#I love projecting my problems onto fictional characters I like

[alicornze7]

“I’m not projecting”

[celestetalkstoomuch]

trying to give up my Zhongli hyper fixation for a relationship was really hard, and it's not just because I'm obsessed with him but also because literally, all my emotional regulation had something to do with him, so when I was feeling things I didn't know what to do with myself and it makes me upset because 1 why am I like this and 2 how am I supposed to have any kind of healthy relationship when the thing that would help me be reasonable in a relationship is also a thing that feels like emotional cheating

[gogomarinette]

*cartoon character voice* I'M BACK BAB-EY!

So I got locked out of this account from 8th to 26th June (a little over 2 weeks!!!) You'd think I would've spent that time productively, like writing and drawing more or updating my other socials, but unfortunately I did not. Instead I moped until support emailed back and then boy, did I shriek and do a happy little dance twice there in my kitchen. It made me re-evaluate my relationship with this hellsite (affectionate) a bit.

I joined all the way back in 2011 (12 years, jfc), and it really is basically a giant scrapbook of all my passing interests and current hyperfixations. I realised how much I missed and craved my fandom fix, the creative content, the random quote or interesting facts, the tiny peeks into other people's scrapbooks and stray thoughts, that I sometimes pasted onto my own. A lot of the people I used to chat with are gone now, losing the energy to keep up with this frenetic site that I now sometimes do too, but it still kinda feels like being part of a community. You catch a glimpse of other people's lives, conversations, passions, and it's like yeah I'm not just alone in my head all the time - other people can be a little crazy too, have weird thoughts, random moments and fixations. Life moves on, no matter what.

Anyways, here's a selfie in case I ever lose the account again, I guess:

If it does happen tho, find me @dreamingsofnina (creative tumblr, twitter, instagram, fanfiction.net & ao3). I'm not as active, but I'm there!

[ectoplasmer]

I don’t think I’ve ever truly articulated just how special these characters are to me. I’ve never stayed this interested and invested in a piece of media before, at least within recent memory

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #4401:

I don't wanna make it seem like I'm opposed to people exploring or projecting their identity onto fictional characters, but I'm also pretty uncomfortable with "this character is GNC so they must be gay or trans and you're wrong if you don't agree". I wish we could let characters (and real people ffs) be fluid in the way they present themselves WITHOUT shoving them into specific, convenient color-coded boxes.

I've had it happen in at least 3 different fandoms where fandom insists in a cis male character being transfem just because he's not Gaston levels of toxic masculinity to the point where a big chunk of the fandom refuses to acknowledge him as another other than female. Also the only time you're not looked down on for shipping him with a (canonically bi) female character is if you ship them as a F/F couple instead of F/M (because we LOVE bi characters!! but ONLY when we can pretend bi means 'ONLY gay'!!)

And I wish being casually GNC didn't automatically mean a whole change in identity. I think accepting that sometimes cishet people may be GNC too will do a long way to help make experimenting with presentation more accepted. But for some reason something both conservative people and allegedly "progressive" people seem to agree on - "is forcing people into boxes based on my preconceived ideas of how each gender 'should' act - is good!"

[separatist-apologist]

make 3 acotar confessions that would get you in trouble *evil laugh*

"trouble" in the sense that people will vague my opinions but I'm so oblivious, I'll never know.

The fandom is too concerned with other people shipping things they personally don't like

Literally who gives a single shit should be the question a lot of ya'll ask yourselves before you start putting your "if you like blahblahblah you're disgusting and normalizing [insert literally ANYTHING vaguely problematic right here] and therefore its okay if I harass you". Tragically people do NOT ask themselves that question.

It's not that they find it problematic- because they are often LOUDLY proud of the problematic things THEY like and seem to understand that liking something in fiction doesn't say anything about themselves directly. So like...the problem, then, is that you're bothered people enjoy something you find gross/weird/whatEVER and you want them to stop. But they can't just say that, so we do this weird backwards dance of finding some real life problem with fictional characters to justify harassing real life people.

2. People are way too married to fanon

Not one dude in this series is your sweet, sad, soft boy and that's all I'm gonna say about that.

3. Mor did nothing wrong

I'll die on this hill. Everyone understands consent SO well until it comes to Mor, and then suddenly she owes men an explanation/her kindness/her time/her attention. Mor doesn't owe Azriel ANYTHING- if he can't move on after 500 years, thats literally HIS problem ONLY. If Eris wants to explain himself to Mor and she says he can eat shit, thats on ERIS. If Elain doesn't owe Lucien her time OR an explanation for breaking their bond then neither does Mor and frankly they need to stop projecting their own desires/needs/whatever onto her.

What has Mor even done? Because if a man is about to confess his love to you and you leave him there, is that not a response? If a man harms you, regardless of his intentions, and you're afraid of him, do you owe it to his feelings to hear him out? Mor is such an interesting litmus test for the fandom and their supposed values around feminism and consent.

[qiific3]

have y’all ever stopped and asked yourself Why you think the vampire is hot? or at least why you like him so much? i certainly have and have some thoughts to share.

first and foremost i love a fictional character that is so traumatized that i can very shamelessly project onto them, although with astarion it came completely to my surprise. didn’t know his storyline was something i was going to bring up in therapy and use it to make sense of MY problems— but alas here we are. regardless, i love my fictional men as relatable as possible.

second and perhaps the most obvious is that he’s a vampire, but in the same vein (hehe) what is so attractive about a vampire. their whole thing is taking away your “life force” to sustain themselves. it’s in itself a selfish interaction, one where you not only do not benefit from it at all, but are actually actively harmed by it. but then again maybe that’s part of it. maybe there’s something about being able to choose to keep someone else alive by being vulnerable in such a way that’s so attractive— especially in the astarion scenario where it ends up a consensual transaction.

why do you guys like that little rogue? i’ve always been such a fan of vampires.

[tcwmatchmakingau]

Everybody Hates Neyo Round 2: Matchmaking Boogaloo

A/N: This is a standalone sequel to “Everybody Hates Neyo,” (NSFW) by @dystopicjumpsuit​ (that’s me), and “The Blacklist,” by the brilliant @blueink-bluesoul​, who also generously let me borrow the character of Daria Trace (THANK YOU!). You don’t need to read those fics to understand this one, but you should because they’re great and they provide more background. I converted the Reader-insert into an OC because to be frank, she’s a piece of work, and I didn’t want to project that onto my readers. That said, as always, feel free to insert yourself into the story if you prefer; I haven’t described the OC beyond being a woman with hair long enough to pull.

Pairing: Commander Neyo x the Admiral (formerly Fem!Reader)

Rating: M | 18+ | Minors DNI

Wordcount: 6.5K (I know)

Warnings and tags: toxic, obsessive behavior; SO MUCH SMUT; hatefucking; rough sex; oral sex; PIV; hair pulling; biting; sex under the influence of alcohol; Neyo and the Admiral being absolute menaces to society

Disclaimer: Let me just put on my Auntie DJ hat for a second. *ahem* This is a work of fiction intended for entertainment only. Please do not take this as a guide to romance or a healthy relationship. Neyo and the Bad-miral are flawed characters in a wildly problematic relationship with more red flags than the Fire Nation. Enjoy!

Matchmaker extraordinaire Daria Trace was not accustomed to failure. When she applied her considerable intellect to a problem, she did not stop until she formulated a solution. Which was why her now-99% matchmaking success rate galled her so intensely. In all her years of matchmaking, she had never encountered a client so stubbornly determined to thwart her efforts as Marshal Commander Neyo. After twelve failed matches—one of which involved a call from an infuriated woman demanding to know “why the kriff you thought I was a good match for that sociopath”—she had reluctantly conceded defeat.

The blacklisting of Commander Neyo from the Right to Love Matchmaking Service spread like wildfire through the GAR gossip channels. Most of the troopers thought it was hilarious; others insisted that he’d finally gotten what he deserved. In fact, the only people who seemed to have any sympathy for Neyo were Commanders Bacara (to be expected) and Fox (somewhat less expected). And when Fox reached out directly to Daria and asked her, as a personal favor, to give Neyo one more chance, she agreed. One more chance, and ONLY to give her an opportunity to get that track record back up to a perfect 100%.

She glared irritably at Neyo’s file and clicked her stylus three times, twirling it between her fingers. The man was impossible. It was no wonder he’d turned to RTL for help finding a partner; any woman in her right mind would run in the opposite direction the minute she looked into those blank, frigid eyes. She shuddered involuntarily. Shark’s eyes. Daria had made a few discreet inquiries after he’d first signed up for the service, just to make sure she wasn’t about to set up some unsuspecting match with a serial murderer. Without fail, every single answer said the same thing: he was an ice-cold sonofabitch, but he had a strict code of honor, and no, he wasn’t a serial murderer. Probably.

She sighed and tossed his file to the side, to be revisited some other day. He was her most difficult client, but by no means was he the only problematic match candidate, and she had a small stack of what Blizzard liked to call The Hopeless Casefiles waiting for her to review. Just thinking about Neyo’s case had given her the beginnings of a spectacular tension headache, and she flipped through the folders quickly, looking for one that was a little less challenging. As she skimmed the stacks of flimsi, her eyes came to rest on one name: Reeda Wai’yen.

Now there’s a thought.

Daria was sure that Reeda was a lovely woman, despite all evidence to the contrary. She was just very… intense. Like Neyo, she had chewed through several potential matches, and the most frequent word that appeared in her failed matches’ post-date surveys was “intimidating,” followed closely by “terrifying.” Daria had sniffed disdainfully that those particular matches simply couldn’t handle a strong woman; however, she had to admit that after several months of trying, she had not been able to find a perfect match for Reeda. She pulled Neyo’s file and laid it out next to Reeda’s. As she compared their backgrounds and preferences, she became more and more convinced. This could work. Given their personalities, it might well be the best possible outcome for society at large if they were both removed from the dating pool. And if it happened to close out her two most annoying files, well. That would just be the cherry on top of her perfect-track-record sundae.

A timid knock sounded on Reeda’s office door.

“Come,” she called shortly.

Her assistant, Lissi, poked her head into the room. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but you’ve received a comm from RTL Matchmaking.”

Reeda cursed. She was up to her ass in flimsiwork, and she was meeting with the Senate Task Force on Galactic Security in ten minutes. She did not have time for this now. 

“Take care of it,” she ordered.

“Sir?” Lissi asked, her wide, startled eyes giving her a distinct resemblance to a terrified ash-rabbit. 

“Just take care of it,” Reeda repeated, tamping down her irritation at being questioned. “You know my schedule better than I do. Set it up. Somewhere nice—somewhere in the Federal district. I don’t have time to deal with traffic.”

Lissi blinked, nonplussed. “Don’t you want to see who you matched with?”

“No time,” Reeda said, rising to gather her materials for the meeting. “Just put it on my calendar, and I’ll be there.”

Three nights later, Reeda sat in the restaurant at the top of the tower where her penthouse was located, waiting for her mystery date to arrive. She had to commend Lissi’s efficiency in choosing the venue; the only traffic she’d had to endure was at the lift. And it was a lovely restaurant, she had to admit, with stunning views of the Coruscant cityscape. She had only eaten here once since she’d bought the flat, usually opting to have food delivered to her office at the Republic Center for Military Operations as she worked late into the night.

She had resisted the urge to bring her datapad with her to the restaurant, knowing that if she did, she would inevitably get sucked into work, but now she wished she’d taken a moment to review the file from RTL. It wasn’t that she thought all clone troopers were interchangeable; far from it. She had worked closely with them during the war, had fought by their sides, and she had found them to be brave, competent, and loyal. They were also notoriously attractive, but she was a professional, and she was their superior officer, and she had never allowed that line to become blurred—except on one memorable and highly regrettable occasion.

She had had no time for a personal life during the war, but now that it was over—well, to be honest, she still had no time for a personal life. Which was exactly why she had reached out to RTL; it was the perfect solution. She didn’t enjoy solitude. She wanted companionship, and maybe even something more. But she needed a partner who would understand the demands of her career, and nobody understood the burden of duty better than the clones. Now that she had separated from the GAR and returned to her post in her home planet’s military defense force, the rules regarding fraternization no longer applied to her.

She hadn’t bothered to review the file because she’d learned from the previous several failed dates that a promising file was no indicator of compatibility. Still, as she waited for her date, who was now seven minutes late, she wished she’d at least checked to see if he had any identifying marks or tattoos that would make him easier to spot. To be fair, though, the few clones present in the restaurant were already paired up with other diners.

Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t intended to skip lunch, but she’d had back-to-back meetings with the joint chiefs of the Core Worlds Defense Alliance and the senate appropriations committee, and one thing led to another. The service droid had delivered a basket of fresh, hot bread rolls, which she had heroically resisted for the first six minutes past the scheduled start of the date, but now her resolve began to crumble. If her mystery date didn’t have the basic courtesy to be on time, by the Force, he wouldn’t have a leg to stand on if she ate all the bread before he arrived.

She buttered a roll and took a small bite. She couldn’t suppress the groan of relief at the buttery, yeasty goodness, and she quickly polished it off, then picked up another. She had just begun to butter her third role when the unmistakable voice of a clone spoke next to her.

“Admiral.”

She turned automatically, a smile just beginning to form on her lips, when she caught sight of a familiar set of numbers tattooed on a handsome, arrogant face.

“Oh, no,” she said with disgust. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Marshal Commander Neyo replied contemptuously. “I have as much right to be here as you do.”

“I’m on a date,” she snapped.

He looked pointedly at the empty chair across from her. “Looks like your date has a strong sense of self-preservation. Probably took one look at you and ran for their life.”

“He’s just a little late,” she said, tilting her jaw at a haughty angle to hide the flash of hurt at his words.

“That must kill you,” he said with a mirthless chuckle. “I remember the time you made a Jedi padawan cry for being three minutes behind schedule.”

“There were barely tears. Do. Not. Sit,” she gritted out as he made himself comfortable in the chair across from her. He picked up one of the remaining bread rolls and took a large bite, and she sighed. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“It just so happens, I am also on a date,” he said, mumbling around the bite of bread.

“Oh?” she wrinkled her nose at his table manners. “And who’s the unlucky lady?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Some civvie named Reeda.”

Her hand tightened dangerously around her butter knife. Neyo’s eyes dropped to the blade, and he smirked.

“Disappointed?” he asked.

“You could say that,” she said, grinding her jaw. “I’m Reeda.”

He choked on his bite of bread and wheezed a bit, pounding his chest to clear his airway. Alas, he survived.

“What?” he sputtered.

“You didn’t even bother to find out my first name after you were inside me?” she demanded. Her sharp tone attracted attention from the surrounding diners, and she heard a few quiet titters from the tables around her, but she was too irate to care.

“You didn’t even bother to find out who’d be eating dinner with you?” he retorted.

“Don’t pretend you aren’t just as surprised as I am,” she snapped. “Didn’t you read the file?”

“I didn’t get a file, just a call.” He grunted. “Apparently, ‘beggars can’t be choosers,’ and I was lucky to get a match at all.”

“Why am I not surprised?” she mocked.

“Careful, Admiral. Don’t forget they matched you with me.”

“I would be insulted if it weren’t so obviously a mistake. I can’t say I’m impressed with their performance thus far.”

“For once, I agree with you,” he said. “You’d have to be a special kind of incompetent to think we were a good match.”

The service droid approached the table and asked, “May I take your order?”

“He’s not staying,” Reeda cut in.

“I’ll have the bantha filet,” Neyo replied, ignoring her. “Bloody.”

He turned to her and arched his brows. The droid waited expectantly.

“I’ve suddenly lost my appetite,” she lied.

Neyo’s mouth twisted, and he huffed a breath through his nose. “The admiral will have the roast porg. And a bottle of Alderaanian red.”

The droid nodded and ambled away. Reeda glared at Neyo.

“I don’t eat meat, you presumptuous ass,” she said.

“Liar,” he said. “Unfortunately, the souls of the innocent weren’t on the menu, so I had to settle for your second-favorite meal.”

“At least you’re safe, since you obviously have no soul and you’re definitely not innocent,” she said in a pleasant tone.

Damn him for being right about the porg, though. How did he know?

The wine arrived, and he poured a generous glass for each of them. She didn’t toast; just downed half of it in a single swallow. Neyo sipped his and leaned back in his chair to observe her. His sleek, severe hair and the large tattoo on his cheek made him look menacing as hell, but it was his eyes that made brave men take a step back. She didn’t know how it was possible for his eyes to be that unnerving. Gods, why did he have to be so handsome? What a waste of perfectly good Fett genes to have a personality like that.

“Did you stay just to torment me?” she asked when the silence stretched beyond the limits of her endurance.

“And because I heard the filet was good,” he said affably. “What are you even doing on Coruscant? I thought you’d scuttled back to whatever hellhole spawned you.”

“Kuat,” she bit out from between clenched teeth. “I was assigned to work as our military liaison on Coruscant.”

“Couldn’t stand having you back on the planet?” he derided. “I don’t blame them.”

“I need to use the fresher,” she said, flinging her napkin down on the table with excessive force. “Feel free to die while I’m gone.”

She strode purposefully through the restaurant, her face set in a steely mask. She knew she was drawing attention from other patrons, but if she sat at that table and listened to Neyo needle her for one more second, she was either going to stab him or burst into tears. She pushed through the refresher doors and went to the sink, washing her hands just to give herself something to do. The face that stared back at her from the mirror was Admiral Wai’yen, not Reeda. Stern. Unyielding. Unaffected.

She swallowed, and her face crumpled. Tears of rage stung her eyes, and she ruthlessly wiped them away with her clenched fist. A soft noise at the door startled her, and she whirled to face the intruder. Horror flooded her. It was Neyo, and he’d caught her crying in the ladies’ room.

“What the kriff do you think you’re doing in here?” she demanded icily. “Get out.”

He stared at her for a moment, and then he locked the door. Stalking across the room, he cupped her jaw in his hands and tilted her face to get a closer look. She tried to pull away, to put her Admiral Wai��yen mask back in place, but then his thumb stroked softly next to her eye, wiping away the tear that had breached containment. She gasped involuntarily, and his lips collided with hers.

Reeda was so shocked that for a moment she went perfectly still, but then Neyo flicked his tongue across her lower lip, and her body remembered how to move. She thrust him away and stood back, glaring at him. His chest rose and fell quickly, and those cold eyes blazed with a dark and covetous fire. She raised a hand to her lips and felt the slickness left by his tongue. Something snapped inside her. She took two hasty steps forward, and she was in his arms again, his hands rough and dominating on her body as they consumed each other with a kiss that teetered on the edge of violence. 

Lips, tongues, teeth crashed together. He clasped her tightly against his hard, unyielding body, and unbidden, the memory of him deep inside her came flooding back. He gripped her ass and ground his rapidly stiffening cock against her. Her reaction was electric. She rolled her hips, nearly climbing him in desperation. He dropped his mouth to her neck and kissed her once, roughly, and then to her breast, yanking aside her dress as he closed his teeth on her soft skin. He picked her up by the waist and set her on the edge of the sink, dropping to his knees between her thighs, rucking up her dress around her hips, and then his mouth was on her.

He didn’t even bother removing her underwear, as though he couldn’t wait another millisecond to taste her. He licked and sucked on her through the fabric, his mouth working frantically. Her body jolted and trembled at the effort of staying upright, and then his tongue snaked past the lace and dipped into her, smooth and hot and wet. He let out a vicious growl and grabbed her hips, settling her thighs over his shoulders, and then he pulled her off the sink and thrust her against his face as his tongue speared over and over into her cunt. She yelped and scrambled to brace herself with her hands, her arms shaking with exertion.

She couldn’t come like this, but kriff, it was hot to feel Neyo throw her around with such ease, like she was his own personal toy. How many nights had she fucked herself to sleep to the memory of their first encounter? The way he’d lifted her bodily off the ground and thrust into her, supporting them both with those powerful thighs—it played on a loop in her head for months, long after the bite marks and bruises had faded.

His tongue slid out of her cunt and swirled around her clit, and her legs spasmed around his head. She couldn’t come like this. Could she? All the muscles in her body began to tense, and her pelvis began to rock rhythmically against his face. Shit, I’m going to come. No sooner had the thought formed than Neyo dropped her back onto the sink and pulled away from her.

“No!” she wailed. “You bastard, I was right there!”

He shot to his feet. “Shut. Up,” he bit out, and kissed her punishingly hard. “Do you want the whole Federal District to know what we’re doing?”

He pulled her head back to expose her throat, and he scraped his teeth across her delicate skin. She felt his other hand fumbling in between them. Within seconds, his cock was free and thrusting against the scrap of lace that still covered her. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him against her, determined to find the stimulation that she needed to reach completion.

“Get inside me,” she hissed.

“You aren’t calling the shots any more, Admiral,” he growled. “You don’t get to give commands.”

“I hate you,” she breathed. 

“And yet here you are, begging for my cock,” he said coldly. 

“I do not beg,” she said. “Ever.”

He released her hair and pried her legs away from himself, then took a step back. “You get nothing until you admit that you want me. I’ve waited a long time for this. I can keep waiting.”

“What the kark is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, sliding off the sink to stand in front of him.

“It means you give me what I want, or I walk out that door right now and you can figure your own shit out.”

Was this his twisted kriffing way of asking for consent? Because she was pretty sure she’d covered that when she all but ordered him to fuck her.

“Fine,” she said in a low voice. “I…” She nearly choked on the words, and Neyo’s intent gaze pinned her in place. “I want you.”

He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in for a bruising kiss, then spun her around and bent her over the sink. He pulled up her dress, yanked down her panties, and thrust into her. She muffled a whimper at the intrusion and squeezed her eyes shut as she adjusted to the stretch. He wrapped his hands around her hair and jerked her head up.

“Open your eyes. I want you to watch,” he ordered.

She complied, shocked when she saw her own ravaged face in the mirror as Neyo pounded into her from behind. Her makeup was smeared, her hair was a wreck, her eyes were dilated with lust, and a sheen of sweat glistened across her skin. She flicked her gaze to stare at Neyo. His face was twisted into a scowl, and if she had any sense at all, she would have been frightened, but she was in too deep to care. His hard eyes met hers in the mirror, and his jaw tightened.

He released her hair and slid his arm around her body, between her breasts, to wrap around her throat, and he lifted her upright so he could whisper in her ear.

“Do you know what you did to me?” His voice was hoarse and anguished. “Every time I kissed someone, all I could taste was you. Every time I hooked up, all I could remember was this perfect fucking pussy.”

He pounded into her with bruising intensity, furiously working her clit with his free hand. Her head began to throb. This was so wrong. He couldn’t be saying what she thought she was hearing. She was confused from the lack of blood flowing to her brain.

“I got matched twelve different times, and not one of them was right, because not one of them was you,” he snarled. “You cursed me. You haunt me.”

The world began to darken around the edges as her eyes drifted closed, and he released her throat and forced her head to the side so she faced him.

“Look at me when you fucking come,” he ordered.

She gasped, and he clamped his hand down over her mouth to muffle her scream as he wrenched an orgasm from her body. He didn’t let up, chasing after her at a frenzied pace that rocked her entire body as she sobbed into his hand.

“Inside?” he asked roughly.

She nodded and whimpered as tears blurred her vision and spilled down her cheeks. He came with two brutal thrusts, and she felt the hot rush of his release deep inside. He shuddered against her hair as his cock softened and slipped out of her. At last, he loosened his grip and turned her to face him as he leaned against the wall for support. He wrapped her in his arms and stroked her hair as she rested her head against him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she sighed as she licked his neck, unable to resist the temptation of tasting his skin.

“I’m sure there’s an official list in my GAR file,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

Reeda cleaned up quickly while Neyo went back to their table so they wouldn’t be spotted leaving the refresher together. Her hairstyle was destroyed, so she hastily repinned it as well as she could, and then wiped off the mascara that smudged heavily beneath her eyes. A quick reapplication of lipstick, and she almost looked presentable—with the minor exception of her missing panties, which Neyo had silently retrieved from the refresher floor and tucked into his pocket while maintaining strong eye contact.

When she returned to the dining room, Neyo waylaid her with a ferocious expression. Force, what is he scugged about now?

“We’re leaving,” he said, taking her by the wrist and pulling her toward the exit. A few quiet murmurs whispered around the room as he dragged her behind him.

“What?” she asked, tugging her wrist to no avail. “Why?”

“The karking droid gave away our table,” he said.

“My deepest apologies, Admiral,” the droid said. “We can locate another table if you would care to wait.”

Reeda assessed the room quickly. Every table was occupied, and none of the diners were anywhere close to being ready to leave. Moreover, at least half of the customers were eyeing her and Neyo with expressions ranging from amusement to overt curiosity.

“No,” she said. “Have the food delivered to my flat.”

“Right away, sir,” the droid replied, waddling off to relay the order to the kitchen.

Neyo looked at her inquisitively. “Your flat?”

“I live in this building,” she said. “Come with me.”

She was keenly aware of the many sets of eyes that tracked their hasty exit, but before long, she led Neyo into the private, secure lift that opened directly into her penthouse. He stood silently next to her on the trip up, watching her with an inscrutable gaze. She tried not to give herself an opportunity to second-guess her decision to let him into her home. Strange, she thought, how this seemed more intimate than allowing him inside her body. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d allowed another person into her home. 

The lift doors opened, and he followed her into the flat, pausing long enough to remove their shoes, then looking around curiously.

“Lived here long?”

“A few months,” she said. “I bought it when I found out I’d be stationed on Coruscant long-term.”

“It’s nice,” he said. “Very… clean.”

She laughed. “You mean sterile. I haven’t had time to do much decorating. I’m hardly here except to sleep, anyway.”

He nodded. “I thought I’d have more time for hobbies after the war ended, but now it’s just nonstop—”

“Red tape and committees,” she finished with a sympathetic grimace. He shot her a wry grin. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him smile before, and it did uncomfortable things to her brain. She tried not to think about it, instead asking, “What kind of hobbies? Aside from plotting my slow death, obviously.”

“Oh, you know,” he said vaguely. “Torturing small, adorable creatures; sharpening my vibroblade collection; collecting stamps; that sort of thing.”

She blinked. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

He regarded her steadily for a moment, eyes unreadable as ever. “You really think the worst of me, don’t you?”

She was taken aback. “I—”

Her reply was cut off by the chime of the door. The food had arrived, thank the Force, which gave her a moment to stop herself from blurting out her immediate thought: You’ve never given me any reason to think anything else.

Neyo was a competent soldier—brilliant, in fact. There was no question that he had one of the finest tactical and strategic minds in the GAR. But as a person? From the moment they’d met, he’d been antagonistic, sardonic, cold. He’d challenged her authority and provoked her in meetings. He’d only treated her with the barest semblance of civility in public, and in private—Well. They both knew how things went when they were alone.

The service droid rolled a cart into the dining room and began setting up the meal.

“Can I get you a drink?” she offered Neyo. “I don’t have any Alderaanian red, but I do have Cheedoan whiskey.”

“The good stuff,” he replied. “I’ll have a glass. Thanks.”

The droid finished setting up and shuffled out the front door as Reeda poured two generous glasses of whiskey at the wet bar.

“Ice?” she asked.

He didn’t answer, and when she turned around, she nearly dropped the glasses in surprise to find him standing close behind her. He locked his eyes on hers and never looked away as he took one of the glasses and drained it in a single swallow, then set it down with a decisive click on the counter. Her heart began to pound as he loomed over her. He traced his fingers from her elbow up to her wrist, and then he wrapped his hand around hers and raised her glass to her lips. 

The whiskey burned a fiery path across her tongue and down her throat. A few droplets escaped and splashed coldly on her chest. Neyo didn’t let up until she emptied the glass, and when she was done, he leaned down and sucked the liquor off her skin. His hands dropped to her hips and slid up her back as he located the zipper of her dress and dragged it down excruciatingly slowly, and all the while, his mouth moved across her skin. He slipped the straps down over her shoulders and let the dress fall to the floor, and then he kissed a path along the lacy edge of her bra.

“Thanks for the matched set,” he said, unhooking it and pulling it off.

“Those were expensive, asshole,” she said unsteadily.

He didn’t reply, but she knew she was never going to see that bra again. He kissed his way down her breast and captured her nipple in his mouth, abrading it lightly with his teeth. She jolted, and the empty glass slipped from her hand and smashed against the hard tiles of the floor. 

Neyo barely responded to the sound of shattering crystal. Reeda froze, keenly aware that the smallest movement could result in a bloody footful of glass. She stood utterly, helplessly still as he continued to explore her body with his teeth and lips and hands and tongue. He was thorough in his attentions, and something about being entirely at his mercy was wildly arousing. Her head spun as the whiskey began to work its insidious way through her bloodstream.

“I missed this perfume. What is it?” he murmured against the soft skin of her abdomen.

“I don’t wear any,” she said.

He nuzzled against her as though he could transfer her scent to his own skin. Without warning, he scooped her up and carried her out of the room, completely disregarding the risk to himself. But instead of dropping her as soon as they were clear of the broken glass as she expected, he asked, “Bedroom?”

“Left,” she said, and he strode across the flat and kicked open the door, to her intense irritation. “You gonna pay for the broken doorknob?”

He didn’t reply, just tossed her onto the bed and pounced on her as soon as she landed. He slid in between her thighs and gripped her hard as his mouth descended on hers, kissing her as though he were trying to devour her soul. He was still fully clothed, and she scrambled to pull off his shirt. He was completely unhelpful, too engrossed in her taste. She raked her nails across his skin as she yanked his shirt over his head, and he seized her lip in his teeth in revenge.

At last, the barrier of his shirt was gone, and she writhed against him, desperate to feel as much of his warm, smooth skin against her as possible. They clashed together, sinking nails and teeth into each other. At some point, Neyo got his trousers down enough to free his cock, and he shoved into her. His belt chafed harshly on her delicate skin as she wrapped her legs around him, urging him to go deeper, harder, faster. The sounds they made were unholy, primal: growls and grunts and screams of pain and ecstasy as they tore into each other with all the aggression that they had built over the years. 

She pulled his hair; he clawed her back. She slapped his face; he bit her shoulder. She snarled that she loathed him; he interlaced his fingers with hers and whispered how beautiful she was when she came apart beneath him. She thrust him away and kicked him across the bed; he pinned her down and fucked her until she sobbed and begged for more. At some point, she tasted blood, and she didn’t know or care whose it was. And when at last she lost count of how many times he’d brought her to orgasm, he curled his body around hers and traced his thumb softly over her features as she drifted to sleep.

“If I die while I’m inside you, it’s the closest I’ll ever get to heaven,” he whispered.

“Force, you say some kriffed up shit,” she grumbled.

Reeda awakened slowly, aware of something blissfully warm and soothing moving across her skin. She cracked her eyes open. Neyo was lying on top of her, dragging his tongue lazily over her body. He roamed along her curves, and it wasn’t until he paused at her bruised wrist that she realized what he was doing.

“Are you licking my wounds?” she breathed.

He didn’t answer, but his eyes met hers with an intensity that bordered on madness. Gods, everything about this was so fucked up, and she didn’t dare examine too closely why she found it so incredibly arousing. He moved slowly, meticulously, his tongue gliding softly over every centimeter of her body, until she felt like a bomb, ready to detonate at the slightest spark. She came before he ever reached her cunt, and again as he rocked gently inside her, his lips soft against her mouth, silent tears spilling from the corners of her eyes to course down her temples.

After, he guided her into the shower, and when her legs gave out, he held her upright as the hot water washed over them. Once he’d massaged her entire body with his strong, soapy hands, he dried her off and laid her back on the bed while he spread bacta across the damage he’d inflicted. It was disorienting to be cared for so thoroughly by the man who’d spent the better part of four years making her life hell. He didn’t speak, and she didn’t know what to say, so in the end, she simply watched him in silence.

When he finished with the bacta, he retrieved their dinner from the dining room. The food had long since gone cold, but after hours of intense physical activity, they were famished, and they ate it anyway, sharing bites and sipping whiskey straight from the decanter. Neyo sat with his back against the headboard, his long, strong legs bracketing Reeda as she leaned back against his broad chest.

“How did you know porg was my favorite?” she asked.

He shrugged. “They’re tiny, cute, and innocent. I just assumed you would enjoy extinguishing the life from them and consuming their remains.”

She laughed and snuggled closer to him. “Is that why you order your meat rare? Because it’s the next best thing to drinking straight from the source?”

“Finally, someone who understands,” he smirked. “Truthfully, I overheard you tell Admiral Coburn that porg was your favorite during a banquet at the strategy conference at Valor.”

She turned to stare up at him. “Neyo, that was two years ago. That was before we ever…”

“I know,” he said, burying his face in her hair and breathing deeply.

“Stalker,” she murmured.

He dropped his mouth to her neck, and she tilted her head back against his shoulder as his lips glided across her skin. 

“What does it say about you that you like it?” he whispered when he reached her ear.

He pulled her close, positioning himself between her and the bedroom door. From the proprietary way he held her, she knew it was a deliberate choice; any threat that came through that door would have to go through him before it got to her, and she had a feeling that there weren’t many beings in the galaxy that were brave or foolish enough to try.

Reeda jerked awake to a furious pounding at the front door. Neyo was already halfway out of the bedroom, stark naked and armed with a steak knife from their midnight dinner.

“Wait here,” he ordered, his voice hard and flat.

She rolled her eyes as she pulled on a bathrobe and grabbed a blaster from her nightstand. Neyo glared at her when she joined him, but didn’t bother yelling at her.

“Coruscant guard! Open up,” a modulated voice shouted harshly from outside the door.

Neyo glanced questioningly at her, and she shrugged, hiding the blaster behind her robe. He stepped out of view of the door, and she opened it to find none other than Marshal Commander Fox, flanked by two Corrie ARC troopers.

“Commander,” she greeted him, not bothering to conceal the surprise in her voice.

“Good to see you’re in one piece, Admiral,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, baffled.

“We received multiple calls about a disturbance at your address. Are you alone?”

Reeda felt a hot rush of blood wash over her face and neck. “I fail to see how that is any business of yours, Commander.”

“Sorry, sir, but it’s my duty to—” He stopped abruptly, and his visor shifted to a point behind her. 

“Isn’t this a little below your pay grade, Fox?” Neyo drawled close behind Reeda.

Fox’s visor turned back to Reeda, then to Neyo, and then back to Reeda again. The two ARC troopers appeared to be fascinated by the walls on either side of the front door. 

At last, Fox spoke. “I don’t send shinies to wake up admirals.”

Neyo’s hand slid possessively around the front of Reeda’s abdomen, and he pulled her against his nude body. Something large and solid prodded against her backside. Dank farrik, is he turned on right now? Sick bastard.

“Thank you for your concern,” she told Fox, “but everything is under control.”

“So I see,” Fox replied. “Still, you’ll need to keep the noise level down, or I’ll have no choice but to arrest you for disturbing the peace.”

Neyo reached forward silently and shut the door in Fox’s face, then he spun Reeda around, picked her up over his shoulder, and carried her back to the bedroom. The last thing Fox heard was the unmistakable sound of Neyo’s hand slapping her ass as Reeda shrieked with indignant laughter.

Republic Military HQ buzzed quietly with speculation the next morning when not one, but two of the most senior command staff called in sick for the first time in either of their careers. Rumors swirled: some were convinced a secret bioweapon had been released by Separatist holdouts; others maintained that the stress of dealing with politicians was beginning to take a toll; still others claimed that it was a coverup and that the marshal commander and the admiral had been taken hostage by pirates. It was whispered that Commander Fox had a particularly haunted expression that morning, and two of the Coruscant Guard ARC Troopers had contacted the legal department to update their wills. In the midst of all this, the beleaguered Lissi received a brusque order to inform RTL Matchmaking that the admiral no longer required their services.

Daria drained her third iced caf of the morning as she flicked through her holomessages. Buried amidst the intake forms and meeting invitations was an abrupt-bordering-on-rude note from Marshal Commander Neyo ordering her to close his file.

“Why do you look like the tooka that got the blue milk?” her fellow matchmaker Tarsi Renda asked as she passed Daria in the corridor.

“Oh, no reason,” Daria smiled. “The galaxy is back to normal, that’s all—and my track record is once again perfect.”

---

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[sundragon]

As a dissociative system who spent most of our life into our 20s splitting without realizing it, convinced we were endogenic soulbonds for all of that... you would think I'd be bitter about endos! But it is in fact free, $0, to not project my problems onto them. The world and my brain are confusing, and I was biased against a medical perspective long before meeting other systems.

It smacks of personal responsibility in a way I think a lot of people wrapped up in this discourse do not wanna acknowledge. What other people do - online, not in your real life / against your will to remove yourself from - is not your circus. And that goes both ways. I have fictional characters in my head and so does an endogenic follower; our similarities are complicated and don't always align, but at the end of the day they had Nothing to do with my upbringing, medical issues, and (ongoing!) identity crisis. No corny pride flags or "the future is plural" slogans or magic spells had a single effect on me that I ultimately didn't have control over.

If I read something I didn't like, or met a system that confused me, I could simply ignore them. That's how the internet works. What you see is your own responsibility. How you react to what you see is likewise your own responsibility. Having this disorder doesn't give us a pass to make it the problem of strangers. They have fuck all to do with it. Like, clinically.

It's our problem, not anyone else's! Deal with it! This is the message of tough love that you need but may not want. You and your system are responsible for itself. Internet beefing with endos until the end of time is pathetic. Your priorities are about clout, not wellness.

Full offense, but at some point you gotta grow up and stop blaming other people for your problems. Non-disordered systems, systems with mixed or unknown origins, whatever the heck is trendy to hate on, you've gotta let it go. Things in our life messed us up and made us weird, great, now cope with it. It's no one else's job to hold your hand while you explore the internet and come into contact with people you disagree with. Be upset, be creeped out, disbelieve them, be against anything you want, but it's your problem. No one else is guilty, you just can't handle it.

[grim-has-issues]

What is really interesting about relating to fictional characters is the feeling you get when analytical, logical, and critical discussion is opened about them.

For example, I relate heavily to Albus from Bastard Warrior, but there are certain traits that are imperative to his character that separate us. Thus, making discussion on his flaws easier and encouraged.

Similarly, I heavily relate to Raven, specifically in Neon Wings, but there are less traits critical to Raven’s character that separates us. (Mostly because she is a listener character and thats an important aspect to characterization) Everything that woman did, I understood, viscerally.

Yeah, she did some cringe fail things like have a mental breakdown in public (could never), but all of her actions were logical, executable, and understandable. TO ME.

Then, when discussion is opened about her character, behavior, and actions, I began to realize that her character has more flaws than I initially observed.

This is most notably seen in @jacks347 writing on Raven. She asserts that Raven is a great character, but a shit person. This analysis, while harsh, is correct. This is further supported by the creator of Raven, @escapedaudios. He also asserts that Raven’s trauma leads her to unfairly treat those around her.

Now this is all fine and good. So whats the problem?

Raven and I share a litany of experiences and traits, and seeing how people react to her actions is extremely intriguing.

It is almost like hearing people talk about you right in front of you.

Now is this a problem of using art for escapism (no pun intended) and placing myself in fictional stories to distract myself from the world?

Probably, but thats literally what the medium of Audio Roleplay is made for.

In short, it opens my mind to my actions and my own issues, and how one might approach rectifying the hurt you bestow on other people.

Just like Raven, I have an overwhelming urge to run away when something bad occurs, but she learns to appreciate those around her and heal for, not only herself, but for those she loves.

And that’s pretty cool.

TL;DR

People being critical of Raven from Neon Wings hurt my feelings a little bit, but it allowed me to assess my own actions and how I affect the people close to me.

(I have issues projecting myself onto characters and then separating them again)

And thats what is so cool about art.

[writingquestionsanswered]

I have this problem that finally showed up after many years, I'm a few chapters away from completing my book. After almost 5 years writing this through happy times and sad times, I'm finally done! Yet, I can't move on. Instead of being happy to finally complete my passion project, I feel myself grieving the eventuality. I spent years building my world, story, characters etc... and now I don't want it to end, I don't want to complete it. Suffering from success if you will.

Do you have any tips on this fear of completion? My book is set up as a stand-alone, so making a sequel wouldn't work.

Have you ever had this "completion grief" and if so, how did you move on from it?

Thank you

Dealing with Creative Grief When Story is Done

It's normal to feel grief upon completion of a story, especially one that you've been working on a long time and/or has been emotionally demanding. Here are some things you can do to help work through this feeling:

1 - Be Proud of Your "Baby Bird" - Your baby bird has flown your now empty nest, but take a moment to recognize the beauty of this moment... this project you've worked so hard on is now complete and ready to fly away. You've done everything you can for it, so now it's time to let it spread its wings and live a life of its own. As much as it's sad, it's exciting, too. And it's a huge accomplishment!

2 - Find Closure with Celebration - Many creatives find celebration a helpful way to find closure when a project is finished. This can be something small, like ordering pizza or enjoying a glass of champagne, or it could be something bigger, like having a nice dinner out with friends, or even throwing a little party. Having any sort of event to mark the occasion can help it to feel more final, but in a way that is happy and comforting.

3 - Start a New Project - With one project finished and out in the world, you may find it helpful to start planning a new project, or at least start thinking about one. Throwing that leftover creative energy into something new helps with that sense of emptiness, distracts you from creative grief due to the finished project, and heals your heart with enthusiasm for a new world, new characters, and new plot.

4 - Schedule a Future Visit - Sometimes it helps to plan to revisit the completed project in some way at a future date. That could be reading it at some point, if you're able to read through finished projects and enjoy them. It could be creating a collection of mood boards for the story and characters and sharing them with your readers. It might be doing a reading of the first chapter on an Instagram live, or--hear me out on this--writing a companion story. Now, I don't mean writing a sequel or even a story that you'd share necessarily, but more something for yourself, kind of like fan-fiction of your own work, just as a way to get into your story and revisit the characters and world. And truth be told, if you plan to do this--say on the six-month anniversary of when your story was finished--it will give you a sense of the story living on that will help you get through your grief now, but by the time you get to that point, you probably won't need to do it anymore.

5 - Wait for It To Pass - Of course the hard thing about any kind of grief is there's not a whole lot you can do to make it go away. For the most part, you just have to acknowledge that it's there and give yourself the grace needed to get through it. Most of the time, it passes more quickly than you might expect, and you'll be onto something new in now time.

I hope that helps!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••��

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[coeluvr]

hi i’ve read chap 3 and sighs. stares at luceris,,, this is becoming a problem, i want his approval like i want my asian parent’s approval which bodes well with absolutely nobody. like he’s never actually going to care or have a deep bond with my mc but i just 😭😭😭 i feel so complicated abt him 😭😭😭 he’s genuinely the worst sometimes but i also?? desperately want him to be proud of my mc???? am i colourblind???why am i latching onto the worst possible option when the character with the blinding “potential father figure” sign is literally right there??? i don’t think i can genuinely pray on his downfall when i read how my mc and him banters in their own insane way 😭😭😭 i want to amuse him 😭😭 i love how we can literally call him old and he’ll just roll his eyes 😭😭 i love how he tries encouraging mc to find love and how it can lead to either an incredibly strange sincere moment, slight concern or just silly banter abt matchmaking. my mc is non-revenge bc i don’t have the heart to do revenge in any story ever (my heart yearns for the healing journey) but ill still make my mc slightly insane just for him, and then in my head they can heal a little and maybe be marginally less insane together even if my mc will never forget and forgive him for the murder thing(im delusional). maybe im projecting onto luceris and my mc which is severely worrying, i predict this becoming an Issue further into the story

anyways sorry that was rlly long. i have very complicated feelings about that man. as you can see i have a tendency to look at the absolute worst options available and go “can they be my parent pretty please” i’m desperate for approval from literally anyone, even insane fictional murderers it seems

I saw the last ask you sent in and was waiting for you to read chapter 3 because I felt it in my bones that you'd like their dynamic lmao 😭

Honestly, I don't think you're odd for seeing Luceris in an almost parental light because I feel that he has some moments that truly do give off parental energy, even more than Lancelot. Maybe it is more insane uncle energy, I don't know.

I think he might also feel more parental or mentor like for MCs that are angrier / on the revenge route because it's like they're almost the same, you know? It's as if MC looked at him and said "I wanna be you" 😭💀

I do have to say it's probably an unhealthy dynamic though 😭 as are basically all of the dynamics with him...

I love long asks like this one so don't worry! I'm happy you're enjoying it (?) despite all of the complicated feelings it brings. And welcome to this little group of ours here! 💗

[kaneaken]

" why do you cry? "

author's note; welcome back to projecting my own issues onto fictional characters pt. idk 🫠 this fic is honestly a bit messy, so i apologize for that, but i hope y'all can still enjoy (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

content notes; gn!reader, reverse comfort, possible ooc character (it's been a while twst 😔), established relationship, overthinking, riddle's mother (can i just count that as a warning?), more riddle centric than the reader, riddle cries and has some negative thoughts

if there was something riddle would always be proud of it would be his academics. from a very young age, it was the one thing he excelled in.

in all his years, he doubted that he would ever be overwhelmed by it. he didn't procrastinate. he stayed focused despite the rowdiness of certain dorm mates. he was always on time.

except when he wasn't.

he was sure that he had time on his schedule for your date. except the hedgehogs were being difficult that day and he spent too much time wrangling them.

he was behind. riddle rosehearts is always on time. there was nothing he hated more than people who weren't timely.

but here he was, standing in his dorm as if it were to help him in any way. he scolded himself for standing idly instead of starting his homework, so he would at least have some room for you.

he reached for his phone. should he just cancel his plans with you? he stopped for a moment and pictured your face overcome with disappointment.

no, no, he couldn't do that to you. but, on the other hand, he needed to finish up his homework. what kind of housewarden would he be if he couldn't even uphold the most simple rule of finishing homework before other activities.

he sighed to himself, ruffling his hair and taking a seat on his bed. what would his mother say?

you don't need silly things like love, riddle. if you want to be anything, it's best to leave romance behind. it will only slow you down.

she was right. but you were always so kind and understanding to him. you weren't weighing him down. but you were the reason for his stress at the moment. but-

" riddle? "

riddle turned his head and spotted you slightly stepping into his room. quickly, he glanced over at the clock. his heart dropped.

he wasted so much time looking for a solution that he solved his own problem. he didn't even show up for your date at all, which meant he crossed one thing off his list unintentionally.

the soft creak of his bed turned his head back to you. he couldn't see the disappointment in your eyes, which shocked him.

you placed your hand against his. for a short while, the two of you sat in silence before you spoke up.

" i was worried when you didn't show up, so i came over to check on you. are you okay? "

he felt a twist in his stomach. just a few minutes ago he was considering breaking off your relationship, and here you were concerned about him. you deserved better than him, who was willing to break off your relationship so quickly.

he hadn't even noticed the tears streaming down his face until your hand was wiping them away.

he grabbed onto your hand and squeezed it gently.

" thank you "

he whispered so quietly that he doubted you heard him, but your small smile indicated the opposite

" tell me when you're ready, okay? "

" okay "

[ilikekidsshows]

Thoughts on Marinette being empathetic? i saw someone saying that she was super empathetic but I can't really get behind that idea cause I see her as more sympathetic instead. Like she can feel sorry for someone but I don't think she's all that good at putting herself in their shoes and actually realizing the situation beyond "this person I know/care about is sad"

---

I myself have actually analyzed Marinette’s method of relating to others as empathetic rather than sympathetic, because Marinette is completely incapable of figuring out what someone is thinking or feeling from context clues. Neither can she anticipate how someone might react to something. She can only project her own emotions or fears onto others. This is actually a skill Gabriel is incredibly good at, which I once noted as the number one difference between the two.

But, I also think that Marinette's empathy is highly situational. Marinette can't understand logically or emotionally how someone is feeling, unless it's a situation she herself is or has been in. However, if she can recognize someone's situation in her own life, she's suddenly so empathetic she can't contain herself. Notice how she was totally fine with bullying and sabotaging Kagami, until she found out Kagami was desperately yearning for a boy she has no relationship with, just like her. Then suddenly Marinette “My Adrien Problems Are The Number One Priority Always” Dupain-Cheng is so empathetic that she actually feels conflicted about getting in the way of their romance.

Still, when the situation someone is in is something she hasn't experienced, Marinette just can't relate or understand at all. She has seen a parent abusing their child in three different contexts, yet she insists all these parents are good parents because her parents are good to her. She completely ignores Cat Noir trying to tell her that he’s not emotionally fine, projecting her idea of Cat Noir onto the real Cat Noir, until his problems directly affect her, and then she proceeds to project her own thoughts and feelings on what's going on, like assuming that, just because her biggest problem is unrequited love, that's all that's bothering Cat Noir as well when he has been telling her otherwise for weeks if not months.

Marinette's main problem is projection. She acts like she's the center of the universe and the main character. Like, she is both of these things, but a fictional character isn't supposed to know that unless the writers are trying to be too meta. So, Marinette doesn't know she's the universe's creator's daughter, but she acts like she does and that makes her act entitled and selfish. She can't be bothered to take basic manners or decency into account when she needs to score a date with a hot guy. She will humiliate a classmate and supposed friend and deny him something he was really looking forward to if it means she gets to do something she could also do any other day of the week if she wasn't a coward, like asking the guy she likes to play video games with her. Marinette is absolutely convinced that her crush problems are the most important thing going on at any given moment and everyone else are just supportive characters in the drama that is her life.

While Marinette doesn't seem to live in a fantasy world entirely, she certainly goes around one foot in one. She doesn't go around outright calling her classmates extras and bit parts, but she certainly doesn't treat them as real humans with real feelings either. Even when she helps them she does it like a video game protagonist trying to max out a relationship value. She acts like she already knows what to do, like she's reading a guide, but she gets it wrong so many times so the guide is faulty, but she still gets a free pass every time because “she had good intentions”. I’ve never seen a 14-year-old get granted this much slack for such blatant disregard of others’ opinions.

Whether it's empathy or sympathy, whatever method Marinette is using to relate to others, she is bad at it.

[milgramfessing]

I've sent two negative confessions and one positive one, I need to balance that out lmao Uh, this is very obvious from my profile picture, but I love Kotoko. She is one of my favorite fictional characters ever. I'm like, kind of surprised a character like her even exists, a character that is so unbelievably fucked up in terms of their morality and beliefs but is not only treated humanely by the narrative, but has people actively sympathizing with her and wishing she would become better. Like that's something that can exist?? Besides that, I love her shamelessly corny-ass 2010s edgy-ass design and all of her funny little outfits, I love how Aimi voice acts her (especially in Yonah, she was crazy for that shit), I love how she is presented in general in terms of how she's drawn because she either looks badass or a wet cat on the street and I love it I love how when you pull back all the curtains, Kotoko Yuzuriha is just a regular ass girl who felt dissatisfied with the state of the world and wanted to fix it, but ended up getting sucked into fascist-adjacent ideologies in the process. I love how relatable she is in her desire to fix a broken world because it makes her actions in the story so much more compelling and leaves you questioning if you too are capable of Doing That (spoiler alert: you are). A question that echoes through every character in Milgram, but especially Kotoko I love her relationships with the other characters, my favorite to think about being her relationship with Fuuta. I could write a whole other confession on how I view their relationship but it would require four different trigger warnings and I'm not quite sure the rules of this place so for now I'll just say I fucking love how they both clearly know that they're the same person in a different font but neither will ever fully admit it. I also love her dynamic with Es and how she projects her dream of a world where wrongdoers are served justice onto them and forces her values onto them, how she clearly loves them, but also has no problem targeting them where it hurts and manipulating them if it means getting what she wants. That also applies to her relationships with the rest of the prisoners by the way, she straight-up admits that she is fond of the other prisoners, yet she will still abuse them in pursuit of her goals, which is fucking TASTY I eat that shit up so bad I love how Kotoko's family-life mimics the standard nuclear family structure, with a breadwinner father, a housewife mother, and two kids, because it not only hints to Kotoko's generally traditional beliefs, but by her grandma also being included in her family structure, which (though depends on the culture) isn't typical for nuclear families, it goes to show how these dynamics can still be present even if the mold is not filled exactly. Also as a younger sibling, I like that Kotoko is canonically the youngest in her family, I think its cute I love her role in the narrative as a parallel to the prison itself and the ideologies it as a facility is built upon, and how all of it contributes into how Milgram critiques punitive justice and its unhelpful-ness when it comes to actually serving justice to criminals which I fucking looove, and I especially love how in that aspect, just like Es is the stand-in protagonist, you could call Kotoko the stand-in antagonist. She represents all of the ideals of the prison, it's black-and-white mentality, it's bigotry (ableism), the dichotomy of a good person versus a bad person, and how all of it is the main obstacle standing in the way of the prisoners achieving actual redemption, understanding, and clarity, or as we call it: The Therapy Option. I love how I have met so many people who think exactly like her, showing that Yamanaka was absolutely successful in his goal of making the characters feel like real people with 2-dimensional physical appearances. And that's just what I can think of off the top of my head !! In general, I just love her. Look at her, she is so silly

literally the silliest woman ever !! look at her !! No matter how her character climaxes in trial 3, whether she gets worse (please let her get worse its entertaining) or she gets better, I will love her all the same Thank you, Yamanaka, for making this incredibly silly woman lmao I am so sorry for when you get this in your inbox

there are no rules about confessions; I'll post anything. && no worries I love reading longer confessions !!

[faceyourphobia]

Got the next bite of “A Bouquet of Rotten Diphylleia” - Which is on Ao3 btw

I’m having so much fun writing this actually, but that’s just because I’m a complete sadist who likes to project my problems onto fictional characters. Is that unhealthy? Maybe. Will I never not do it? Haha. Funny. Very funny.

(I am so mentally sane. I am so mentally sane. I am so mentally sane. I am so mentally sane.)

Read under the cut to see the preview for Chapter Two: Peach Blossom: I am your captive…

!PLEASE DON’T READ IF BLOOD/GORE, OR VOMITING ARE TRIGGER WARNINGS!

Basil’s POV:

“Blood drips past his dry, chapped lips. Seeps into the cracks leading to exposed flesh. And that taste… That god awful, acidic taste. It burns his throat, and settles in his mouth. But then there’s also the disgusting emptiness in his stomach, that hollow, empty feeling. His intestines curdle nauseously, squirming writhing inside him.

And then there’s that urge, that hollow, sickening urge to make it stop. Because it twists and moves and curls. It expands and tightens, it presses against his skin and makes him utterly sick.

And then it squeezes and forces itself back up. A fresh wave of that god awful, tasteless saliva fills his mouth, before that burning acid sinks its claws into his throat. And then it drags itself further up, leaving scorching, hot lines as it rips into his flesh. And it tears and tears and tears…

Until his body keels in on itself, and disgusting, metallic blood spills from his mouth. He feels his body reflexively gag, forcing a choked, throat-burning noise to escape him. And suddenly, painfully, he’s relieved that the shower is running, that the steam is choking him, leaving stray droplets of moisture on his skin.

His fingers slide against the edges of the toilet, his knuckles white. Blood drips down his chin, diluted by his own intestinal acid, and the steam of that dreadful, awful, shower.”

All of this is still under editing and of course subject to change! But I’m really loving it so far. (I am mentally sane)

Again, you can read chapter one here!