overflowing with ideas and worlds she was overjoyed to one day share with the world.

And now I can't even finish a basic outline. I'm deeply terrified to share my truest literary passion with anyone, and the rejection sensitive dysphoria is paralyzing when I make the mistake of actually sharing my writing.

I know deep down, one day, it will get better. One day, I will heal whatever part of me is broken, and the words will flow like crashing waterfalls. One day I will be able to write a story; beginning, middle, and end- and I will be so proud and full of joy that I will sob.

But even know it feels the same as it did that day three years ago, and every day after it. And even now, I can not fathom ever being able to bring something that beautiful to life ever again. Even now, I feel like whatever broken part of me that keeps me paralyzed will never, ever heal.

Being an author is madness, both when you do write and when you physically and emotionally can't. Being full of words that you can't release is agony, and every day just existing is painful. I hate being silent, but feeling like using my literary voice is an action that deserves death is far worse than the torment and pain that comes with the silence. It feels so much like a punishment for something I never asked for, penitence for a crime I didn't commit.

I just hope that one day it gets better.

Even if it means I never write again, and the creativity in me dies. Because I don't know how much longer I can suffer this.

[enigmasong]

Okay, about half the Straw Hats' favorite drinks is pretty locked into canon, let's headcanon how much they know about their favorite drinks.

Sanji, being an expert drink mixer on top of chef, baker, candy maker, and nutritionist, of course knows everything about everything about all matters of drinks and is the main person the others strike up conversation about them with.

Brook has a near encyclopedic knowledge of teas and knows how best to brew them and what they mix best with, and is always looking forward to learning about new types. The rest of the crew (who cares) considers him just as good as Sanji at making tea - though he isn't able to bring out the health benefits as well as Sanji.

Robin knows her way around coffee. but it was never quite in her special interests to learn - so she knows enough about roasting and brewing enough to make a decent cup for herself. Since joining the Straw Hats, she only makes coffee herself when Sanji isn't around.

Luffy doesn't have any particular favorite drinks, but he has a surprising high knowledge of teas, juices, and alcohols. Not a working knowledge, mind - more like a random assortment of fun facts about them and an ability to perfectly mix a couple dozen recipes between them. This is still surprising to the rest of the crew. Mostly, I headcanon this because I like the idea of him having random small ADHD/autistic side hyper-fixations - and this is one he would've picked up from watching Makino at work (who would've encouraged it because she was Luffy's only fully capable caretaker).

Franky is definitely one of those people who would insist that Pepsi and Coca-Cola have vastly different tastes, but wouldn't be able to articulate why (luckily, neither brand exists in the world of One Piece, so I can leave the hypothetical of which side of that coke war he's on to y'all reading this). He does have his preference in flavors, but is mostly fixated on the energy properties of carbonation that only really make sense to him - unfortunately for Sanji, who has to make all the cola to power the Sunny.

And, finally, Zoro and his booze.

...Zoro only knows that there's wine, sake, and other. He knows literally nothing else about it. Sure, he'll occasionally make comments about the quality, but he can't actually tell - his idea of 'quality booze' comes entirely from the situation he's drinking it under; cheap sake drunken at a Straw Hat victory party will always taste better than the finest wine drunk alone to him. And, because he seems to be incapable of getting drunk, he isn't even able to parse out alcohol content. Sanji easily rations out Zoro's alcohol intake with grog (which is one part rum to four parts water) and Zoro never knows - he just thinks grog is another term for booze (like I'm sure most non-sea faring people do; I certainly didn't before watching Tasting History's video on it).

The rest of the crew only have general knowledge of drinks. Chopper, Usopp, and Nami know about juices to get by - Usopp, Nami, and Jinbei know enough about teas - and Nami and Jinbei know enough about alcohol.

Chopper's favorite drink is chocolate milk, but he doesn't actually know how to make it, but whenever Sanji asks if he wants to learn. he just says he likes how Sanji makes it and doesn't feel the need to because.

[veterveter]

I'm looking for a way to drop that funeral planning ficlet on tumblr, maybe this would be a "fun" way to do that?

“Everyone should wear black.���

“Of course they will, it’s a funeral.”

“Not because it’s a funeral. Because it’s stylish.”

“Whatever. I’ll write it on the invite. Wear black, it’s stylish.”

“Thank you. White roses, white lilies. You’ll play a white piano. You should play Bella Ciao, that could be my requiem. I think it would be fitting.” He imagines how Martín would make it sound – he would doubtlessly turn the joyful rebellion into something haunting. “Nevertheless, everything will be white, except for the guests.”

“Duly noted.”

“Have everyone bring red roses to lay on my casket. You’ll curse God as you stand there, for a while. I hope rains.” He leans back, and it doesn’t ache too much, and that feels like a blessing. “And afterwards, you’ll go clubbing.”

This makes Martín pause, finally.

Andrés makes sure to have eye contact as he continues, “You and Sergio. Dance. Drink. Start with wine, then whisky, then shots of tequila. Get drunk, forget about me and live.”

Martín sneers, an ugly little thing. His face was made for joy, not… whatever this is. “You won’t have any control over me anymore, Andrés.”

Andrés continues to look at him. An ugly little thing he has always loved. “I will always have control over you. You will do as I ask of you.”

____________________

A week ago, he said, “One last plan, Martín.”

It was the first time he had seen Martín’s eyes light up in three months.

It was the first time he truly felt cruel in his life, when he followed it up with, “The funeral. We need to plan it, you and I.”

The light behind Martín’s eyes faded, and Andrés knew he would never see it again. He wished he had cherished it when he still had the chance, when it took nothing at all to coax it out of him. When that light was his default expression, when Andrés’s presence brought him joy – instead of everlasting pain, a suffering that would surely stay with him for the rest of Martín’s life.

Martín does it, of course. Martín is dutiful, so he clears out the blackboard, without a moment’s hesitation, wipes away the plans they had. He doesn’t say, not even once, this is morbid, Andrés, even though he must be thinking it. Andrés hopes that someday, Martín might think back to these days and find them cathartic. Or that he’ll find it in himself to be proud.

Proud of himself for being brave enough to watch Andrés wither. Proud of the depth of his love. Proud of the gracefulness of their plan, Andrés’s swan song.

Together, they plan the setting. Privately, Andrés plans everything else.

He plans futures for his loved ones.

Tatiana will look pretty as she cries, a woman too young and alive to be a widower. Martín will comfort her, will wrap his arms around her as she shakes with tears. He has never held a woman like that before, but he will do it, if only to distract himself. She will bring him comfort, because she will understand a shard of his suffering, the thinnest sliver of it. Because Martín will be able to look at her and see her love for what it is: inferior.

Sergio will be fine. He has Raquel, and Paula, he has already started building a life that doesn’t include Andrés. It’s just as well. He’s finally growing up, doing what he has to. Taking care of himself in a world that has never cared about him.

Maybe Sergio and Martín will finally bond, over their shared pain.

Or maybe they will become strangers, incapable of meeting each other’s eyes, unwilling to see their own suffering reflected back in them. Andrés can’t do anything about that. He’s not God. Gods are eternal.

For Martín, Andrés has only one plan, but his is the most important one.

Martín will live.

____________________

If it weren’t for Martín, Andrés would have simply killed himself. Truly, he would have. He would have crafted an elegant death for himself, something poetic and needlessly cruel.

The only reason he deems it necessary to cling to life so desperately, even as his body withers, is to give Martín this. He wants Martín to have closure. He wants Martín to grieve beautifully.

Even though Andrés is technically still alive, he misses what life used to feel like. What life was meant to be like. He misses stealing priceless jewels and irreplaceable paintings. He misses drinking tea and going on walks. He misses feeling untethered by the confines of his mortal body.

He misses Martín.

Other people will doubtlessly go on walks and steal jewels, but Martín will eternally be but a shade of himself. Andrés is taking Martín’s heart and soul to his grave, and leaving behind this sad little puppet, his strings pulled by mourning and hatred.

Some part of Andrés is quietly pleased with that. There’s a certain beauty to be found in everlasting suffering.

And if he can’t have Martín in all his glorious brilliance and destructive grace, then no one should.

____________________

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” Martín asks, in a falsely casual manner, studying his cup of coffee.

Andrés sighs. He had been thinking, foolishly, that Martín will have finally gotten the hint, but of course not. Martín never truly stops, he just reschedules. Anything he ever feels or thinks willcome back, again and again, until he finally finds something to do with it.

“No. And I won’t, so you can stop asking.”

“You won’t even know what I do. You’ll be dead.”

“But you will. And I am not giving you my blessing to put a bullet to your brain. You’ll live. It’s my last wish and you will honour it.”

“I never thought you’d be so cruel,” Martín says, his tone accusatory and wounded.

He doesn’t continue, but the implication is clear: he means not to me. He knows Andrés, knows exactly how cruel he is. He just never thought it would be aimed at himself. He’s Andrés’s foil, his mirror, his other half.

And he’s right. It was never meant to be.

“So be it. You’ll live the life I never got to have. If you must die, then it will be from something else. Not your own hands.”

“Andrés…”

“I didn’t get to make a choice, and neither will you.”

He has to ask Martín for this, despite knowing that it’s the cruelest thing to ask for. Because no one else has ever loved Andrés enough to live for him. No one else ever would have, even if he had more time. Andrés knows he’s hard to love. And anyone would be hard to love, this unconditionally.

It was only ever going to be Martín.

Andrés doesn’t allow himself to wonder if he would be willing to go through the same, were the roles reversed. He’s afraid of being bitterly disappointed in himself, on his final days.

Martín has always been his favourite part of himself: just the right kind of cruel, the correct shade of suicidal. Chaos without an outlet, manifesting in the strangest ways. A genius caged in the body of a man.

Now Martín is going to be the only part of him left. That thought doesn’t bring Andrés peace, necessarily, but it’s one of the only things he isn’t going to leave behind as regrets.

“I’m sure time will bring us back together.”

Martín glares at him, but he says nothing. Martín doesn’t believe in any kind of life after death, or absolution, or even redemption, but he’s not going to say that to a dying man. Martín is never going to be fully honest with him again.

Andrés wants to hear every single ugly and awful thought he is holding back.

____________________

“Can I stay here?”

“Martín…”

“Just to be here. I won’t do anything. I just want to—”

Andrés sighs, too weak to argue, in mind and body as well as in spirit. “Fine, come here.” He scoots over, allowing Martín space on the bed.

“You are my own personal hell,” Martín muses quietly in the dark. He stays an arm’s length away, and Andrés can’t summon the energy to question it. “All nine circles, just you, every moment of my life with you.”

Andrés feels the same way about Martín. All nine circles, every wasted opportunity. If there is life after death, he might be stuck repeating exactly that.

He would still take it. He would choose hell of himself repeating the same mistakes with Martín, over heaven without him.

“Would you do it again?”

Martín turns to look at him, doesn’t answer right away. “I would watch you die a hundred times over,” he finally admits, quiet in the way the truth always is.

How misfortunate Andrés is, to have been given a love like that. A love so desperate, so out of control. He would have much rather been loved by a woman, someone like Tatiana, softly but without the intent to burn and destroy everything around them.

If Andrés has to be loved like this, he should have at least been given the chance to truly reciprocate. He should have been given time to give Martín everything he deserves and everything he doesn’t. He should have been allowed to give Martín the entire world, with all of its beauty and all of its gore. To murder every last man but themselves, to bask in their own brilliance, surrounded by all those decaying bodies, rather than being trapped in his own.

Their love is but an incomplete masterpiece, smiting them both with its existence. It’s unimaginable cruelty, because theirs is a love most will never get to experience.

It could have been so perfect.

“You should do the bank heist with Sergio,” he says, “Take my place. Do it in my honour.”

“Sure,” Martín says, and for that one word, his tone is as amused as it is destructive. “It’s always been a suicide, that plan. It was meant to be ours.” He angles his entire body away from Andrés, like looking at him is suddenly somehow offensive. “Now it’ll just be mine.”

____________________

“Here’s what I would have done, if we had more time.”

Andrés doesn’t have the energy to do anything but angle his head towards Martín, without even opening his eyes.

“I would have married you. I like to think you would have wanted that, too. I would have taken your last name. We would have bought an island. We would have stolen all the most priceless things in the world and gifted them to each other. I would have killed all of your ex-wives. Well, maybe not Tatiana, she’s grown on me. But we would have been happy, you and I.”

He takes Andrés’s left hand in both of his, and sighs.

“Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that.”

Andrés wonders if he would have been better off not knowing all of this.

____________________

The end comes fast.

That makes it both easier and harder, but Andrés doesn’t have the energy to feel sad or grateful. He feels like he still has things he would like to say, to both Sergio and Martín, but he just feels tired. Too tired to remember the words, too tired to decide if they need to be said after all.

Every day, he’s awake less and less, to the point where there’s no longer days to speak of. There’s only moments, all of them with Martín by his side. His presence is the only thing Andrés takes notice of, even if he can’t conjure up many thoughts about it. Or anything else.

Andrés is no longer conscious as he takes his last breath, but as he falls under, the last thing he sees are Martín’s sad, sad eyes. The last thought he ever has is

unimaginable

cruelty.

[gear-project]

In Jack-o's trailer, it looked like her childish self and her mature self were 'talking' to each other.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't she suppose to be 'complete' when she merged with Aria's soul while she was in Justice?

It was kindof a precarious situation, at least at first.

When Jack-O' was first developed as a Valentine she only had half a Soul and needed medication (candy) and a mask in order to establish and maintain a physical identity.

The most predominant aspect of that identity was "Young Jack-O'", as she existed the longest and hadn't fully bonded with Aria Hale's past memories. While she comes off as "childish" she still has a hyper-intellect that belies her behavior.

She still uses the "young persona" to try and get away with things (like a child likes to play tricks on people) because it will easily fool people who think she's only a child in that personality.

"Adult Jack-O'" is the result of Young Jack-O' bonding with Aria's memories such as they were and reconfiguring her identity to fit the body she was in.

In some ways it is akin to a split personality: or disassociation. Young Jack-O' chose to be herself (her own unique identity as a Valentine), while Adult Jack-O' chose to embrace Aria's past and become the "New Aria", even if that meant sacrificing her very identity.

But even if one were to make that differentiation, they are still "both Jack-O" in the sense that that is their origin as a Valentine.

Jack-O' regardless of her behavior, could still identify other Valentines (Elphelt and Ramlethal) and even identified Dizzy as connected with her past. She considers the other Valentines as "her sisters" rather than her daughters. Though the same might be different in Dizzy's case, though that has yet to be resolved.

When Jack-O' finally bonded with the remaining memories of Aria when she merged with Justice... this created a "New Aria" that had not existed before.

The result was "supposed" to create a "complete Aria"... but because of what happened to Justice psychologically, Aria was already broken in to fragments that could not be easily recovered in a "full complete sense".

The end result created three personas:

"Young Jack-O'" (Jack-O's original self).

"Adult Jack-O'" (The established dominant identity).

"Past Aria" (A detached and emotionless Aria that has all of Aria's past memories but none of the emotions and sentiment associated with them, as she is incapable of feeling those experiences, only remembering them.)

At first, "Adult Jack-O'" couldn't figure out her true purpose, or even embrace it, so she was in denial of the possibility that she was capable of being human (just like her past self, Justice was in denial of being human).

But "Past Aria" revealed to her that even if she didn't understand it, she was still capable of emotions and feelings for things.

"Past Aria" also revealed that in order to truly become 'Aria' in spirit, "Adult Jack-O'" must be willing to destroy the "established world" in which she existed.

This didn't actually literally MEAN destroying the world... it meant destroying her point of view of what the significance and meaning the world meant to her over what her true values were.

To be able to "Love someone" even if the world were to come crashing down. To choose to be selfish, to establish one's own priorities in life over others.

These were the 'key' to becoming her 'true identity'. Her "unique features" (the 'chigao' that Ramlethal saught).

As Ky said later on, they became her "necessary frivolities".

The ability to make a choice that is unique to one's self, in other words... is part of what establishes one's own identity in the world.

And while "Young Jack-O'" and "Past Aria" might still exist inside her, she can choose to be what she wants to be now, without fearing of loss or separation.

[fairycosmos]

i hate grief bc i've wanted to die my whole life and thinking about the person i lost never wanted to make me stay but now that they are the ones who died i'm angry as fuck every day and feel trapped but i know that if it had been me the one to die it would have been ok and i wouldnt even have worried about it/hurting ppl with my death. like every day i do H and get drunk and i dont care about dying you know? but i lost someone and it makes me angry that THEY didnt care. do you get what i mean?

i am really really sorry for your loss. yeah. i know what you mean, at least to an extent. everyone’s grief and suffering is unique to them and the relationship they had with the one who passed, but i can relate so much to being trapped and mad and out of my mind. i think a lot of people can. it seems like so many of us are walking around half disillusioned by this existence and half completely done with it because of the shit we’ve been through. every day i feel a form of anger (most of the time it is cold and numbing) when i think about how my sister died. i have gone round and round in my head about why she did the things she did. because even if it wasn’t fully preventable, it wasn’t cancer or a car crash or anything like that. when i found out what she had in her system. god. i can not explain to you what that moment was like. it fucking choked me. all i remember is i felt my heart beating somewhere in my head, and i was PISSED. i thought i was going to pass out. because it’s like you said - she didn’t care, and that was almost like proof. she went to sleep thinking nothing of anything. mindless. after weeks of lecturing her, after her constant presence in my life, all that time. after years of her fucking around w other drugs and finally finding stability only to slip for less than a month bc of some fucking man, only to lose her entire life to a mistake - it’s inexplicable. i can sit here and write to you about it but i still cant’t fathom it. how she didn’t give a fuck, or she couldn’t see the situation clearly enough to. and now i’m living this forever without her. now i have to take care of my mother alone. now i’ve lost my best friend. and she lost everything. she was a whole person, she would’ve had years left and she deserved to. and the only reason she didn’t is because she couldn’t fuckin accept how much she was worth, how much life was worth so she gambled w death. what i’m saying is i understand that in a way, maybe a selfish way, i don’t know -  it almost feels mocking. because we’ll never know if they realize what they’ve done. after she died that’s all i could repeat out loud in the shower. i kept saying: you don’t know what you’ve done. idiot, stupid girl. shit like that. every time i tried to talk to her, it was a lecture. so yeah. it is very very normal to be pissed off and bitter dude. it is not easy or fair to be left behind. it’s all a normal part of grief. losing it entirely is the whole thing because honestly what else can you do.

i could be wrong but. unfortunately i think all of these emotions, in the context of you, stem from the fact that it is easier to care for others than it is to care about yourself. you’re not bothered about yourself dying because you don’t have the same love for yourself that you had for the one who passed. you don’t see yourself as important in that way. i don’t know what happened to make you feel like that. maybe whatever it was lead you to use drugs n alcohol to escape in the first place. maybe you think you not mattering is some sort of universal truth, but it’s not. it’s a belief you constructed either out of pain or as a trauma response that you’ve clung onto so much that you’ve convinced yourself it’s reality. it’s clear you’re going through an insurmountably difficult time, and i know words on a screen aren’t going to change that. i wont pretend to get it first hand. i just want you to know that the same way you wish your friend had realized the worth in their life before it was too late, that same anger born from frustration and sadness - that’s how a lot of people likely feel about you. and i know you don’t care about hurting them w your death because you don’t care about anything. your friend didn’t care, why should you, right? but that’s how the cycle perpetuates. and you’re the one who has to live with this all now, stuck here or not. try to periodically and consciously recognize how fucked up and permanent grief is. you don’t want to be the one to cause it. not really. not when you can see it for what it is and you have the option to prevent it. you are here no matter how much you wish not to be. you do deserve to find substantial peace, stability and good health while you still can. that’s non negotiable. even if it takes a fucking life time getting there.

i completely understand that it is all far easier said than done. that you have to be the one who is willing to reach out for help and to really stick w a plan but. i guess i just hope you know that the option will always be waiting for you when you are willing to seek it out. whether it’s through a hotline, rehab, your doctor, your friends and family, 2 hours without using or drinking. any step in the right direction is commendable. you are absolutely more resilient than you realize. more in general than you realize. you’ve had to deal with so much, just the most unimaginable things, and you’re still here. i know that’s because you feel you have no real choice in the matter, back to being trapped here. but nonetheless you’re making it. you can learn to treat yourself w the same regard that you treated your friend. you can learn to care about what happens to you. you can slowly make a home out of what you currently see as a jail.  through talking, through implementing healthier coping mechanisms into your daily life, through building a support system, through confronting and processing how much it hurts, through finding the clarity that comes with progress. all the things your brain wants you to write off. addiction and mental illness are genuine health concerns that require long lasting therapy and treatment just like any other ailment. and maybe the point is to learn to live with them, rather than to cure them entirely. but they are not a death sentence (and that is a good thing), and they are not the entirety of you. you are just currently very overwhelmed by them, understandably so.  excuse me if this is all sounds like naïve bullshit, but maybe some day you will be able to take some of it on board if you can’t right now. anyway, it sounds cliche as fuck, but every day that you’re alive you’re keeping your friend’s influence on this world alive too. you were shaped by them, in more ways than you realize. and they’re here in more ways than we realize too. not necessarily ghosts, at least imo. but just around. and in your head, in the universe. i am rooting for you so much and i hope you can accept that even if it all feels like lies, it’s ok to treat yourself w kindness. any attempt is good enough. sending a lot of love your way. please take care of yourself as much as possible. please consider your needs and your well being while you still have the choice to. sorry to go all 90s drug prevention ad on you btw, but u know me. i’m incapable of shutting up and minding my business abt this sort of thing lol