#and those who grow up to be yet another part of the cycle... to become another monster

[pumakaji64]

Every now and then I remember Shuuji Kayama and how his arc is one big metaphor for what it's like to grow up instilled with venomous self-hatred and how it turns you cruel towards others and yourself- how it's about falling victim to the cycle and growing up to become yet another chain in the harm but also how it can consume you and destroy you completely-

BUT there's still hope in his story- hope that he can break free with the right support and guidance- with a wake-up call and a better role-model- and not only learn how to love himself but start the journey on getting better and doing better to those he's hurt along the way- because Lopmon is both his victim and himself and I-

[patricia-taxxon]

synopsizing the movie that plays in my head every time i listen to nascent by alexander panos

this probably isn't as interesting to read as it is for me to imagine in my own head, but i wanted to write it down. maybe u will have fun imagining it too

1. Q Windswept

This is the intro to the album, you pretty much get every flavor of sound that the album has to offer in one short burst. This is the title sequence & opening credits, where all the nonexistent animators & vfx artists would go. I imagine big bunches of text popping into existence with each impact.

2. Cycles

This track is in a weird spot, it's the longest one & it was made much earlier. It sounds like it's in a different world, so I treat it as an establishing montage of the human world. We're introduced to the protagonist, who I'll call Alex for convenience but doesn't necessarily represent the real life producer behind the music, represented by a live action human actor for the time being. The track feels like writer's block, frustration, pounding on a desk, (the domp domp bit) pacing around the room, moments of existential fear in between the doldrums of solitude, the wubs and crashes are a transformation that is barely being held back. Twilight depression montage.

3. Sutter

Sutter begins the purely synthetic "internal" portion of the record. We enter a liminal/metaphorical space. Alex spasms and transforms into a 2D animated dog furry while floating far above a green field with too much synthetic blue in its hue. Huge wide shots of Alex's body flying backwards with the artificial landscape in the background, hitting with those massive manipulated vocal hits. The track ends with him slowing and coming to a gentle rest on the grass.

4. 36523_red/blue

Alex opens his eyes, sees only the pure "blue screen of death" shade of blue in the sky. Abstract glitches and squiggles zap across the screen in time with the music. Alex is beginning to ruminate, represented by him drawing patterns with his paws in the sky as the track begins to pick up a consistent tempo. The glitches and patterns are played with his fingers, building in intensity until the climax shows a vast mirror that fills the entire sky approaching rapidly, and then slowing, the dog boy in the reflection growing until it comes face to face with the viewer, and then a cut to black.

5. reasonsnotto

Lights are out, audio-reactive abstract animations shudder into being with the synthetic voice, warping and pulsing with the track's modulations. In the moments when Alex's real voice pokes through the synthetic mush, his dog form coalesces, still blurry and struggling to become fully contiguous until the very end, where Alex sings the album's thesis directly to the camera, against a pure black background.

6. Dream Extinction

He breaks the mirror here, the impacts are his fists striking the surface and releasing burning waves of fire and electricity. At the end, the part with the consistent bursts, he begins clawing at his reflection, screaming, seizure inducing flashing lights imply that this hurts him too. As the track calms down, the mirror disintegrates.

7. Equinox (Prelude)

This track begins the portion of the album that is trying to claw itself back into reality. He's not there yet, beyond the mirror Alex finds another liminal space, a primordial river, and as the track builds, more concrete images begin to flash into existence before crumbling again. He can't get out, he doesn't want to get out. He shields his eyes, cut to black.

8. Equinox

This is the bit where Alex says a poem to himself and runs back to reality with all his might. Emphasize the "You flake, you human life" line, he says it with gritted canine teeth and his doggy ears lowered, resolved to claw back to his humanity. After that exalted rush of light and color passes, he opens a door, and slams it behind him.

9. catch it

This track is resurfacing, coming back to reality. The synthetic glitches fall back completely, icons of a city street come into existence, populating the white void in time with those guitar chords. Alex isn't visible yet, but the images are revealed to be the view outside his window. The POV shot looks down, and he sees his human hands again.

10. re:Turning

Ok, this part is so cliched & shmaltzy that it makes me embarrassed to write it out, but there's only one conclusion this story can have. The glitches re-emerge, the synthetic elements that were previously contained come back again. It's his fur. The dog re-emerges, Alex transforms again like a magical girl before opening his front door & singing the final hook, walking through a live action environment with shapes and colors from his liminal space following him. The paradox is resolved. He is multitude.

thanks for reading.

[nautls11]

my rambles about the tmk finale (SPOILERS, obviously)

whats up tmk famalam, im sad and im gonna talk about it

I cant even begin to describe how incredible the finale was. The players and the dice both had a story to tell and it created an end that brought me to tears.

The acting.

Genuinely some of the best ive seen in the entire show and I’ve been watching since convergence. Every single person absolutely killed it, Condi especially. Lucia���s moments with Mary, and Milo’s acting during the final scene was absolutely phenomenal

“Humanity’s weakness.” Empathy.

Empathy plays such a vital role throughout this entire story. It’s Lucia’s drive to try and save Everett from becoming her sister. It’s Jin’s drive to save the people who had those horrible fates he experienced when he was young. Everett’s lack of empathy was what pushed him away from his hunting party, seeing it as nothing but weakness.

Everett’s lack of empathy was what isolated him from the rest of the hunters. Yet, it was Everett’s empathy that made him choose to save Trey by turning him into a monster (albeit against Trey’s will), knowing that he wouldn’t survive otherwise. It was Everett’s lack of empathy for humanity that made him join the monsters, yet it was Everett’s humanity that made him spare Jin and Lucia during the monster siege.

Jin couldn’t kill Everett because he desperately wanted to keep alive the last bit of humanity Everett had left in him. Because Everett spared him, Jin only saw the only right thing to do was to spare his life as well, even though it led to the summoning of the Moonbeast.

It was empathy for Pebble’s losses that led Lucia and Jin to trust him, and he was able to prove himself more than capable.

It was Lucia’s empathy at the end that revealed Everett truly did still have a fraction of humanity and empathy left inside him, enough to destroy the heart and give one last goodbye. In the end, humanity’s weakness was also their ultimate power.

Mary’s internal conflict.

Lucia recognizing Mary but Mary not recognizing her, and the instant Mary realized it was her sister, her entire demeanor changed into that of a scared and traumatized child, because she never got to grow up. She was seen as a monster and became a monster. That was all she knew, and when those emotions filled her chest again she knew nothing but panic. She sees empathy as a weakness, just like all the other monsters do. Even to the point where she recoils from her own older sister’s sincerest apologies. Until Lucia has gona through what Mary has gone through, so long as they are different, Mary sees no place for reconciliation. And that id what causes her own downfall.

And the ending. The falling ending.

I think the fact that it ended with them all still falling makes it such a beautiful finale. It’s open-ended, we don’t know what faits await them. Do they fall as the starlight dapples across their skin and fall into the earth, becoming part of the cycle once more? Do they survive the fall, and the three of them live, watching as the moon slowly falls across the horizon and not into the maw of a beast, crying sobs of relief that their world was saved? Does one of them drag themselves out of the ocean to find their companions cold and motionless on the shore? I think the fact that we don’t know gives us so much more to think about, even though the campaign is over.

anyways thank you council + milo for making another incredible campaign and fuck you for adding to my cry counter (/nm ofc it was absolutely incredible)

[sp00kymulderr]

Pairing: Ezra x reader

Warnings: Angst, injury detail, blood mention, vague ending (happy or not is up to you).

Word Count: 2k

A/N: For my Pedrostories Secret Santa giftee @djarinmuse - happy holidays! I hope you don't mind that this is completely un-festive and I took some liberties with prompts, but I'm excited that I got to write my favourite space man in an introspective, angsty situation so thank you! I hope you like the fic! To follow for fic updates only go to @sp00kyupdates​ or see taglist details on my masterlist. Header by me. Credit to banner maker.

It is impossible to ignore the abundance of fear in his chest.

The way his heart is beating almost out of it, the abject horror of the reminder that you had been here just moments ago when he sees the empty campsite with a past presence still lingering warm and your scent still in the air. That perfume you���d found on another nameless planet on another forgotten job. His heart suddenly ripping in halves in a way he had never known it could do, because that scent is fading, and you aren’t here.

Your tatty sleeping bag of a bed is empty, no sign of life in the small perimeter you together call a home while you do yet another standard of grunt work for yet another corporation who would never even know your names. 

Ezra had known the place wasn’t safe. Reports from the surface that he’d warily read had told him as much but you’d both agreed the credits were too good to pass up. That you’d keep each other safe.

You’d keep each other safe.

Kevva, what had he done? Why had he felt the need to leave you alone for those few moments that suddenly felt far, far too long.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened, prospecting being a famously a dangerous profession but especially now when the sites were drying up, planets dug to their end, the precious aurelac gems becoming rarer and rarer. The last time…Ezra hesitates to think of how he’d seen his partner killed for nothing more than a few meagre stones and Ezra had done nothing to help. 

Nothing but ran and protected the things that were his. He was inherently not a good man.

He should run now. Take the remaining spoils of the dig and find his way to safety like always.

He should run.

Run.

But for you. For this partnership…

The thought of turning away makes his chest tighten – for a man who felt himself slipping from humanity for so much of his life he was now becoming alive with it. In him now he could barely fathom the thought of you being gone - you who has chosen to partner up with him for whatever unknown reason. You who had given him a reality beyond just drifting from place to place, space to space, despite his own nature.

No one had seen anything more in him ever since he was a boy. That was the reality of growing up a rock-hopper, adrift through all his life, but then you came and offered him this partnership and showed him that perhaps there was something else in him.

That perhaps he was a better man than he’d ever thought.

With a determined breath, Ezra pulls himself from the shock of your empty campsite and makes a decision, pushing against his own nature. He will be the man you see him as. No running. Ready to do whatever it takes to make you safe, to make sure that the same fate that had befallen his last partner would never come to you. He had to make sure.

Searching around the area with a trained eye with tracking skills picked up through the cycles of dangerous living, Ezra’s mind wanders to the stories you had shared with him of the places you had been and the people you had met. You were a survivor but more than that. You lived. Your resilience was always the thing that those stories reminded him of the most; your ability to adapt. Of course, you can handle yourself. But every part of him shakes with the need to make sure of your safety, keep you alive…he can’t let you be anything else.

Ezra feels overcome with need to be a better man. The partner you deserve. You had always been more of a partner than he ever deserved.

Grabbing the pistol that had been haphazardly strewn, likely in your struggle though he tries not to think of that, he steels himself to follow the minimal signs of the direction you may have taken. Bravery was in truth never his strong suit. He was never taught to live bravely; his life has always always been about self-preservation and so little else. Growing without family, without a name, he hadn’t thought to care for anyone else – not the way you did. Not the way you softened edges and crawled into small places in people to make them more.

He starts walking slowly, every step sending surges of that cold fear through his veins; the fear of the unknown, the fear of what he might find. He doesn’t want to find what he fears, but he has to. He can’t turn back now. He can’t. As Ezra walks his eyes keep darting back and forth, searching for any sign of life and any sign of you. He keeps his pistol ready, just in case.

---

You're vaguely aware that you've been left to bleed for some gems so small the credits would barely cover a month of ship maintenance let alone a comfortable life. It makes you laugh a little, the absurdity of it. The men had left you badly hurt; no mercy of peace afforded to you but thankfully also no threat of worse than death was made to you.

They must have been watching. They must have been waiting for Ezra to leave, determining that he was the threat. The danger.

People often make that judgment of him.

You sigh a shaky, weak thing that bubbles in pain at the thought of the man, your partner, thrumming in your head. He'd be looking for you. Of course he would. His heart was in the right place always, even when he believed his mind not to be. You'd been prospecting together for enough cycles to know that of him, and more too.

It occurs you might die here, but kevva were you lucky to know more of the starlit man who'd made his home in your life over this time. That would be your biggest regret, never having known him more - never having seen his soul in truly the way it deserved to be seen. Silly as it was you'd fantasised time and again about seeing him safe and warm and happy in ways that you knew Ezra has never been. He deserves a life more than the one he has had to live.

Your only wish now if he doesn't find you, is that he gets that.

Truthfully Ezra had been something unusual for you, a gem in his own way, so much more thrilling than those amber aurelac pieces you'd both made a muddy career of picking. A rarer and more precious thing, all the more because he did not seem to see that in himself. A man with starlight and shine, with wit and verbosity and an unending supply of humanity despite the things he'd seen.

You'd like to see him again, at least once more. The darkening sky and the blood on your suit makes you think that likelihood is minimal. He'd be better off not finding you, perhaps.

Your breath heaves once, twice, a small wheeze as you experiment with moving. A sharp pain interjects your attempt, causing you to gasp out and hold on to the wound on your side. Something in you may be broken.

This wasn't the way to go.

---

The first sign of you after what feels like trudging miles watching the damp forest ground, is the scrap of distinctive material from your suit. It's a concern but also a relief, to see something of you here where all else this place feels so suddenly completely uninhabited.

You must have made some kind of fight here, Ezra notes. There's footprints in the mud and a couple droplets of ruby red he can't acknowledge yet. 

Not yours, not yours.

Ezra knows both sides of this. He's been the one to take unsuspecting explorers and prospectors and drain them for everything they're worth. He's done this to others - left their partners and families to live in pain and regret and he's never thought a lot about who he might have maimed and murdered in the name of survival.

It makes him sick now. Sick at himself and at the world he's always known. You do not deserve this. Maybe they did not deserve what he did either. Maybe he is monstrous in even worse ways than he already knew. Maybe he shouldn't find you, so that he doesn't have to face the reality of what he is through what someone else may have done to you.

He walks silent as possible, careful slip of boots on the ground so as not to disturb anyone or thing that could be close. He makes his way through a thicket of shrubs and rounds a large tree.

And there he stops.. And holds in the breath he was about to let out.

There you are. Crumpled and shivering.

Alive.

Alive, alive, alive.

And yet...you could barely be, the way you were breathing. What was he seeing? What were you clutching at that made you groan and your eyes flutter in pain? He couldn't see it fully until stepping closer.

Broken. Damaged. Drained. Not the you he knew. Not the you he hoped to see. This you is some other.

Ezra murmurs your name. A part of him thinks that this is the time he runs. You won't make it and you shouldn't have to see him when your breath leaves you.

Part of him, a part of him that used to feel natural as the rain but now he hates. He thinks about going after those who did this to you but he cannot decide if that is to exact revenge or to take back to the stolen aurelac and leave for the pod.

"Ezra" you say, voice quieter than he has ever heard it, and the weak tone pulls him from his treacherous thoughts and back to reality. You are alive.

You are alive, and that means he must stay the person you see him as at least until you are no longer with him anymore.

"Ez..." you repeat again, and the pitiful sound springs him back in to action like a shot. The field kit in his pack isn't made for this kind of work, he quickly realises, but he can at least try to patch you up before things get worse for you out here.

"Kevva...you..." He's lost for words, for once in his life.

"Stay awake" is all he mutters as he crouches beside you and pulls out the liquid bandage and antiseptic shot.

"Easier said than done" you murmur back, opening eyes up to him.

Ezra sees it in your eyes. Stardust…your eyes were always like the sparkle of stardust and even dull like now it takes his breath away.

“I…I…” Ezra shakes his head. “If only I’d got here sooner. Should’ve never…”

You hiss as he presses the bandaging to your side, too dizzy from the feeling to tell if the bleeding has dissipated at all yet.

“Knew you’d come” You say in that soft, caring way you always have for him. For some reason he may never know now.

“I didn’t- “ Ezra chokes out. Didn’t know if I’d come. Thought about leaving you. The words ache heavy on his tongue, unable to utter them.

“You’re here” Is all you utter before laying your head back, that sickly swirl of dizziness getting worse suddenly.

He is here. You’re right. He’s here and in your light every instinct he’s ever had to preserve his own livelihood over anything else fades away just like always. A person who makes him a better man was never someone Ezra imagined knowing. A warm soul to help reignite his own that had gone cold long ago. It’s you. 

It’s you and him. 

It’s a string of fate that has tied you two together for longer than you’ve even known each other.

“Yes, stardust” Ezra finally mutters, and leans down to rest his forehead against yours. 

He’s got you. For as long as he can.

“I’m here”

[dittolicous]

part three of raging stealth black!sanji i guess! (part one - part two)

sanji is very aware that he's just a means to an end. that he's being lied to and used and manipulated. he was given a butchered version of his 'life history' to make up for his amnesia, which included the strawhats abandoning him when he proved too weak and got hurt, something which he had no frame of reference to doubt when he first awoke from death

but if vinsmoke judge is anything, its being ridiculously bad at foresight and little details

honestly, how did he really expect to hide the relative truth with the strawhats being such big names? their journey has been documented, and while its clearly got some biases, sanji can read between the lines. little details are his *job*, thats all espionage is!

so, yeah. he knows hes being used to get the strawhat pirates, knows that he and his siblings are nothing but manufactured tools

it just adds another coal to the growing fire pit of rage in his stomach. its really all he can feel these days, this growing red hot anger, so bright that he perpetually, endlessly fights to keep flames from dancing along his form. he cant place it at first, has no reason to dislike his fathers hand on his shoulder the night he finally awakens, yet the weight lights something within him. his skin prickles where the hand had rested. he wants to scratch it off, to remove the tainted section of his body

he says nothing. good children are seen and not heard.... hes good, yes? right? thats... what he wants?

(can he even want? everything is so empty, so quiet... why-why-why-)

his brother's hollow laughter, the smell of bins full of rotting food, the bubble-filled cloning tubes, the taste of his sisters poison in the air as it lays waste to their enemies, the joyous smile on his fathers face...

sanji also knows he shouldn't be able to feel, yet he can very clearly name this white hot feeling taking root deep within him - rage, unabashed and uncontrollable

when hes not dreaming of sea salt, citrus, or distant laughter, he dreams of vinsmoke blood staining the ground, of satisfaction as his heels dig into ribs, of inflicting every wound they ever gave him right back at them (an odd thing, his waking mind supplies, seeing as his family has never hurt him...), of crushing the shells to the sailing snails which house this tyrannical kingdom

he had hoped to exorcize the demons haunting his dream by gathering knowledge, hence why he sought outside information sources (ie where ever judge deemed worth attacking), surely these unbiased sources would clear away this doubt that should never have exsisted!

instead the roots of his vitriol are set. there is no going back to sanji that woke to his family's supposedly loving faces

they are warmongers, destroyers... liars... they take more than they could ever need or desire... he isn't a son or brother, hes nothing more than another plunder of victory. a walking symbol of their prowess

what do these fools even hope to achieve with their senseless grapples for power? kingdoms?? glory of germa66? scientific might?

don't make him laugh

sanji might only be a means to an end, but so are they, not that those arrogent buffoons even realize

(he cannot say how he knows nor does he really care, but the danger of the world government runs deeper than any outsider could ever grasp - the five shadowy beasts of his dreams tell him so with guttural voices and air-tainting bloodlust)

all too soon it becomes clear that life is nothing but pointless suffering, engineered by tyrants just like vinsmoke judge, just like the shadow beasts whos screams having him waking in cold-sweats, there is no end... they are only free from this horrible cycle in the embrace of death. the dead cannot bleed nor starve nor struggling to breath through grief filled lungs. life is children sobbing over the prone form of their parents or hollowed faces taking mouthfuls of poisoned water to quiet aching stomachs...

the vinsmokes take blindly and foolishly, they took everything from him, took his life, his memories, his heart, left him nothing but a tense anger that leaves his muscles aching and fingers twitching to destroy, pride blinding them to the encroaching cliff into hell

if they wish for hell so badly, who is sanji to deny them? he will bring down the flames of hell and rip clean through the earth to deliver them personally. every sensless act of violence, every life taken without a blink of an eye, every drop of blood the fed the ground, sanji shall return tenfold, yet deny them the relief of death just as they stole him from his

he'll go along with their little plan to draw out the strawhat pirates, give them the easy satisfaction they desire, and just when they feel victory by the tips of their fingers.... they will learn what life is truly like by sanji's very own hands

(and if he holds tightly to the fleeting moments of calm like a balm on his burned exoskeleton, brought on by the face of his former captain or flashes of green from the perpetually lost swordsmen, no one has to know

none of it will matter in the end)

[baldurs-gate-official]

[Art by Hamrikaa, reposted with permission. They're an incredible artist, and you can find their accounts on various sites by clicking this link]

I wanted to talk a little about this picture, because there's some very interesting symbolism that gives added meaning.

Before I do, I'm going to give some context for those of you who are unfamiliar with the elvish life cycle. I've made a post talking about this sort of thing before, so I'm not going to go on a huge rant in this one, but the main thing to know is that elves reincarnate when they die.

The Tav in this picture is elvish, just like Astarion. However, Astarion is also vampiric. There's a lot of different lore and theories regarding vampires and souls, but from what I've dug up there's one theory that stands out and seems to be the most accepted. When a vampire becomes a True Vampire™, their soul dies. A large part of them is just gone, and they're no longer the same person they once were.

For spawn, however, it works a bit differently. Once someone becomes a spawn, their soul is trapped within their body, and may even deteriorate over an extremely long period of time. But once a spawn dies? Their soul is no longer trapped. Since Astarion is an elf, this means that once he dies, his soul re-enters the reincarnation cycle.

Now... If we look at this picture, we see Astarion looking at the growing light of dawn, and even though he's crying, there's still a bittersweet smile on his face. This is the symbolism that gets me every time I see this picture, because the dawn is not just a time of day in Faerûn. It's also a symbol of Lathander, the God of dawn, birth, renewal, hope, and new beginnings. Astarion is essentially setting his soul free. For him and Tav, this isn't truly an end, but a new beginning and another chance at life. A rebirth, where they might yet meet again.

[krikeymate]

Role reversal au? Say no more!!

How far does the role reversal go? Does Tara go down the same path that Sam does in canon, struggling under the burden of the secret? Does Sam stay in Woodsboro? Does 13 year old Tara run away instead? Does Tara still get attacked? Eeugh I'm having Thoughts.

God imagine if Tara still gets attacked for the same reasons. Sam thinks it was a random attack, but Tara knows. And she has to keep lying.

Previous.

Sam awkwardly exists between a drunken mother who stares at her whenever she enters the room (and scowls at Tara whenever she does), and her baby sister who barely speaks any more, who barely leaves her room. Sam tries to act normal, puts on a smile at school with her friends, and continues to babysit Wes and the twins, but it wears her down quickly. The way Tara won't look at her, won't speak to her, it hurts so much more than her father's absence or her mother's poor excuse of an existence ever could.

15-year-old Sam begs her mom to listen to the school and put Tara into therapy, after she got into yet another fight. (Sam thinks of the way Tara reacted when she caught Sam watching Stab last month, of the panic attack. Her sister needs help, she just doesn't know what it is she needs help for.) Christina doesn't care.

Her sister stops hanging out with Wes and the twins. She starts hanging out with Amber Freeman, a troublemaker if ever Sam saw one. She thinks she's part of the problem. Sam starts bumming cigarettes off her classmates to deal with the stress of worrying over her sister.

Tara starts skipping school and hanging out with teenagers, Sam catches them offering her a joint and gets into a fight herself (Sam ignores the fact she was skipping too). Tara doesn't look at her once as Sam berates her the entire walk home. Tara goes to slam her bedroom door when Sam catches it with her hand. "I love you and I miss you," she says, hand slipping from the door to let Tara go. She tears up when arms wrap around her waist and Tara whispers I love you back.

Tara lets Sam back in a little, but Sam still has to stand by and watch her sister become someone unrecognisable as the years go by, suffering under a weight she won't let Sam help her carry. (Her father is the key, Sam thinks. It's all his fault everything is falling apart. She wonders what he did... if he hurt Tara. She thinks maybe he must have been an awful man.) Sam doesn't recognise who she is anymore either. If this is a part of growing up, Sam doesn't want it.

Sam's 18 and newly graduated, lying in bed thinking about the acceptance letters in her desk, when Tara creeps into her room to join her on the bed. She's drunk, clearly. Sam idly wonders where she got the alcohol from as she pulls her into her arms and rests her head on her chest. Probably the same place Sam got the bottle she's hiding under the bed, from their mother's unlocked liquor cabinet. Sam wants to get away from Woodsboro, from her mother and the past and all this pain. But then who would look after Tara? Being with her like this hurts, but not nearly as much as being away from her would. Sam knows she can't go to college.

Tara starts to take drugs, and Sam gets angry. They get stuck in a cycle, they'll scream and shout and argue, only to make up days later. The secret of whatever happened all those years ago sits heavy between them. A few weeks before Tara's 16th birthday, Sam comes home to her high little sister beneath some creep on their couch, barely conscious enough to react. Sam nearly kills him. The only thing that stops her is Tara calling out her name and the loser manages to escape out the door. Sam tells Tara they can't go on like this, that things have to change.

On December 14th, Tara runs away. Sam stares at the wrapped gifts on her desk for weeks. She can't bring herself to move it. There's a part of her that wants to throw it away, to scream and cry and destroy. She gave up her future for her little sister, and where is she? Is she even safe? Why won't she answer her calls? ...Please let her be safe. Sam drinks a lot while Tara's away, resenting herself for being just like her mother. Maybe that's why Tara left. Tara's 17th birthday has come and gone when Sam, drunk off her ass, calls her phone once again on Christmas Eve and leaves a voicemail begging her to come home, to call her back, to please don't leave me, I don't want to be alone anymore. When she wakes in the morning (afternoon), Tara is sitting at the end of her bed, watching her.

Sam thinks she must be dead, or her medication has stopped working. She eyes the four wrapped gifts on her desk for a moment before looking back to Tara.

Her sister looks different. Thinner. Paler. Her clothes are too big. Sam wonders what she's been taking, where she's been. She wonders why she had to lose a year of watching her sister grow up. I was with dad, Tara later admits. The confession breaks something inside of Sam. She thought he was the problem, he was what was wrong with Tara, but if that was the case why would she run to him. It's her, right? Sam's the one who's actually the problem, Sam's the reason why Tara's like this.

Sam leaves.

2 and a half years later she gets a call that her sister's been attacked.

[blaecdog]

                                                   shijima  yoru

alias.    shijima  no  yoru  /  silent  night  /  4th  night age.    appears  28 species. shinigami  /  death  spirit ability. invisibility,  possession occupation. demon  slayer,  soul guide, part of the yakuza

yoru's story begins in japan during the edo period where the term "shinigami" and it's myth appeared for the first time. shinigami, also called "death spirits", were described as monsters, helpers, and creatures of darkness. they supposedly appear when a person's life draws to an end, patiently waiting and ready to guide their soul to the afterlife. the tales of the shinigami only surfaced recently in edo, however what people didn't know: these death spirits have been around for a very long time. they often describe themselves as silent observers. never intervening in the cycle of life, even if they could easily prevent someone from dying when fate strikes. of course not all of them follow the same principles and codex. some act like monsters from the legends, devouring human souls to grow stronger, while others carry out fate's will by possessing the living to end their lives. unlike the grim reaper from western culture who acts as a singular deity, the shinigami come in many and they usually work in pairs.

rules exist, as well as consequences. for example, if a shinigami decides to interfere and save someone's life, preventing their fated death, they'll ultimately pay the price with their own existence. a soul for a soul, basically. the shinigami will disappear. another set rule, the death spirits cannot take a soul to the afterlife by force, they have to invite them over. they are also not allowed to seperated the soul from the living if it's not yet their time to die. the one's who stray from this path either stop existing or turn into malicious beings, especially if they consume the souls instead of guiding them. they become demons or malevolent spirits who cause unnatural deaths. this, of course, disrupts the natural balance of life and death, which in turn, adds more work onto the shinigami who have to take responsibility for their own kind. so before things get a chance to worsen, the shinigami end up slaying the demons. those who broke the rules are the very reason why humans eventually found out about the existence of shinigami.

now, yoru is a death spirit who follows the rules and simply observes. however, curiosity soon struck. one day he guided a soul belonging to a peasant to the afterlife. the young man had died because of the cold winter, leaving behind his now soulless body. it was like a hollow shell without an occupant. yoru hesitated, he wouldn't break any rules ... if he borrowed it for a while, right? over the many years, the shinigami was tired of just being an observer. he was aware of emotions, he felt them too, but that's already it. he always wondered what warmth, cold and pain felt like. with this dead body on the ground, he saw a chance. he fell in love with life and he wanted to be part of it. of course he'd still continue his work. it would be like putting on a jacket, the one wearing it would still be a death spirit, it'll be fine. once he made up his mind, he possessed the body. with a new soul inside, the body came back to life, with a beating heart and everything. yoru felt the fabric of clothes brushing against his skin, the cold air on his face, and the hard ground underneath him. he opened his eyes, inhaling deeply. so that's what being alive feels like.

over time the shinigami got accustomed to the human body and would find great joy in little things. he truly appreciated life and came to understand why some souls found it hard to let go. it was around that time that a samurai showed him another, rather honorable, reason why a soul could refuse to move on. he would also become the most stubborn person yoru had ever met. when the samurai died and yoru tried to guide his soul, he refused. in these instances, the shinigami usually tried to help resolve any problem that bound the soul to the mortal realm. in this case however, it seemed impossible. in his lifetime the samurai, daichi, was known to be very loyal and devoted towards his shogun, swearing an oath to protect the bloodline at all cost, which ultimately bound him to earth even after his death. in the end, yoru had no other choice but to stick by his side, trying to help him fulfill his oath. now in modern japan, yoru and daichi ended up with the yakuza. apparently the oyabun of the clan is a direct descendant of daichi's former shogun and the clan has been around for generations, and will continue to do so.

note:  yoru  and  vance  eventually  cross  paths  after  the  latter  joins  up  with  the  yakuza  and  works  as  bounty  hunter.  the  shinigami  notices  van's  red  cross  earring  and  later  tells  him  that  a  piece  of  his  mentor's  soul  is  still  with  him,  bound  to  the  object.  it  was  then  that  the  hellhound  decided  to  quit  and  follow  another  path,  one  that  would  make  dante  proud.

[hearth-and-veil]

I'm coming at this with way too much experience so it's going to sound harsh.

It is not the pagan community's job to heal people's religious trauma.

There needs to be a space for that, but it needs to be completely removed from religious communities.

Neopagans are trying to have our own, sincere, independent religions -not a rebellion against Mormonism or Islam or the SBC or whatever high-control religion people are running away from. And I hate to break it to everyone, but everything people from high-control are running from is still part of neopaganism. We still have structure, scripture, prescribed belief, sin, judgement after death, and, worst of all, fallible humans running the show.

Neopagans who didn't grow up with religious trauma aren't equipped to help those of us who did. Those of us who already worked through it aren't trying to relive it while newcomers try to process it. Oftentimes new neopagans fleeing from high control religion are destructive and disrespectful towards pagan religions -treating them as a hedonistic, lawless free-for-all because that's what their childhood religion said paganism is - and demanding that anything that doesn't suit them is removed.

That leads neopagan communities to becoming closed off and unwelcoming, as they try to preserve their religion. It's very hard to support some ex-Calvinist who wants to take their hatred of the Abrahamic god out on Zeus and their mommy issues out on Hera. And it is unfair to expect a religion to not be a religion just because you have a problem with religion.

Neopaganism (and atheism) is not a rehabilitation center for religious trauma. Deconstruction, healing, and generalized religious education need to take place before jumping both feet in to yet another religion.

I would like to reiterate that I have an unfortunate amount of experience in this department, on literally all sides. I grew up Southern Baptist (though not nearly as high control as most) and when I left that I got sucked into a very extreme situation I can only describe as an evangelical atheist cult. Seriously. Then I dipped my toes into paganism and was exactly the kind of person that leads pagan communities to not liking newbies. Their perceived mistreatment of me led me back to the crazy atheists and "justified" my antitheism.

It wasn't until I actually put in the work towards healing that I broke out of the cycle, calmed down, made my peace with human behavior, found a religion I believed in, and started building my community.

You are going to have to be the one to heal. We can't do it for you.

[jedidryad]

WIP Wednesday: Part 3 Snippet

So, it's going to be awhile before Part 3 of Mara's memoir is anywhere near complete. She disappears from canon for a lot of the time period in question. She does, however, have a somewhat uneven presence in Children of the Jedi, particularly at the end where she has it confirmed once and for all that she was not the only Emperor's Hand (and she is particularly upset to find out who else held the title), helps rescue Luke from the Eye of Palpatine (and is introduced to Callista), and helps Han and Leia track down the smugglers that Irek Ismaren practiced his drug induced "brain twisting" on.

All in all, it's a lot of hits for Mara to take in a short period and I tend to refer to this section as "Mara Jade and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day" - all credit to Judith Viorst.

Here is an excerpt from that day, right after she finds yet another one of Irek's victims and it becomes a bit much:

“Mara?”

The voice was Leia’s, concerned. I could feel myself blink. It was as though I’d returned from somewhere else. Great, now I was blacking out.

She knelt next to me and laid a tentative hand on my shoulder. I fought the instinctive urge to shrug it off and race for the nearest exit.

“Did you know him?” she asked quietly.

I nodded. It was all I could manage at that moment. I realized I was still kneeling next to the stunned smuggler. His mask of unconsciousness was suddenly overlaid with the grinning middle aged rogue who regaled the cantina with his tall tales of getting foodstuffs past Imperial checkpoints, and then I could see how he’d looked in the moment before I’d shot him: skeletal, leathery skin pulled tight across his skull, rage and gnawing hunger on his face. He’d been a husk, hollowed out by Palpatine’s gleeful mind mangling.

No, not Palpatine. He was dead. It had been Irek Ismaren who had done this.

The images cycled again and I felt my stomach turn. I turned and heaved my last meal onto the ground.

“Let’s get you some water.”

Leia helped me to my feet and led me into a little side room. Suddenly there was a cup of water in front of my face. I reached out but my hands were shaking and my vision was blurring.

The next thing I knew, I was sitting down again and she was telling me to breathe.

This did not bode well for my mental stability.

“It’s okay, Mara. You’re with friends.”

My hands steadied and I took the water.

“Kriff, you sound like your brother sometimes,” I muttered.

She chuckled and sighed with obvious relief. 

“I’m not sure why. We didn’t grow up together.”

“Chalk one up for nature over nurture then I guess.” I answered, taking another sip of my water. My stomach seemed to be under control again. Embarrassment and shame were starting up though.

“Finding out we were family was one of very few bright spots in a great deal of darkness.”

I nodded. Skywalker always glowed a bit brighter when his sister was around.

Friends, right.

I clutched the cup in my hands almost tightly enough to leave an indent.

“That could have been me out there.”

Leia nodded.

“The reason it wasn’t… I don’t know...” I trailed off.

We were the same, those husks and I. I’d always thought I was different from the others. I’d thought that if I’d followed his orders closely enough, excelled enough, proven myself, I’d avoid the fate of his victims who were too slow or too evil or too stupid… or in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But we were all the same. We were all his pawns. No one of us better than the other.

“In many ways that was you.” Leia’s voice was quiet.

I felt myself swing around to meet her gaze and I felt her startle a bit at whatever she was seeing in my eyes.

“Sorry, I thought you’d appreciate the blunt honesty. I mean that Palpatine’s last command did make you a little mad for awhile there. We all watched you feel it and fight it. Your ability to not give in was pretty impressive. Maybe there’s something that can be done for these guys too.”

“Maybe,” I nodded quietly. I didn’t feel like getting into the fact that sometimes I figured the only thing that got rid of his voice was taking down a spare Skywalker. If that hadn’t happened, I’d probably still be haunted.

Oh Kriff that, I was still haunted. Everything about the first 20 odd years of my life floated around in my brain, ready to flare to life at any given moment and wreck things for me. Sometimes when the hits kept coming like they seemed to be today, I had trouble imagining they would ever stop. 

I nodded and took another sip of my water.

“Rough day.” I said.

Leia burst into laughter. She leaned back against the wall next to me and I realized that despite her regal bearing, she was pretty dishevelled looking. There were dirt stains and singing from poorly aimed blaster bolts on her dress. Hair was escaping her braids at every opportunity.

She had been drugged and chased through hanging gardens, rescued her brother from an exploding dreadnought, and scoured the tunnels that had held her captive for other victims,  and it wasn’t even dinner time.

I wasn’t the only one who was probably seeing awful things when I closed my eyes. 

And the laughter was infectious. Slowly I began to crack up as well.

It felt good to laugh. It felt strange to sit there and laugh with someone else who hurt too. 

[bells-of-black-sunday]

Link to me going over what I think is important in the tome can be found here ❤

Now here's where I just dump about my own speculations and how it applies to how I write Danny.

I think it's quite obvious from his tome that his dad was a Vietnam war veteran who came back only to be met with mockery which as far as I know from anecdotal stories was pretty common. And his mother being notably absent from being mentioned despite how much he idolizes his father I think it's fair to say she's dead. I would say she's just not in the picture, but I think he would've ranted about it for a good bit especially with how he talks about the nuclear family.

So Danny grew up in a single parent household with a father who whether it be due to some under-specified mental illness or just because he's just a horrible person wanted his son to be exactly like him. To go to war for stories and metals. To kill other people and see the horrors like he had. With the offhanded mention of drills and boot camps becoming too much during a camping trip one time and Danny killing him, I don't think it's a stretch to say he was abused.

Plus the whole throw away line of: "He just wanted the horror to end. He wanted his life back." Shows that there's something more underlying to him listening to those stories. The stories were the only respite he had from the chaos of his life, he's never had a safe space to just exist and be a kid. He's never had a place to process emotions and violence against others is so normalized to him it only makes sense for him to at the very least act out. Yet he takes it to such an extreme extent.

War stories his father wanted him to follow him in making turn into headlines about his own murders. Him channeling his own trauma and abuse unknowingly into his craft to the point where he feels personally insulted if anyone makes fun of it. Three people making a parody paper drags him back to when he killed his dad in the woods due to the chaos of everything coming to a head. A simple parody is enough to bring back emotions he thought he had crushed and buried a long time ago. Pieces of himself he didn't want to see again.

He bottles them back up, but the ugly human parts of him still remain. He knows a part of him knows that what happened to him growing up wasn't normal. Not just the boot camps, the drills, the screaming about how he has to follow his dad's footsteps be a good boot boy and earn medals he can bring home. Repeating the cycle that his father did before him. Just another soldier returning home from war knowingly they'll never feel the same at home again and everyone will point and laugh, because he's just so weak he can't handle it.

Danny still struggles to separate himself from his dad, constantly living in his shadow, doing what he's been told and what's been berated into him. He's lived so many names and lives that it's hard to find himself, not the ghost, just... Danny. And in modern Robin really does give him this safe space to be himself, just the fucked up little pieces he tries to keep bottled up so no one can see and yet even then he never lets him see them fully. His body is the only thing he can control and he's not going to give it up easily.

And I'm not writing this to give sympathy to him. He is a horrible person and he always will be. Taking war stories and twisting them into "Humans are inherently violent" by going across the country murdering innocent people. The "perfect victim that doesn't deserve to die" as he puts it is so horrible. The way he revels in finding the perfect name, how he's so excited the three people that made fun of him have normal sounding names. The entire time he's killing these people he's not viewing them as human, he's viewing them as headlines.

Things that will be seen and forgotten within the next news cycle. Something simple to fall asleep too, because "Well it couldn't happen to me right?" He views what he does as something positive, a therapy or entertainment to break up suburbia and the mundanity of modern life. The boring 9-5 desk job where they come home to turn on the news or open the paper and see the next tragedy. He knows what angles to twist it in to get politicians talking to the attention is off of him.

I also think it's extremely interesting the kind of mask he chose. A weeping ghost. A weeping face to mock his victims that just so happened to fit a perfect outline he has in his head. "A person that doesn't deserve to die." Something that his readers can get hooked in and he can forget about by the next paycheck.

[bearpillowmonster]

Got a new post for you guys that's a continuation of the last few but it's gone off long enough so just know I'm referring to these for context. Honestly, it's gotten worse-

My boss was sent an email to which he had to print out and hand to people, I blurred out any names or indications to locations.

I marked it up before taking a picture because I had so many questions, so that's the red pen but let's go through it. Also, it's obviously got a ton of typos and errors in it but that's this guy's signature.

He refers to two branches that don't close on Saturdays but are too shorthanded to fulfill it (because why, I don't really know but we'll get there.) And they expect the other branches to go over there in rotation to help. (you do one week, another guy does the next, so on and so forth) He says he asked to eliminate Saturdays but this guy is a penny pincher, I wouldn't believe that especially since that's all he elaborates on it.

He goes into detail about how it would work and then continues with the first underlined sentence, something I reread and reread and just couldn't wrap my head around. My manager made it plain though. Basically, this guy is threatening to punish those that don't comply...by opening their own branches on Saturday? And then the rotation would be weekly which is as stupid as it sounds, I know, I couldn't wrap my head around it because it's so beneath me that I couldn't process the reasoning behind it but yes, it's used as a threat. To make Saturdays a thing again and then make EVERY branch short handed and the problem grows and the cycle continues. This isn't our problem, you're just making a bigger mess than initially stated. And this wasn't backed by anybody else but himself, there is no CEO involvement, there is no higher up telling him this stuff, this is all him making bluffs and casting invisible chips that aren't there yet because there's no way that the CEO is going to approve that. An empty threat made on impulse and sent out before given any thought as to the repercussions. HR doesn't like it and if someone higher up hears about it, they probably won't either.

The next sentence just allocates which branch will fill in where but then goes on to explain that "If staff cannot work a Saturday, it is their responsibility to find a replacement and notify whatever manager available." This is also nobody's responsibility, this is a load of BS but this is his way of pushing off the problem. He sent out this memo for a reason and it's already almost over, can you guess why? Because he half bakes ideas, pushes them on other people and forces them to try and make the obvious blunder work, he then wipes his hands of it and blames you for the blunder you've now become "responsible" for. My coworker brought up that his son-in-law works at a prison and should the state mandate him to work on a Saturday then he would be in line to babysit his kids but he wouldn't know that until Friday night so there was no way that he could notify anybody of it or find a replacement.

Now the growing part. "One Manager and One Associate" this was originally going to be between four associates (including myself) but then one of the people already in this rotation brought up "But I'm technically a manager, why am I being singled out?" So this DSM's solution was to include all the managers and inside sales people, growing that measly 4 people that never gave an answer one way or the other into a threat to ALL employees. Well, I say all, I'll also get to that in a moment.

But the manager is needed to run overrides because the credit department doesn't have to work on Saturdays (whoop) and provide whatever's needed, that's the whole "denied or approved" part he could've worded that better. And that's about it with his sloppy name written at the bottom.

Now let's backtrack. ALL employees. This branch will NEED people who belong to this branch, STILL, because you need 1. A keyholder to lock and unlock the place. 2. Warehouse associates to pull and even find the product in the first place. Now wait- If you have all these people already needed, then why are we pulling from other places? My manager brought this up in a call about the warehouse guys and the response was something along the lines of "The warehouse workers there, you don't want to work on Saturdays." THEN WHY ARE THEY THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE? WHY ARE THEY EMPLOYEES? BECAUSE YOU'RE SHORTHANDED? WHY IS THIS ANY DIFFERENT? "Those are exactly the type of people I want there on Saturday because if they're being bad employees then I'm going to report them and-" My next point:

Saturdays are a good day to learn how to run stuff because THEY'RE NOT BUSY. Looking at the Saturday sales for each branch, they don't run it like their supposed to. Putting in orders for Saturday's business and having them pick it up on Monday is both a no-no and a useless effort because that person could've just called and said "I'll pick it up on Monday". That makes up more than half of Saturday sales for all the branches and the rest is kind of pitiful, you're spending more than you're pulling in. Branch...whatever, made -$16 last week. NEGATIVE. That means someone returned more stuff than they bought.

Then there are the people that are left. You see, this grew up to managers and inside sales but this company likes putting more labels on people than one can bear so technically that includes outside sales people and you can't single out them so you have to include them all and who's to stop there? Because there are teams of people in different departments that also fall into this category. If it's all about equal treatment then EVERYONE should be on board, regardless of their position. As long as they know how to operate the system, they qualify. But you know who won't be there? The DSM and the branch manager. Because both of them are complete imbeciles that think they have better to do and place all the work and blame on everyone beneath. Neither of them could last with just one of our customers, despite knowing the system, they'll never help out at the counter.

But this is where something interesting could happen. An uprising, if you will. I want us all to band together. I want us to beat this. But there's also an anniversary of the company coming up and it's before September 1st when this supposed thing starts. The CEO will be there. The DSM will be there. Need I say more? They're visiting all these branches and we can tell them exactly what we all think. That's what this calls for. I'm scared, terrified really because I'm not a confrontational kind of person, especially if I'm the starter, but enough is enough. We all have to do something.

If it doesn't become something then then it will later on down the line when everyone submits their overtime and mileage bill.

[discoknack]

Another idea I've been sitting on is that Charlotte, at the bottom of that ravine, sees the light of a headlamp and looks up hopefully. And the camera cuts to her perspective, half blinded by the headlamp, but under the hat, she can see the dull gleam of goblin tusks. The expression is meant to be ambiguous, kind of dumbfounded, mouth agape. I'm not sure what kind of goblin they should be. I'm thinking one of the medium or large ones.

Anyway, the goblins who find her are just plain old miners or adventurers themselves, and they have to drop everything to carry her out of there. She blacks out at some point, from the pain of her injuries.

I'm not sure how old Gundahar would be. He seems rather old in the games. Is there any chance that he had any interest in her well-being? Somehow I doubt it. Yet he isn't all that disrespectful to her in the first game. Is it the difference of ordering the deaths of faceless villagers vs having a living, breathing human in front of you?

Anyway, Charlotte is cared for by normal people. One of them, whom I have given the temporary name Percy, is one of the miners that found her. It was his idea to rescue her in the first place. In his mind, it was like finding a bird with a broken wing. Nothing more than that. He even calls her 'Pidge', short for Pigeon. But if he had ever intended it to be derogatory, it wasn't for long.

Gundahar might pay a visit, I'm not sure. He'd either be bored of whatever work he's doing and have a bit of off time, or he'd be actively interrogating why they're wasting resources on this human. Charlotte didn't need a whole lot of resources to get better; Gundahar is just a prick. By the time he’s gotten to her room, he has already spent most of his frustrations chewing out the locals.

Charlotte is feeling lively but can't get back on her feet yet. I wonder if she assumes, since the people around her chattered about Gundahar’s arrival, that she was saved according to his good graces.

Not sure what the scenario is. But whatever; she sells herself out. I want to skip to the part where she starts to get better and goes for walks. I'll want to do some worldbuilding from her view.

I think she'd become close friends with Percy. Toward the end of her rehabilitation, he might even inadvertently take her on dates (neither of them know that they're dates). Maybe it's silly but w/e.

But then, of course, nothing good lasts forever, and Gundahar takes her to his ivory tower. I don't think she thinks anything of it; it's a job and a debt. But she doesn't know she'll also be cut off from everyone else, and the guards are cycled out so she can't build relationships with anybody but Gundahar.

*shrug* I dunno if that's how I want to do it; I might come up with something different after the break.

Oh and one more thing; I had the idea that in Gundahar’s region, goblins raise geese. Mainly because a goose can grow up to 30 inches and I want them to terrorize those poor blue guys lmao.

[theangelreminder]

“I WAS NEVER CUT OUT FOR PROM QUEEN.” - Beach Bunny

In the age of social media, where images and beauty standards are constantly put on display, it’s all too easy to fall into the trap of feeling insecure about how you look. You scroll through your feeds, seeing perfectly curated photos, flawless skin, the most enviable bodies, and dazzling smiles, and it can feel like everyone else has it all together—while you struggle to see any beauty in yourself. The comparisons become endless. The beauty of others, their effortless confidence, and the affection they seem to receive from everyone around them only serve to highlight what you perceive as your own shortcomings. With every image, every post, every like or comment they get, your insecurities grow. You feel invisible, overlooked, and not quite good enough. Their beauty seems like the standard, the unattainable goal, while you feel stuck in a version of yourself that you can’t seem to escape.

There’s something deeply painful about comparing yourself to others, especially when it feels like you're measuring yourself against an impossible ideal. You may find yourself looking at someone, whether a friend or a stranger, and thinking, “Why can’t I look like that?” Their flawless features, glowing skin, and seemingly perfect life—how could anyone not love them? The truth is, it’s not just about how they look on the outside, but the way they seem to command attention, love, and admiration with ease. They radiate this aura of self-assurance that only makes you feel like you're lacking. Their beauty isn’t just skin-deep, it feels like it’s everything they are—effortless and magnetic. And it makes you wonder, “Why do they get all the love while I get nothing?”

The feeling of jealousy is a natural emotional response, but it’s also one of the most destructive forces when it comes to self-esteem. When you feel like someone else has something you can’t reach, it stirs up a sense of inadequacy. The comparison becomes your constant companion, lurking behind every mirror you look into, every picture you take, and every glance you receive. Every time someone praises another person for their beauty, it feels like another reminder that you don’t measure up. You start to doubt yourself. You start to think that maybe you’re not worthy of love, admiration, or attention because, in your mind, beauty is the gateway to all those things.

But here’s the thing: beauty, whether physical or otherwise, is subjective. What one person finds beautiful, another might not. The true measure of a person is not in their outward appearance, but in the depth of their character, their kindness, their intelligence, and the way they make others feel. Yet, we’ve all been conditioned to put so much value on how we look. Society, fueled by media, fashion, and advertising, constantly reminds us that our worth is tied to how we appear to others. It’s easy to forget that beauty fades, that it’s fleeting, and that what truly lasts is the essence of who we are—the parts of ourselves that no one else can see, but that are far more meaningful than the face we show to the world.

But even knowing that, it’s difficult to silence the negative voice in your head that compares your looks to others. That voice grows louder when you feel like you’re not receiving the same amount of love, attention, or validation as those you envy. You see people being adored and celebrated for their looks, their charm, their popularity, and you begin to think that if you could just change something about yourself—your face, your body, your hair—maybe, just maybe, the world would love you too. The more you desire what others have, the more it becomes about the pursuit of perfection. And perfection, as we know, is an illusion. It's an unreachable goal that only serves to exhaust you emotionally and mentally.

But these comparisons, as painful as they are, are only part of the picture. The deeper truth is that this cycle of jealousy and insecurity often stems from a place of self-doubt. When you feel like you’re not loved or appreciated in the way that others are, it’s easy to internalize those feelings as a reflection of your worth. If they are admired, it must mean something about them, something they have that you don’t. But this assumption ignores the fact that love and affection are not doled out based solely on appearance. How others treat you—whether they see you as beautiful or not—is not a measure of your worth as a person.

You are worthy of love, respect, and affection because of who you are, not because of how you look. The admiration and affection that others receive aren’t just about their appearance; they’re about how they carry themselves, how they treat others, and how they connect with the people around them. There are countless people who are loved for their kindness, their humor, their intelligence, and their heart��not for the way they look. True love, whether from friends, family, or romantic partners, is rooted in the depth of connection, not the superficiality of appearance.

But that doesn’t mean the pain you feel from jealousy and insecurity isn’t real. It’s valid to feel the sting when you compare yourself to others. It’s painful to think that you aren’t loved in the same way they are. But there’s a way to cope with this, a way to navigate the emotional turmoil that arises when insecurity takes hold of your heart.

The first step in overcoming insecurity is to stop comparing yourself to others. It’s hard, it’s painful, and it may feel unnatural, but you have to remind yourself that everyone has their own journey. Their story is not your story, and their value is not your value. The reality is that everyone is insecure in some way. Everyone has moments where they feel less than, where they question their worth. But comparing yourself to someone else is an exercise in futility. It only leads to frustration, self-loathing, and a deepened sense of inadequacy. Instead of looking at someone else and wishing to be like them, turn inward. Focus on your own unique qualities, on the things that make you stand out, on the things that make you, you. You are valuable, not because of how you look, but because of who you are, what you bring to the world, and how you treat others.

Another step toward coping with insecurity is to start practicing self-love and self-compassion. Speak to yourself the way you would speak to a loved one—gently, kindly, with understanding. When those negative thoughts about your looks arise, challenge them. Ask yourself: Why am I so quick to judge myself when I wouldn’t do the same to others? Why do I think I have to look like someone else to be worthy of love? The truth is, you don’t. You are enough as you are, flaws and all. You don’t need to change who you are to fit into someone else’s mold of beauty.

Focus on your strengths. What are the things that make you shine? It could be your intelligence, your creativity, your sense of humor, or your ability to connect with people. These are the qualities that will bring you the love and admiration you seek, not the way you look. Beauty is subjective, yes, but kindness, authenticity, and integrity—those are qualities that will always be appreciated by others. These are the things that people will fall in love with.

Lastly, remember that beauty isn’t about perfection. No one has perfect skin, perfect hair, or a perfect body. Even the people you envy go through their own insecurities and struggles. Beauty is messy, it’s imperfect, and it’s real. The more you embrace your flaws and imperfections, the more others will be drawn to your authenticity. What makes you beautiful is not the absence of flaws, but your ability to accept and love yourself despite them. True beauty lies in confidence—confidence in who you are, in your abilities, and in the love you have for yourself.

The next time you feel the pang of jealousy or insecurity creeping in, remember this: You are worthy. You are beautiful. You don’t need to look like anyone else to be loved or appreciated. The love you deserve will come from those who see you for who you are, who value you for the unique person you are becoming. And most importantly, it will come from you—when you begin to love yourself, truly and unconditionally, just as you are.

[wifetrick]

about the last 4 years of my life

Every day she wakes up, goes downstairs to the mess they have made, and begins to clean it up. A lonely witch, an unruly set of dolls. Teaching them day in and day out how to be kind, to sleep when told, to listen to what she has to say. Yet they never will. They will keep getting hurt, they will keep creating this mess, and the witch will clean it, and it will be her fault. She took them in after all.

Days go by and they're all the same. Months go by and they're all the same. An endless game of giving and giving. Second chances, second homes, a new guardian, a new person to lean on. Some dolls enter while others leave, none of them happy, talking of how the witch has hurt them. With all the attempts to heal, over time she just got worse and worse. She starting to hurt them more and more as all she can do is project from her soul. The pain she felt at raising them, lashing out what she tried to hide.

Walking home one day from the market, a child stopped her on the street, curious the child asked, "why are you dressed like that?"

"Well, I'm a witch, I live up in the woods and care for a family of dolls."

"Is it lonely being up there?"

"Well, yes, being alone up there is less than ideal, but the people of this village fear me, they fear what I'm capable of, and so i choose to live away from it all."

"Well it must be worth it then, to have a family to call your own! When I grow up I want to have kids too!"

"I suppose you could call the dolls a family. Though all I can ever seem to do is raise them poorly and watch them leave, I wonder if this existence really makes it worth it, to live and die alone..."

After staring at the hill in silence, the witch turns back to the child with a smile. "I suppose I should be off now, I need to make sure they don't make too much a mess while I'm gone. It was nice getting to talk with a human again, most people fear me, and you should probably do the same."

"Why's that?"

"Well, a witch can be a powerful thing, and a witch can be quite a rude thing as well."

"Are you rude?"

"No but-"

"Well then what's to fear?"

The witch smiles, "I mean for others child, if you ever see me you're welcome to talk, I promise I wont hurt you."

And as the witch returns home she can't help but think of the child, and as she cleans up yet another mess she can't help but think of the village, and as she goes to sleep she can't help but wonder how different her life could be.

"If only I were human," she whispers to herself, and when the next day comes, the cycle continues, and when the next month comes, the cycle continues, and when the next year comes, the cycle continues.

And eventually, her reputation is spread, and the dolls stop coming. And eventually the ones there get fed up, and her home is empty. She's alone again, but it all feels the same. Empty connection, raising those who hate her, wasted time.

As the hat comes off, as the messes are gone, she holds on to what little parts of her she had left.

Her strength, her pride, her ego.

And as the years go on, she wonders if she ever truly will learn how to be human, or if this is all there is.

All those years giving, she never did learn how to take.

She never did learn how to reach out and grab for the help she needs.

And so,

alone,

she suffers.

It doesn't have to be.

A village that turned her away.

Dolls that tugged on her dress.

In these moments she thinks back to the child.

And she wonders how much the village turned her away, and how much she simply just believed she had no place there.

Slowly, more and more, the witch leaves her house, and goes to the village.

Slowly, more and more, the witch is treated as less of an outsider, and becomes known. She is seen at gatherings, she is seen at the market, she is seen talking to the other women of the village, she is seen smiling, becomes simply another part of the village by the woods. In her final days, she learns how it feels to be but any other human. She learns how to be beautifully, painfully, normal. In her final days she smiles more than she ever has. And is buried in the graveyard with any other human.

[lilianslibrary]

I struggle for belonging in our open air home

TW: mental health struggles, self injury

I struggle for belonging in our open air home. Share language passwords, pass along pleas and thanks to those who do me right, or those who try to do me right. Ignore or mitigate those who do me wrong, pretend I don’t harbor resentment. Pass along I love yous to those I think I love, those I feel something for that I can’t quite place, within appropriate situations. 

What does love feel like?

A question I contemplate. You aren’t really taught how love feels like, growing up, because you’re expected to know already. Alongside this question, I wonder who else struggles to recognize love in themself. Is it a sign of a mistake in the wiring of my brain? Have I failed to grow and mature in a manner expected of me?

How ill am I?

A grave inquiry, one you can’t come back from. In your physical form it’s much easier to tell when you’re ill. In our open air home people can often see that illness. A limp as you walk, missing parts, a deteriorating body, maybe you have machines that you bring along for your outings. A lot of illnesses aren’t like that, even if they make moving harder. They remind me of my illnesses of another nature, the mental ones. For those with those physical, invisible illnesses, you walk without a cane, or lack machines, and those around you assume you are faking it somehow.

Am I faking it?

A query that acts as a hazard to the mind. Once you delve into this question your validation is over, you can say goodbye to your objective sense of your condition. Each display of a symptom, each time you suspect someone in your life isn’t real or that you never met them, each time you stand at the sink for much longer than is necessary, each time you engage in self injury seems like a farce. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is a bitch.

What else do I have?

OCD doesn’t produce psychotic symptoms. It doesn’t bring the hallucinations or even most of the delusions. You don’t start seeing bugs and feeling them on your body when they aren’t there simply because of OCD, though it can play a part, exacerbate it. This is where the questioning becomes detrimental. You see the bugs in the moment but then question whether it ever happened a mere moment later. If it isn’t persistent it never happened. 

What does self awareness mean?

My therapist poses this question implicitly. You are too self aware to fit the typical diagnoses for these symptoms. You can recognize when the bugs aren’t real almost immediately, and you don’t share most of your delusions with her because you’re too scared and you’re afraid of your coping mechanisms falling apart. The other half of you wants you to keep quiet. What does self awareness mean? If you know you’re losing sanity and that your condition is declining, if you can see that even visibly, what difference does it make? I’m still ill. Even if I know it.

What’s the way out?

How do I escape this loop? I don’t know. If I knew I would already have done it. There’s a cycle of living through episodes of hallucinations and feeling completely outside of reality, being there in the moment feeling and seeing these things, and yet simultaneously scrutinizing the symptoms to the point you normalize it. When you exit that stage, you enter the next, where you can almost ignore that the first stage ever happens. All I know is that the stages became shorter after being medicated for a few weeks.

Is medication the way out?

I don’t know. I don’t know any of it. What I read tells me once I go down this line of action, continue to increase my doses in hopes of eradicating the bugs, eradicating what’s blocking me from interacting with reality, I won’t be the same person. Do the bugs make me me? Does my lack of a grasp on reality make me me? If I could be normal would I feel like a different person? I’m scared of this possibility, even if it’s for the better. Becoming a different person would effectively mean I die, and someone else replaces me. I know this because each occasion I have changed on a large scale, it feels like waking up. I struggle to remember anything before it, I have to dig up those memories.

Is dying worth being rid of the bugs?

I don’t mean it in the literal sense. I can’t take that way out because I know there’s too many people here in this reality that care about me. Even if I feel outside of this reality, I can mostly recognize those people are very much real. A permanent, immediate solution isn’t worth putting others through pain, even if that pain is temporary. Is my possible death of self worth it?

I struggle for belonging in our open air home, but mostly because I don’t know if it is my own.