#can someone say 'i see parts of myself in you and loathe every second of it' ?

[spontaneousglitterbees]

(click for better quality, ID under the cut!)

nobody is sure exactly why they hang out, least of all the two of them

[Image ID: a digital comic drawn in all red-pink tones following Nagito Komaeda and Kokichi Oma at Hope’s Peak Academy, 20XX.

Panel One: Nagito stands left with a calm expression while an agitated Kokichi follows to the right, a bit behind as they walk down the hall between classes toward the viewer. They are respectively labelled “Just saw Hajime” and “(still) playing emotional chicken with Saihara”.

Panel Two: Kokichi smugly twirls a strand of hair around his finger, side-eyeing Nagito. “Hah, where the hell do people even get the idea we’re at all alike, Komaeda-chan? As if!”

Panel Three: A thoughtful Nagito stops to consider, pressing the forefinger of his robotic hand to his chin. “I suppose through a certain lens it kind of makes sense. You are the Ultimate Supreme Leader, correct?” In the foreground, Kokichi replies “last time I checked~”. In the background, however, we see his emotional response to Nagito’s question shove the speech balloon out of the way as it exclaims (in Oma’s head) “Damn right!”.

Panel Four: Nagito, unbothered, puts on a cheerful expression. “So, you’re just as Worthless as I am, Ouma!” The word “Worthless” is larger than the others, superimposed over Nagito’s face. A small arrow points to Nagito, stating “0 sarcasm detected”. Kokichi, in a sub-panel, smiles and tilts his head while one eye twitches. “what.”

Panel Five: Nagito, posed like Kokichi’s own mischievous sprite with his forefinger to his lips as he grins, begins to tear into Kokichi. “It’s not like you have a real talent. All you have is a set of mediocre, dubious “skills” spread too thin to be “talents” of their own. You’re only useful to push people with real futures toward their hopes. You’re a stepping stone too!”

Panels Five and Six are separated by a scene. The truth bullet interface, loaded with a crossbow arrow rather than a bullet, appears along the diagonal panel division. The fletching of the arrow is labelled “Dissociation to Cope”, with the implication being it will be shot at Kokichi in the style of a Class Trial. Kokichi stands over both panels with his back turned to the viewer. The topmost “X”-shaped stitch on his jacket is exaggerated and highlighted, as it crosses in the direct path of the arrow and gutter between panels.

Panel Six: The panel is spread into four distinct parts, separated by the figure of Kokichi with his back turned.

In the first, Kokichi uses lockpicks on a doorknob as three shadows (Shuichi, Himiko, and Tenko) wait in the background.

The second shows a close-up of a cork board and a string connecting two polaroids of indeterminate people. There are labels beneath each reading “(Wei)rd” on the left (Kiibo) and “Trust(worthy)” on the right (Shuichi). Between the two photos, Kokichi has written “Protag?” on the corkboard itself.

The third, smaller scene shows Shuichi standing at his podium during a class trial, depicted across from Kokichi. The back of Kokichi’s head is to the viewer. The figures are small enough Shuichi’s expression cannot be read.

The fourth scene shows a dying Kokichi lying on the hydraulic press in the Exisal Hangar, eyes closed and hands neatly folded on his shirtless, bloodied chest as he waits for it to close. The empty bottle of Strike-Nine Antidote lay on the ground beside the press.

Panel Seven: The scene returns to the school hallway. Nagito is shown in profile, while Kokichi is simplified in the background blankly staring at the ground. Nagito speaks up: “Ah, sorry. I still talk too much...”

Panel Eight: Kokichi takes out a lockpick, presumably hidden in his hair, with a “shhHING’ sound effect like a sword. His expression maintains a smile, but it has turned manic; there is no catch of light in his eyes as he stares at an offscreen-Nagito with a three-quarter view. Beside Kokichi, text reads: “DICE- murder No, maiming Yes” on one side and “So mean!” on the other. Kokichi says: “Alright, lucky-boy, how about a ten-step head start?” In an octagonal sub-panel, Nagito holds both hands in front of his chest in a placating gesture. He replies “fair....” with a withering look. End comic. End image ID.]

[therealhousewifeofharrystyles]

Harry’s Home

Part III.

Read Part 1 Here!

Read Part 2 Here!

Pairing/AU: Roommate!Harry // Roommate!Y/N

Word Count: ~ 4k words

⚠️ Content Warnings: Adult Language, Pining, Sexual Desire, References to Body Weight (“Chubby” Reader), Fantasies of Rough Sex, Breeding Fantasies, Exhibitionism, Explicit Depictions of Masturbation(M&F), Dirty Talk, ~Slow Burn~

So, yeah. Harry and I have successfully become somewhat close. We’ve put up with each other’s shit for long enough and eventually bonded—or whatever the hell you call it when a pair of sex-starved adults live in close quarters and they decide to play nice so the walls don’t come down on them.

Even though it’s the time of year when I can see my breath and I have to wear socks to protect my chilly toes when I’m lounging around the house, when I’m around Harry…I might as well be a tea kettle on the verge of squealing in steaming agony. I guess you could say I’ve been in heat.

I’m catching myself spacing all the time, hypnotized by his comfortable routine. He grasps my attention like it’s second-nature to him, and I have no other choice but to relent—to surrender. How fucking pathetic is that? Like, get a grip, woman. 

But seriously, I can’t take it anymore. I turn powerless and my body betrays me, simply from the man meeting my eyes with his from across the room. For someone to hold this much control over another human being by just existing…not only is it completely unfair, but it feels otherworldly. It’s as though a connection has been birthed out of the rawest, most sinful form of lust, with its sole purpose to fuse a pair of unwed and horny humans. Thus latching itself onto the two of us, melding an incubus with a siren.

I guess it could just be some crazy-intense sexual tension, too. There’s no fun in that explanation, but whatever. The point is that I can’t fucking take it anymore.  Me being so mesmerized by him performing the most mundane of tasks—unscrewing a new jar of jam, rubbing the sleep out of his face as he stumbles out of his bedroom, sneaking little peeks at me from across the room and smirking to himself after he looks away. God. That smirk keeps me up at night…my hands groping myself and massaging my clit to lull myself to dreamland.

Right…so about that…

For the past few months, Harry’s been able to hear me fucking myself through the thin wall that separates our two bedrooms. The divider does absolutely nothing to silence me and my explicit acts of self-pleasure. These walls couldn’t muffle a mouse, let alone an ambitiously horny, and impressively vocal young woman who’s desperate to get her rocks off…hard. 

And I’m certain he can hear everything—every gasp, every whine, every slick plunge of my fingers—or a toy—as they’re used in a merciless attack on my own body in order to chase an unattainable high…It's loud. It’s filthy. 

It’s pornographic.

And yet Harry indulges in my songs. I know he does. The only way I’m able to get myself off is to picture him on the other side…to close my eyes and astral-project my way into his room and assume the role of the voyeur…as the exhibitionist. I’m a walking oxymoron.

I imagine my waves of ecstasy seeping through the walls to awaken his neglected cock in his tight briefs.

I think to myself, 

…I bet he’s wondering whether or not I'm messing with him...if I know he’s listening to me…and if, perhaps, I want him to listen…

If only I were just playing a sick game of tease…Such a possibility would be utterly humiliating for Harry. He loathes feeling like his control is in the hands of another. Said power landing in my hands? Oh…No, no, no. Lest we forget the towel incident? Don’t let the sensitive late-night talks, the apology hugs, or the sleepy cuddles fool you; a switch, Harry is not. Not that he’s told me or anything, but it’s a feeling. When he drags his eyes down to slowly assess me…there isn’t a doubt in my mind that he’s in charge.

He has a limited threshold for teasing and babying, which is precisely why he shooed his own mother out the door after a mere 5 minutes of her jests. Harry spent his entire life as the baby. I sense he’s needed a release for quite some time…and it probably doesn’t help matters that my playful antics are sure-fire triggers for his dark dominance to take over. I think he’s struggled to find the right mate to unleash that part of himself with. At least completely, that is. And I hope I’ve been pressing just the right buttons to experience it all for myself. 

But yes, I’ve been fucking myself with lotsa gusto knowing he’s in close earshot of the action. Hopefully, he’s come to successfully make sense of some of my muffled ramblings beyond his wall as, “Yes, Daddy!” as well as the occasional gasp or moan of “Harry.” What? I like it…

Although I’d love to exacerbate the narrative that this has all just been a cruel game started by yours truly—a game that I’m winning, to be clear—I'm actually not messing with him. This had begun purely by accident, and now I'm just continuing to provide some adult entertainment for my, uh...housemate and…good friend. 

Before you scold me for being a perv, let me just finish explaining the situation. Because if Harry had a problem with something I did, he’d tell me. And he never complained about this. Never. 

Quite the opposite, actually.

The first time I did my private deeds with Harry eavesdropping in the next room, I'd initially felt horribly embarrassed. I hadn't realized how shameless I was, or how loud and desperate the noises were as they came out of me. Once I finally caught myself, it was like space and time had spun to a stop, and I was painfully aware of my raw indecency.

I wasn’t watching porn, reading erotica, or listening to naughty audio recordings. Nope. Only my lustful thoughts fueled the eagerness in my fingers as they played with my pussy. I’d also been blatantly inconsiderate of Harry and his right to privacy whilst they did. I felt dirty. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Pfft, I was hardly thinking of anything. It reminded me of the time just before we moved into this house…when I lurked on his social media pages for the images of his slick, half-naked body which burned themselves into my memory, all just to use him for my own personal, sick, sexual gratification.  

And there I was again—now cohabiting a space with the very inspiration for my filth and frustration—lying comfortably atop a spacious, girly pink towel to protect my bed linens from succumbing to my wetness. My knees were spread apart and my dripping cunt was on full display for my closed door across the room. If anyone walked in, they'd unknowingly be entering what many theme parks tend to call a “splash zone.” 

Luckily, Harry was in the living room watching some melodramatic video essay on YouTube…Or at least that’s where I’d left him before ending up in the not-so-innocent position atop my mattress.

I hadn’t thought about the fact that the house wasn’t empty until I heard my own whiny sighs combined with unmistakable slippery pussy-rubbing echoing throughout the room. My cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink once I’d realized the extent of my elevated volume. There was no way Harry couldn’t have heard all that. And I had no idea how long I’d been up to it, or for how long at that high of a frequency.

The click of a door closing nearby interrupted my nervous internal monologue—Harry’s door. He was mere meters away from my partially-nude body, but my private quarters kept me safe from any judging eyes. The wall our bedrooms shared stood as the only barricade between our two bodies. For a while, I dismissed my initial self-awareness and I slowly, and carefully, swirled my drenched fingertips over my clit. More of my liquid arousal coated my petite hand. For some reason, the idea of Harry walking in on me like that had me feeling hot. Realistically, that would’ve meant immediate, devastating humiliation. Did that mean I was into that? I’d say yes judging by the way I was pulsing around nothing whilst staring at my door, picturing the man himself standing there smirking at me…tilting his head and patronizing me. 

…Aw, would you look at tha’…Does that feel good, Sweet Bunny? 

“Mmhmm.” I found myself nodding with a sigh, my eyes relaxed and veiled. My mind refused to backtrack, and instead doubled-down. I probably should have stopped myself right there, but fuck, could self-sabotage feel good.

My brain directed me towards thinking about how pretty and sweet I was on the outside. My body, soft, and my features, so delicate, but so grabbable. Every part of me had an ample amount of plushness to squeeze. To manhandle. My tiny wrists and my elegant neck, the perfect size for a pair of big hands to wrap around. I bit my rosy lip on a whine, then brought my thumb up to rub and tease it before sucking on it. The sinful acts my mouth performed were a secret I kept with the few lucky men who’d experienced it for themselves. I wanted so badly to share that with Harry…I wanted to share all of myself with him. 

“Mmm…Harry.” I moaned aloud, releasing my wet thumb and sneaking it under my shirt, swiping the slick pad back and forth over my sensitive tit.

It was hard for me not to think about Harry whenever I touched myself. I thought about his fingers playing with my hair, him burying his face into my neck the times we cuddled…feeling his hard-on against my ass on the couch…the times when he’d hugged me…and catching his gaze drift down to my tits…I bet he’d thought I’d never notice, even after having done it multiple times in a single conversation. Hmm…was Harry Styles an ass man or a tit man? Or was he something else…? He certainly liked looking at my boobs…and I'm able to confirm that his body has a very positive reaction to pressing up against my butt…

Honestly, I didn’t even care what parts of the body Harry liked the most. All I cared about was how badly I wanted to feel him use mine. I wrapped my small hand around my throat and arched my back up off of the mattress, gasping as I mindlessly pushed two hooked fingers inside my tight opening, picturing a certain tall, curly-headed British man molesting me instead. The sound of my own moans enhanced my pleasure as I rode myself towards peak bliss. My modesty had become non-existent as my hands worked each sensitive spot between my legs and teased at my pebbled nipples. A part of me needed him to hear me that night. I was getting off on that taboo. But that’s all it was…my imagination. 

It was just a silly little fantasy. Harmless exhibitionism. I wasn’t actually being that loud…—but that’s when I suddenly heard more feedback beyond the wall. It’d been some time since I’d heard the door click shut. My personal distractions got in the way of keeping track of time. 

There was an urgent fumbling. A repetitive clinking. The sound resembled a bit of metal hitting other metal. But it was light. Small. Following that, I heard a rough yank and a soft plop as whatever the item was had dropped heavily onto the carpeted floor. An unmistakable hum of a zipper quickly came subsequent to the discarding of the first mystery item—but it was no longer a mystery to me as my sex-clouded mind pieced together what I was hearing. The hands nestled between my thighs slowed at the realization.

Well, Harry’s just changing into his pajamas for the night, right?

My audible x-rated activities bouncing off the walls for several minutes whilst my roommate innocently removed his pants next door…maybe I was overthinking this…I remembered calling out our "goodnight"'s to each other around 10 minutes before I slipped out of my panties and began to shamelessly pleasure myself. He was still in his business-y work clothes when I left him in the living room…and I knew I just heard his bedroom door click shut in the middle of my alone time. And at that point, Harry was right there. He was just trying to unwind, yet happened to be in the room adjacent to mine. It was probably too awkward for him to ask for me to quiet down. 

Poor guy…ugh. I was disgusted with myself. I felt I needed to end my “session” right there, and

I was mentally preparing a nice apology text to send him. There was no way in hell I'd bring this up in person to Harry the following day. Surely I’d be in tears before I could even form the right words. I didn’t even want to imagine the scenario of Harry, himself, mentioning it to my face. Every possible, horrible consequence of my selfishly lewd deeds played out in my mind. There I was, lying there with my knees bent up and spread wide open—my fingers frozen against where I'm most sensitive. The silence made the throbbing in my clit feel even more desperate. 

And then Harry flicked his white-noise machine on.

Oh, God…This was so embarrassing.

I wanted to sink into a black hole and never be seen, nor heard, ever again. The severity of the situation felt devastating to me. Was I truly so grotesque that the beautiful man I lived with had to tune me out with the highest setting of his old, rattly sleep machine?!

Hell, I was more than embarrassed, I was fucking humiliated. For real, this time. And it was all my fault.

I just wanted to disappear.

But just as I was readying myself to book a flight back home to move back in with my parents to spare myself from ever having to look Harry in the eye again…

I heard it. 

I heard him.

“…Mmmhh…”

Beyond the hum of the wimpy white noise, there was a raspy moan on the other side of the wall. I thought I was just imagining it, or that maybe it was Harry quietly retching in disgust, but then it happened again. 

No, yeah. It was definitely a moan.

I held my breath as I focused upon the sound of an abrupt curse followed by the distinctive sound of spitting. 

“...Ahhh, fuck—” 

*ptuh* 

The grunting and other lewd noises continued. I could only imagine Harry’s tightened fist, wet from his own drool, working diligently at his neglected cock.

“...Mm…h-hm…ugghhh…”

It seemed like Harry's white-noise machine had some impressive competition. My lips curved into a smirk and my embarrassment exponentially subsided.

His growls vibrated right through the layers of paint and drywall—sliding their way under my shirt, swirling around my perked nipples before bolting straight down to my fingertips, coaxing them to push deeper into my heat. Squeezing my thighs together and arching my back, I curled those digits and gasped out audibly. Feminine arousal leaked from my center and down the crease where my ass met my thighs. Everything was so slippery. I’d made a mess of myself within seconds. Not to mention, the pornographic squelch of my fingers echoed shamelessly beyond the slick walls of my cunt.

If Harry’s spit-covered palm was loud enough to hear over the white noise, then I knew the splashy reservoir between my legs was audible too.

Another series of grunts and huffs sounded beyond the wall behind me and the white noise machine was switched off. I retracted my fingers and slid them up and down my slit, teasing myself and picturing Harry rubbing the head of his dick along my entrance. My brow pinched hedonistic agony. Oh, God, did I want him inside me…I needed something…anything…

With my less-saturated hand, I reached over to open my bedside drawer and lifted the lower compartment to retrieve the silk satchel that encased my dildo. My sticky-slick fingers fumbled impatiently with the ties until the toy comically launched out of the bag and bounced itself smack down onto the inside of my splayed thigh. I could just picture Harry laughing at my lack of grace even though he was busy with his own deeds next door. The thought of Harry teasing me about the dildo made me blush a bit, and I smiled to myself, imagining his hand reaching out to brush my hair out of my face, his pupils dilating as he’d sit on his knees next to the bed and lean over me until his lips grazed my ear…

Be a good girl and show me what filthy things you do with this, Bunny…Show me where it goes…Show me how you fuck yourself…

I hadn’t realized I’d done it again. I’d gotten lost in that depraved little world of mine, and I whimpered aloud in response to the Imaginary Harry who was speaking in my fantasy, “Y-you want me to fuck my pussy for you, Daddy?” Maybe it was the Imaginary Harry again, but I could’ve sworn that I heard a silky British voice nearby react, “Goddd…dammit, Bun’…Ugh, fuuuck, yes. Fuck that sweet little pussy f’me, baby, holy shit…”

Laying back down, I brought the silicone cock up to my lips and sucked it into my mouth. I slowly bobbed my head on it and soaked it with my saliva after deepthroating it several times. The sloppy blowjob I gave to my dildo seemed to have been loud enough to be heard by Harry next door, as he voiced out, “Oh my god, Y/N…I wanna fuck that pretty mouth.”

I pulled it away from my tongue, a string of drool dripping from the tip, and rubbed the head of the toy against my sensitive clit whilst I responded, bringing me right back to where I needed to be. 

“Mmhh, but you can’t put a baby in me that way, Daddy.”

My own eyes widened and I gasped. I couldn’t believe I’d actually fucking said that.

“Shit! Ughh…Ahh…Ughhhh…Fuck you, Bunny…Almost made me…c-come…Christ—Ohhh, fuck me…”

With my free hand, I sucked on my index finger and let my eyes flutter closed as I pulled it out from my lips, trailing it down my neck, all the way to my breasts. Groping myself as best as I could with the rest of my hand, I used my forefinger to tease my nipple whilst the dildo swirled and swiped around my slickened slit. My breathing picked up quickly. The dildo had eventually disappeared inside my clenching hole. The only audible sounds I remember hearing were those of my own—my high-pitched gasps, the pornographic swishing and squelching of the dildo fucking my drenched cunt, the wet flicking noises of my fingers moving rapidly against my clit…I don’t even remember how loud Harry was at that point, I was too focused on my fantasy—my fantasy with him—to notice. I was so focused, in fact, that I had once again lost all sense of self-control and consciousness, succumbing to whatever had come naturally to me at the time and practically singing out my song of ecstasy for the whole goddamn neighborhood.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod…Harry, please. I need your cum…Oh, god, please come inside me. Fuck all your cum d-dee–oh g…–ah! Yes! Yes! Don’t stop!”

As I begged for my climax, Harry seemed to have been on the edge of his orgasm as well.

“Jesus Christ, you’re gonna kill me, Y/N…You want me to fill you up? Be my little breeding bunny? God…You dirty girl…Fuuuck…oh fuck, I’m gonna come…”

“Yes! Yes, Daddy! I can take it! Please! Yes, yes, yes, yes! Aaahhh!”

I unraveled with a squeak followed by a series of breathless sobs, my hands, wrists, and arms working frantically and my eyes rolled back whilst the kaleidoscope of pleasure poured through my body. Immediately after my explosion, I collapsed like a ragdoll with the dildo slowly pushing out of me, and my fingers slipping around on my clit to prolong my high. As my breathing recovered, I listened to the tail-end of the orgasm taking place from Harry’s side of the wall.

“Holy shit…Fucking take all of it f’me, babe—ohhhh, yeah…uhh-uuggh…mmhh…hm…Damnit…’So much…I wish all this was inside you, Bunny…fucking hell…”

I’d slept like a rock once I finally passed out. I wasn’t even worried about what would come the next morning. Nah, I had the upper hand on this one for once. As a bratty submissive, I’d gotten used to being teased and controlled. What an interesting feeling to exist on the other side. God, it felt fucking fantastic. Unfortunately for Harry, he wasn’t as confident…or at least that was what I’d been able to interpret in the days following. Nights after the first one, I’d carry on fucking my cunt until I was physically too exhausted to move my pretty little hands anymore. I swear I’d heard Harry finish at least thrice in one night once. (Impressive, Styles.) As for myself…well, I usually lost count.

That first morning, I awoke with sore arms, a rogue dildo laying on the floor, my limbs tangled inside my sheets, yet a ridiculous smile was perma-glued onto my sleepy, orgasm-spent face. I tried my best to tone it down, as I didn’t want to prance around the house like I’d just risen from a deep sleep induced by a gazillion-and-one pulsating firecrackers of pleasure. Too obvious, you know? Had to act nonchalant. Unbothered. 

Who was I kidding—I was the most chalant person I knew. Harry would see right through that charade. But there honestly wasn’t much need for pretending on my part since Harry had actively avoided any and all eye contact with me anyway. I’d never seen the man be so meek. It was truly a sight. 

Things would eventually loosen up as the days progressed, especially if it was a work day which meant Harry had an excuse to be miles away from me for several hours. It was somewhat of a bummer because I thoroughly enjoyed this sampling of power I newly held over the man. I reveled in the way our typical roles would reverse the mornings after our little bedtime serenades. They weren’t a nightly occurrence, as I preferred to keep him on his toes; however, they’d happen often enough that I tended to daydream in the middle of my work meetings. I’d even begun to retreat to my bedroom an hour or so earlier in the evenings, giving Harry some lame excuse like tiredness or a headache. In reality, it was me signaling that I needed to get myself off sooner rather than later. Whenever I’d announce my departure, I could feel how much he’d been aching for it all day, too. Harry eventually utilized the same approach to speed up the fulfillment of his own needs. I’d changed up my tempo, my method of pleasure, the filth of my words, even my own positions whilst touching myself. It seemed like it had become almost like a routine for him to wait for me to fall into bed late in the evening. (Yet another one for me to be distracted by…) 

Nothing’s changed. I still imagine that he patiently lays atop his soft duvet with an anxious throb booming against his eardrums…That minutes will go by with him training his ear to follow each soft pad of my feet. And then I shut my door. I waste no time before diving my pretty fingers inside the waistband of my underwear and playing with my sensitive little petal—allowing all the filth to freely escape my lips. And every single time we do this, I’m in my room picturing him naked from the waist down, one hand eagerly pumping his dripping length whilst the other massages his balls and perineum. To this day, the waves of simultaneous pleasure are still trapped only by the few measly layers of drywall that stand in between us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I know, I know…it’s been a while…but I’m back:-) and this isn’t the end of Harry’s Home—the final part is basically finished, but I wanted to post this chunk of it since I’d been kind of neglecting my account for months now. I hope y’all like it! Xoxo ~ Régan 💋

Tags: @daphnesutton @victoria-styles @pishhhh20989 @heyyyloverr @youdontcaredoyou @jerseygirlinca

[raayllum]

too many bangers to just do one little blurb, so here's a few of my favorite excerpts from the chapter that absolutely destroyed me

"...the dam bursting of every time she’d been frightened or hungry by herself, every time she’d wondered if she’d ever make it back to Katolis or see anyone she loved again, and the persistent pulsing push in her mind, constantly telling her that she didn’t deserve to." 

"'You are not a burden,” he continued. 'And even if you are, I want to carry you. You don’t have to be good enough, Rayla. There is no invisible standard you have to meet. You don’t have to be perfect to be perfect. You are not responsible for other people’s choices, and you don’t have to pay the prices for their mistakes. You don’t have to pay the price for your choices and mistakes.'"

"'You are a person and you deserve to be here without having to constantly be hurting yourself to earn it. You don't have to justify your existence by punishing yourself for it. You deserve to just be. To live and exist and be loved. Unconditionally.'"

chapter 7 man.... lives were changed. as someone who has the absolutely hardest time describing feelings--especially something as complex and messy as depression and suicidal thoughts feel--you just absolutely blew me away. and THEN to just put therapists across the globe to shame with the literal most perfect affirmations of all time? when i said this chapter destroyed me i forgot to mention that it also healed me. this is classic literature. this fic should be required reading in schools. shakespeare and my therapist are rolling in their respective graves

I have a lot of Rayla feelings in Ch7: at the end of the tunnel in particular tbh so I'll break them down here in regards to what went into the passages above.

To begin with, I'm so glad this part of the fic resonated with you. This isn't the last time we'll be addressing Rayla's mental health but it is one of the more prominent, as idk how anyone can watch s1-s4 + TTM and not take away that... she's not Doing Well, to say the least. I was definitely thinking about quotes from the show's writers with "Rayla can sometimes default to 'hurting myself is clearly a good, because I'm taking it away from someone else'" to heart.

I've written this discussion and affirmation scene in other fics, and explored Rayla's mental health before (probably most notably "say the winds won't change on us," "i care if i am guilty," and "i hope you die (i hope we both die)") but given that fanon s6 is such a big ambitious project I wanted to make sure I was getting it right in particular, here. While I've never experienced Rayla's forms of self loathing myself / to the same severity, I have quite a few people in my life that I deeply cherish who have, or in ongoing struggles with it, and I've been Callum here more than a few times.

I think a lot about how Rayla rarely allows to let two things matter if one of those things is herself ("Don't worry about my hand now; the egg is all that matters") when the boys are perfectly capable at holding space for multiple concerns, including themselves, in most instances. Rayla leaving in TTM is just the most extreme version of that, and I think the way Rayla will exceptionalize herself in a negative way—everyone else deserves good nice things / second chances / happiness except her, for Some Reason ("Your plan was fine! [...] You should cut yourself a break. Everyone messes up sometimes, or in my case, all the times [...] That shouldn't have mattered; I had a job to do")—is like... relatable for a Lot of people even when they don't also have symptoms of PTSD/depression/passive suicidal ideation.

Like Rayla was not safe or happy when she was away, and it would not surprise me at all if, while I don't think canon will necessarily touch on any of this as intensely as I have, I do think we'll get something of her having a hard time of her talking about how she suffered in favour of wanting to talk about how she made Callum suffer, for obvious reasons. Which is exactly why she left in the first place (s4 my beloved)

With all that out of the way I wanted to set up her breakdown accordingly:

You have the chapter title which is a reference to the literal tunnel they exit, and an Orpheus and Eurydice reference, while also very much being about Rayla finding the light at the end of her tunnel regarding her mental health

"I was a coward. I was weak." ("My parents aren't really dead, but I wish they were! They're cowards" / "It was the same problem every time. Hesitation, sympathy, distraction… all just weakness in a different mask.")

And then we see Callum shift to the heart of it, which is that her letter and mission was basically suicide and she knew it, and still won't really acknowledge it out loud or why it was Okay for her to do that but not for Callum to come with her, because she feels Inherently Unworthy and that there's something fundamentally broken with her, which has been pretty clear in canon for a while tbh.

With that in mind, I wanted to take Callum's viewpoint and affirmation a step further. I always say that the first step in therapy is learning to assume that no one is mad or annoyed with you at all times. The second step is learning that it's Okay even if someone is mad or upset with you. I think Rayla fears being a burden or more trouble than she's worth so much, and I think Callum at this point (in fic / canon, 5x01 you beautiful episode) has progressed to the point of like...

Rayla's not going to believe that she's not a burden, and sometimes people are burdens, shit happens, life is hard. What's most affirming for her to hear is that he wants her and loves her even if/when she IS a burden. It cuts right through all the bullshit and fear to the "you think you're terrible and awful and unworthy" and go "so what if you are? I still want you" and there's just not a lot of places for self loathing to go after that point. Like it's still there, but it can't grow to be as intensive, I find.

It's also written in mind from Callum's perspective because I've said this before, but Rayla is not an Easy person to love. Like feeling love for her is easy — she's warm and funny and kind — but she's not easy to love in terms of getting her to accept and rely on love. She's incredibly secretive and has a lot of hyper-independence as a result of her trauma and survivor's guilt, and Callum — especially post-s4 / 4x09 — has fully accepted all of this. Even if Rayla doesn't change, he's there. He knows this is not going to be an easy climb for either of them, but it's worth it to him, because it's her.

At the same time, Callum in canon has always been good at not making Rayla dependent on him ("You're too good to feel this bad about yourself. I know that, and you should know that" / "But it's your choice. No one else's" / "No, I meant what I said. You don't have to justify or explain anything to me") and emphasizing that she can and should want to get better and treat herself better for herself. So I really wanted to capture that vibe here. Rayla feels unworthy of his love, to an extent, yes, but it's also far more about her life and how routinely she puts what she wants on the back-burner... like, Rayla is a character who's always gone looking for redemption, and often times rightfully so! But I am very excited for her to realize there's nothing she has to Redeem herself for, there's nothing she has to earn or pay a price or suffer for in order to get to be Happy on the other end or put herself first for once. She deserves to just get to exist and live and be happy about that, y'know?

And I think Rayla also fundamentally wants those things, as she states at the beginning of the chapter, “I want to see the sun again first" before she'll let Callum heal her. Because you can only save someone who wants to be saved, and you can only save them so far if they want to save themselves, too, and that starts with you, that you have to want it. You have to want to live and love yourself.

Cause everyone deserves to. They really, really do.

And I just have a lot of feelings about fics / things / anything where Rayla goes "I don't want to be broken. Maybe I never was. And I want to live" because like. Yeah

[dxmoness]

𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇 | 𝐄. 𝐕𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐬

second part bc I have nothing to do anyway- enjoy <3

warning: nothing really- just obsessive thoughts and maybe implicated murder??

The days flew by with a flash. Every day the male watched the female be productive, continuously keeping an eye on who she was with and if she was being with proper intentions. At night he watched her sleep, feelings stirring inside him finding the girl enchantingly beautiful.

He watched now as Name laughed with delight at a joke the maid of hers made. A smile curling slowly from his lips as he watched focusing on her and only her. He was cautious when it came to where he was posed which was the main reason why he continued to wear dark colors.

A sound of a horse trotting by caught his attention. Someone was here to report. "What's your report?" He asked, not bothering to take his optics off the girl he had been staring at for a while now.

"They're almost defeated, Your Highness." A direct answer from the assassin assigned to watch and wait. This was enough for Eros. He loathed people who continuously talked before getting to the point.

A maniacal grin came to his lips with ease. "Good. Kill away. Leave the emperor's life spared, I have a great decision to give to him." This was going as planned. That meant another step towards his main goal. Getting the emperor's only daughter. Suddenly an image crept onto his mind that made him stop. "On second thought. Tell the men to retreat." This stunned the assassin.

Retreat? Had the prince gone mad to the point that he couldn't see the advantage they had now? "Beg your pardon, my prince? Did you say ask the men to-" "I despise repeating myself." The prince's optics blazing with loathing towards the assassin who bowed in respect and fright. "As you wish, sir." He babbled before rushing and heading back to where the battlefield was full of flames and blood.

Good riddance. Now he could watch in peace, turning back to the view of the kitchen window he was met with disappointment. Name was nowhere to be seen. Clenching his teeth with annoyance, he got off of the branch that had been carrying his weight throughout the whole ordeal, and climbed higher to another sturdy looking branch perfect for his size and assuming weight.

Turning back to the house, his annoyance faded. The female was eating the tart she had made by the patio. She looked so beautiful. She always did. A sigh escaped from his lips as he leaned against the tree trunk. He wanted to reveal himself truly he did, but the fear of her getting terrified over his existence was not a good one.

Name may not know him yet, but she will soon enough. Once Empire Name goes on their knees to the Vasilios empire, she'll be the only person who can stop the destruction of her father's empire. The only one he'll agree to deal with.

Soon. He'll have her all for himself soon.

-

Name got off the carriage, the weight on her shoulders that had not gone away for the past week had faded in such a way that she even questioned if she ever had such a weight.

Her father had asked her to go home, and to discuss something with him so it seemed that the battle had been won. Until the news hit her that is.

"What?" Her head was spinning. She had not been prepared for such disturbing news. "They just retreated after you were failing to keep the battle?" This was nonsense. Pure nonsense. Why would the Vasilios empire, whose reputation was as powerful as it gets, retreat after what seemed like the perfect opportunity to gain control over their mortal enemies? "Was there any specific reason or.."

Her father seemed grim. His face did not betray his thoughts, he was hiding everything from her which was never normal for the ever positive emperor everyone knew and adored. "Nothing. There was no reason they could have had, no letters given to prove their point and absolutely no—" The slam of the door startled both father and daughter as a panicked guard appeared in the doorway. His face was red, it seems he had been running.

"What is it?" The emperor asked with concern spreading onto his face.

The guard took a few moments to catch his breath, then he stood up. "There's a visitor from the Vasilios Empire, Your Grace! She requests your presence with some important information she says." The emperor frowned at this before turning to his daughter.

"Go rest, you've had a long journey-" "No. I wish to listen. If it's about the Vasilios Empire it means answers and I will not hear answers from someone who isn't the messenger." This slightly disturbed the emperor. What had happened to his obedient daughter? She suddenly became a person with a hard exterior after finding out that years of war had gone on and on.

He just sighed before nodding. Denying her request will only worsen her mood, and that never did end well anytime during her youth.

-

Both father and daughter sat across a purple haired female, Medea Solon, who didn't seem that all interested with anything of their empire. "I've been told you needed a word with me?" F/N asked, pouring each of them tea.

"Indeed I did." Yet you brought her with you. Her eyes wandered to the female next to the emperor as she drank her tea slowly. The person she had an interest in was the female, no one else. "Who might this be?" She asked, putting down tea cup.

"I am Name L/N, only daughter of the L/Ns." Name said with confidence as well as confusion. Why was she interested in her and not her father?

"Pleasure to meet you." The cold tone slightly melted. So this was the girl he had interest in. She didn't see what the girl had that interested that bastard, but it didn't matter. What mattered now was how she executed her plan.

"So? State your business." The emperor was irritated, this female was making things longer and more negative thoughts flooded his brain.

"Your Grace, I have a proposal that will benefit both my empire and your own, but first I need to see if I can trust you." She gave a smile one that made her look like she could kill.

taglist?? (sorry for the tags TT)

@d10nsaint | @that-one-pretty-bitch | @sidra-29 | @rouecentric | @jeweledflowers

[jetstarred]

what i listened to in february 2024!

total: 10 albums top three albums: scrapyard (quadeca), gloom division (idkhow), kid a (radiohead) click read more for full reviews ^-^

i let it in and it took everything - loathe (2020) - fav song: is it really you? - this album is a very nice melding of grungegaze and more hardcore screamo. the melodies and fuzz drew me in and made me really enjoy the hardcore parts, which usually i'm not the biggest fan of. i definitely preferred the more melodic parts of the album, but i can see the heavier parts growing on me with more listens. i think bands like loathe and narrow head are the perfect bridge from grungegaze into heavier music for someone like me and i look forward to listening to newer releases from loathe. - rating: 8/10

wolf - tyler, the creator (2013) - fav song: domo23 - this album is like a slightly more mature version of goblin in terms of how it's produced. it's still largely the same offensive content that i disliked in goblin but there's some parts that are a little more enjoyable to me. for the most part it's really similar to goblin so i don't feel like i have much to say. i did like the more melodic features, especially erykah badu's feature - rating: 5/10

armed to the teeth l.m.o.m.m. - kill alters (2022) - fav song: cesspit - this was a really good industrial rock album with digital hardcore elements. i love bonnie baxter's vocals and the audio samples (while i don't recognize them) add to the slightly unsettling nature of this album. there are some very short tracks that serve more as transitions between songs which makes this the kinda album you should listen to front to back instead of listening to songs individually. - rating: 7/10

cherry bomb - tyler, the creator (2015) - fav song: cherry bomb - from the first second i was vibing with this album and i stayed really enjoying it the entire time. the production is amazing by my casual listener standards. there's a lot of electronic noises that i love especially the twinkly synths and heavy bass. the lyrics are evolving past the vulgar content in tyler's first two albums, especially thanks to some of the features on the album. i got very excited over the kali uchis features and i'm sure it was a big deal for tyler to get lil wayne and kanye features on the same song. for me this is a massive step up from the previous two albums. - rating: 8/10

by the time i get to phoenix - injury reserve (2021) - fav song: postpostpartum - this album has an atmosphere that's really unsettling and kept me on edge the entire time. some tracks made me feel like i was having a panic attack almost, but in a good way? the production is really good at creating a tense vibe that feels like you're constantly looking over your shoulder or being suffocated by fog. the lyrics vary from song to song, but are largely pretty good. this is a great experimental hip hop album and i hope it got some hip hop fans to explore more noisy music. - rating: 9/10

scrapyard - quadeca (2024) - fav song: easier - this album is a beautiful evolution of the sound explored in idmthy. it's freed from the concept of the previous album, allowed to explore different topics and sounds. i love how grand and full this album sounds, like i'm being surrounded by every song. many of the songs sound bright in a way that makes me think of sunlight and water and light breeze. but there's still some heaviness and electronic elements that add a complexity to this album. while it's more disjointed than the very tight idmthy, this is such a good follow up and i can see myself growing to love this album in a very fond way. and shout out to u tried that thing where ur human for making me cry. - rating: 9/10

wallsocket - underscores (2023) - fav song: johnny johnny johnny - i like how reflective this album is in a way that's very synonymous with being a young adult and thinking back to how you acted when you were even younger. the album as a whole is more melodic and slower than i expected but it fits nicely with the vibe i think is trying to be conveyed. the electronic and more hyperpop reminiscent parts are my favorites. i just really like it! - rating: 7/10

kid a - radiohead (2000) - fav song: idioteque - i love the atmosphere this album creates. i feel like i'm floating through space but it's like water and the stars are like pixels. it's a little unsettling but mostly makes me feel like i'm phasing out of my body. i love how electronic certain sections get and abstract other sections get. i see why it's a lot of peoples favorite radiohead album. - rating: 9/10

gloom division - i dont know how but they found me (2024) - fav song: what love? - WOAH is this a step up from razzmatazz. the exploration of genres in this album is so cool and sprawling, but stays connected by dallon's vocals and many of the whimsical and analog elements that have become idkhow's signature style. i stayed grooving the entire time. - rating: 9/10

flower boy - tyler, the creator (2017) - fav song: see you again - this album is on par with cherry bomb BUT finally tyler's outgrown the offensive lyrics that i really disliked. on the music side it's more poppy than cherry bomb but still on a similar level of quality. i do quite like the different elements in this album. one thing that really stuck out to me on this album was the synths which i really enjoyed - rating: 8/10

[wordsandrobots]

[The following is not an essay. It is the author's attempt to grapple with the despair at losing something important to him, presented in hopes someone in a similar situation may know such things are worth grappling with.]

Apropos of Doctor Who's triumphant return to having writing and direction I can actually care about again, I've been reflecting on how much casual 'Moffat-hate' irritates me.

Obviously, I need to unpack that a bit.

I'm talking about the reflexive antagonism towards Steven Moffat's era as show-runner, writing tics, writing in general, moment of centrality to British TV and so on that I am no doubt going to run into if I go anywhere near Doctor Who reviews and analysis again. A sneer about perceived sneering here, another repetition of a narrative-construction gripe there. The regurgitation of old arguments because there is a strong contingent of people who loathe that era and Moffat in general, who have every right to that opinion, and who can quite reasonably bring it up when talking about Russel T Davies' new, second era of running the show, however that shakes out.

The me-problem here is, I loved a lot of 'the Moffat era' of Doctor Who when it was being broadcast. For whatever reason, it hit lots of nice buttons in my head and I had a grand old time watching it unfold. The 11th and 12th Doctors provided some really excellent examples of the show doing its best at what it does best. Indeed, 'Listen' may be my favourite example of a story delving into what Doctor Who is all about, ever.

But there is a degree to which my enjoyment is now perpetually enmeshed in defensiveness. Because the fandom was/is wild tangle of very strong opinions, much of them to the contrary, and that isn't likely to change any time soon.

[And for me personally, my best friend hates that era, which threw into sharp relief a lot of hang-ups I have around needing to justify the things I like. Having an emotional breakdown kind of sharp relief. That's not the sort of thing you just shrug off, even after all this time.]

To be clear, I am not here to defend Steven Moffat. I do not give a rat's arse about Sherlock – it was enjoyable at the time but I can't say it registered beyond 'a thing it was fun to watch once' – and I actively despise Twice Upon A Time, the last 12th Doctor story, for pretty much the exact reasons I think most people rag on Moffat's other work. It is a story ostensibly in conversation with a piece of source material that instead only concerns itself with the refracted, pop-cultural version of said thing, for the sake of being constructed like a joke.

Which in general is an approach far better suited to Doctor Who – a series progressively layering 'canon' atop stories that could not be recalled as anything other than half-remembered versions of themselves for a very long time – than it would ever be for something like Sherlock Holmes. Even if I didn't like Twice Upon A Time, I can at least forgive it as a wider pattern and oh for goodness sake, I've started defending the man anyway, haven't I?

You see the problem. I can't make a critique with any teeth because I am braced for the whole to be dismissed even as I home in on the specific part I wish to unpack. Must I defend a writer in toto because I vibed with one piece of their corpus? I don't think I would for anyone else and yet here we are. This is probably why I count myself lucky to have never been deeply invested in Doctor Who fandom in the communal sense, online or off. This and the people who fawn over the racist giant rat story.

[Talons of Weng-Chiang is a Yellow Peril tale, straight up, nothing else. It also jobs Leela, rendering her forever 'the savage' despite the entire point of her introduction being a rejection of the superstitions imposed on her people and thereafter proving herself extremely capable in new and strange situations. It was also written in Britain in the 70s so this is almost self-explanatory. Just fucking own the fact you enjoy the production values and excellent cast while accepting it's indefensible to claim this is the best the classic series produced, you chronic dipsticks.]

See, I can do it with other examples of what I dislike, bare my teeth and go for the throat. But few people argue we should write off Robert Holmes' extensive contribution to the series because he did a massive racism on account of being a British writer in the 70s. Maybe they should. I don't know.

What I do know is, I understand why the 11th and 12th Doctor eras work for me. I am a white cis man who thought he was straight when they started airing and who is exactly the kind of Doctor Who fan who'd want to solve the regeneration limit with a Five Doctors reference. I never felt like Moffat's grand arcs were talking down to me because, I suspect, I was the kind of person most easily able to imagine I was in on the joke by the end. Then again, the writer who's done some of the most extensive analysis and defence of this era is a trans American woman, whose work did more for my appreciation of Doctor Who history than anyone else. So – yeah.

When I said 'irritate', I meant exactly that. This whole topic is a burr, making it difficult to revisit things I once enjoyed. Maybe this would be the case anyway. I have grown a lot since then. So did Steven Moffat, over the course of writing more Doctor Who than any other person ever. He gave us gender-flipping regeneration, tried colour-blind casting and when it failed to make a difference, specifically cast for a black lesbian. And he revisited Donna's ending with an eye on querying the moral failure of it long before RTD2 wrapped around to the same point. Why should I look kinder on his predecessor, who presided over the abusive shit-show that was the production of the 2005 revival season and yet gets to come back to save the programme again?

Oh, yes. The writing. But Russel T Davies annoys me just as much in some places as Moffat does other people. So it goes. Although I suppose Moffat did hire Toby Whithouse to write the central part of Bill's arc and it was a chauvinistic wet fart because it was Toby Whithouse. He also worked for ages with Mark Gattis, whose writing I could shred on similar grounds. And around and around we go, sniping and arguing which of the middle-aged British guys tried their best, or wrote the worst.

[I am still mourning what Chris Chibnall's era of Doctor Who turned out to be. I was so hyped for getting Jodi Whittaker as the Doctor and then we hit Kerblam! and the oldest, most foundational piece of my inner cultural map no longer felt like something I wanted to be a part of. So yeah, he's the worst, for allowing that story to go out, 'the system isn't the problem, it's the people' and all. That's my 'hot-take', years too late. The man wasted dozens of excellent, interesting, diverse writers and actors on what is ultimately, in my opinion, the most mediocre crap since the Saward Era and his big contribution to the series going forward is to fanwank in an explanation for the Morbius!Doctors that essentially makes the Doctor the specialest special whoever specialed.]

At least Moffat previously made some attempt to spork the god!Doctor approach, before deciding they should textually be the reason evil doesn't triumph in the universe. Sadly, that endpoint seems inevitable. We're long past the days of the Doctor being a university drop-out, bumbling around the universe, interfering from the edges. Pick your saccharine alternative, I guess.

What was I talking about before I dived into my own bitterness and angry fan-ranting? How much people deriding one sitcom writer for his faults and prominence within a particular era of big British TV that sparked vast swathes of internet discourse continues to be an aspect of Doctor Who meta? How that makes me feel? Hah. Who cares?

There's no widely applicable point here, just an emotional sore making me wonder if I'm ready to 'get back into' Doctor Who. Because yes, actively being revolted by the Chibnall Era is the real reason I fell out with the show. And yes, maybe I've just grown beyond the point where Doctor Who satisfies, full-stop (let's leave the political rant about The Zygon Inversion for another time; I'll only be repeating other people). But sitting here, being honestly, genuinely delighted by The Star Beast and Wild Blue Yonder in ways I'd frankly forgotten I could be by Doctor Who . . . there's a still part of me that doesn't want to risk going back and running into those same old arguments. I've seen them before. They're boring. They annoy me. I don't have the energy to deal with it. And I haven't yet worked out how to thicken my skin against them.

Someday, maybe, I will sort the love for Doctor Who I had since I was six and watching Peter Cushing romp around in glorious Technicolor from a factional fandom pissing match I didn't even play a part in. I never was someone who picked fights online over this or tried to make grand sweeping arguments about why X, Y or Z was better. I want to be mellow about differing tastes and just like what I like. I certainly don't want to be the kind of person who rags endlessly on things I didn't enjoy, which is why the emotional outburst above is about as far as I'm prepared to go in talking publicly about the 13th Doctor's run.

[I want to go back. I want to love Doctor Who again, flaws and all. I probably will regardless of this. I am not making a plea concerning fandom's nature. I am neither asking for grace nor extending it. The answer is undoubtedly to carry on along the sidelines, a skulking hermit-crab of a Whovian. Yet the burr remains, the grief sticks and the solid ground of a long-held interest remains cracked. Perhaps that is growth. Self-examination does not entitle one to set discoveries aside, job done, card stamped, and return to pleasures-as-were. Yet I can't deny the raw emotional urgh that comes of hearing the same punches struck over and over, about a portion of the show that at least tried.]

Ultimately, however, I like picking apart the things I enjoy and I enjoy watching others do likewise. And I don't get to do that here without cautiously curating my experience to avoid the ten billionth iteration of ten-year-old internet arguments.

I'll keep doing it, obviously.

But it is irritating.

[This post brought to you by listening to El Sandifer's podcast about The Star Beast. Eruditorum Press is a great site for fascinating media analysis and her TARDIS Eruditorum series is well worth a read if you're interested in the show's development.]

[nerice]

ask meme: even numbers >:3

CATCHING UP ON ASK GAMES on this fine 1:18 am >:3

2, if you gave an in depth description of your story to someone who was not all the way paying attention, what would their takeaway be?

the takeaway is that i'd stop talking the second it seems sb is not paying attention lmao but i guess the cliffnotes is [standing in front of conspiracy board] hot evil girls (unkillable) also moons something is up with them moons

4, what would you say is the message, if there is one.

alright finally deigning this with a serious answer. there is no big msg no grand takeaway, just the mess of the struggle & trying to make it thru when life is cruel and unjust and sometimes there's light at the end of the tunnel and other times the despair wins. sometimes the despair is chosen and it's a self-righteous thing and at the end of the day it's about knowing what's best for yourself and the life you want to live, despite (all the despites) and sometimes it is about the catharsis of giving up when it's all too much ;-;

6, speaking of tv adaptations, why would yours get cancelled? (other than capitalism)

ive seen the twinks people wanna cast for holland shadesofmagic i am not letting irl casting be done so this never gets made because animation is too expensive (shoutout to hair, my ocs have a lot of it) w otherwise for all the same reasons down in #18

8, what inspired your world building, if anything?

moon emphasis is definitely a sailor moon worm + a lot of contamination from waverunners [german pirate series] eldritch ocean mare tenebrosum merged with some old recurring fever dream imagery for the invisible moon. also EXTREMELY early kyoani/key shows (air+kanon) for sponsoring how my visual imagination works & the tragedy/wings/dream thematics <3

10, if your story is titled, why did you choose that title?

ok fun anecdote time again in lieu of going thru all 2389 stories individually so. shadow revenge is the book i started out with and always had that title, and when conceptualizing the other two books for the trilogy i wanted to keep a similar naming scheme (starting with s + double noun) so originally they were

schattenrache (shadow revenge)

seelentraum (soul delusion, to grade 8 me, but lit. 'soul dream')

sanduhrmelodie (sandglass melody)

the last one is esp fun bc i was just groping in the dark for a title to fit the scheme & only from there worked out it was abt linn's melody nd all that biz lmao but u can see the influence that later made soul plot big before i switched to 'dream game' for the middle one bc i always LOATHED 'soul delusion' as a title f. (the german one fucks quite well tbh) so much of my finickiness is needing to make things work in 2 languages OTL

12, okay be honest. pick a favorite oc from this ocverse.

there is no competition like, at all. 🐇

14, whats your favorite part of this story/project?

interconnected story hell !!!!!!! i don't think i'll ever write anything else i'll never have a story that does not plug into the larger verse somehow (valiant attempts by my short story profs but vertebrae inventory / touching fire / let sleeping gods die all got folded back into side content ww) nothing gets my brain going like the layers upon layers of history and thrulines and transposing it into different settings or formats. i will never get tired of it. i was put on this earth to do exactly this and i hope i will get to do it for a long time still <(/)3

16, imagine the entire story takes place but in the meantime the characters all also have tumblr. what kind of (terrible) tumblr posts would happen?

answered! but as a bonus i am entirely sure that eliada would get the most mileage out of that setup until he gets doxxed by alissa. send tweet

18, what aspect of the story would get you #canceled on twitter?

glorifying self harm and suicide, teenagers fucking raw onscreen, every #linneacore moment. also cancelling myself over the existence of amasa i deserve it what the fuck

20, your ocverse just got a movie trilogy a la hunger games style. how have they horribly mangled your message/theme so that the movies are now a showcase of what the original was condemning?

OH FOR SURE none of the ugly parts or disk horse worthy content (see above) stay intact, sj is a romance now, gr*y actually dies and probably feels a little bad about what he has done, every suicide gets some noble circumstances attached to it esp faye who gets shafted into the typical time traveling savior role instead of coldhearted pragmatism for her own end. i am mad just thinking abt it thanks <3

22, you have been given unlimited funds to make two adaptations of some sort, however you cannot make any other adaptations of any other sort. which two formats do you choose?

(i am not handing any point of production over to anyone else but i am using the unlimited funds to devote myself to realizing these full-time) comics and animation! i am not interested in anything else

24, best scene you've written?

my writing is no doubt at its best when i'm writing soulless torture / rabbit hell but that is. premium tier locked patreon content; as far as fav scenes go my top three are probably

qs life pledges [THEY WIN !]

the original black swan masked ball piece. changed the course of history & my entire writing career

jumie/sky conversation after [redacted]s death. we cannot elaborate it's too much for my heart, agh!

[lies down both metaphorically and irl] goodnight thanks for playing!!

[slowing-down-in-style]

Trust

Trust

Trust

Spending a bit of time sitting outside at the moment and I’m realizing I don’t think I actually trust people. I don’t think I have in a really long time. I don’t trust that people care about me or for me, I don’t trust that people aren’t lying, I don’t trust that people don’t have ulterior motives, I don’t trust that people aren’t mocking me or making fun of me, I don’t trust that people aren’t out to get one over on me or on others. Sometimes it’s as simple as just not trusting them to know how to do something or just to do something and follow through. To remember. To not forget..

That’s why it feels so good when Chris hits the mark.

But I WANT to trust people and so my brain does this thing where it pretends “I’m doing the thing!” but actually I’m not. I will open up to people tell them things. But if I’m honest with myself that’s probably just me wanting to talk to someone so they will hear my story. And the really cruel part of my brain says it’s because “she has a need to be pitied” while the other part says “no, she just wants to be heard.”

I will let them open up to me. I keep their secrets and stories. but so many times… more often than not… when I wait to see if they can be trusted almost every single one has let me down. 

There’s a few exceptions. Chris never has. Kristen never has. Sky. Probably Natalie.  But I still have trouble *fully* trusting them in some things.

Though… maybe “not doubting them” is maybe a better way of phrasing it. I trust that Chris loves me. I trust that he cares for me and looks out for me and defends and protects and cherishes me. But I don’t trust that I’m good enough. I don’t trust that he can’t be taken away. And when I boil it down it’s not anything he has ever done to make me think that. It’s just me not seeing my value or my worth as anything of substance. The doubt creeps in.

Something I read recently that stuck with me: Time to Leap

You know that expression, “Leap and the net will appear”? Diplomat personality types can fall into the trap of thinking they’ve leapt – metaphorically speaking – when they’re actually still perched at the ledge. Because these personalities have such active mental lives and imaginations, they can forget that thinking about starting a business isn’t the same as actually starting a business, or that watching videos of dancers isn’t the same as throwing themselves into a pirouette.

Sometimes it feels like I do this with trust. I tell myself, or others, this illusion that I’m a trusting person. But am I really?

My mom lied to me a lot when I was a kid. It’s because of her that I’m a good liar. She’d always let me down by saying things and then not doing them and telling me that she forgot (either she actually forgot or she was lying or it was because of the drinking or all of the above) She’d also needlessly pick at me. Calling me beautiful one moment (your hair is so pretty) and chubby the next. (Suck in your tummy) or sometimes she would say these really awful and cruel things to me while she was drunk and then the next day not remember. Never apologize. or if she did it was while crying and having her own fit of self loathing. I thought she did this for attention and sympathy. She was a hurting neglected and abused child on the inside too.

I got teased and made fun of a lot at school. Sometimes by people I never expected to do it. 

I’m stuck in this cycle where i simultaneously are the good in people while also second guessing everything they say. 

Someone said this in our discord server the other day: “ youre so awesome and cool kaitlin” and immediately my brain went “wait are they being sarcastic? Do they actually think I’m pretentious and boastful?” 

The answer was no, probably not. But it has sat with me for the last 24 hours. The guy who said this has been nothing but nice and genuine the entire time I have known him and he’s the last person I’d expect to be a bully type or say something like that.

So why is my brain constantly tricking me into thinking I’m not good enough to accept praise? Why does my brain think I’m not good enough to be these kind things people say I am. And the guilt from thinking these unpleasant things about my friends compounds the problem. If it’s because my mom seeded this doubt, and because my dad kinda gave up trying to see me as a kid, and because I was bullied in school… what do I have to do to get over it?

A lot of the advice I get is that I have to learn to be at ease with myself. To love myself. Be there for myself.

But I was all by myself. I only had myself to love. I was the only one there for me. So what else is there? Repeating mantras and affirmations doesn’t feel like enough.

[wordsintotheether]

It sounds so odd to say, but I know exactly what this feeling sounds like. Gentle guitar strumming layered on quiet piano tapping. I point to this song and say, "That's it. That's what this feeling sounds like."

Fragile. Sorrowful. Complicated longing with the sepia-toned nostalgia just beginning to creep in; a tinge of panic because these many months without you are visible and undeniable now.

Tires screeching in the harmony for your chaos and my alarm; a crescendo of sound, clattering layered with harmonica and harmonizing vocals; and a steep decrescendo for the outro. Yes, that is the sound of loving you. First so sweet and gentle, climaxing to complete turmoil, complete with a disappearing act for the resolution, forcing me to reconcile with these thoughts and feelings on my own.

You bury your gentle soul under unpredictable, erratic cacophony. Somewhere deep down, you know you can delay the inevitable moments where you must see yourself if you simply bury it deep enough.

Would you be kinder to that gentle soul if you knew of all the poetry that's been created for and laid at its alter? Would you understand yourself better to know that gentle soul is what pulls everyone into your orbit?

If you knew that I love you unapologetically still, would it comfort you? If it brings you solace, you may keep it for the rest of your life. Wrap my heart in cloth and slip it in your pocket. Take it with you for all those moments you have doubt, fear, sadness, self-loathing. Let my little heart love you enough for the both of us. Please don't have another waking second where you think no one loves you, understands you, sees you.

My little heart has known you in many seasons and has loved you in all of them. Use me as your blanket for security and warmth. Make better choices so that you may live a long life. Lean on my love for reassurance so that you are confident in every encounter you have that you are worthy, deserving, and adored. Fall in love again and show her our view. Tell her about the little life we once built, how it shaped you, and how you are excited to build a new one with her. Have a family, stay safe for the sons who want you to come home each night.

In my youth, I never would have understood that loving someone with your entire soul meant you could be happy seeing them fall in love with someone else. But we are getting older, and I've made peace with the complicated nature of existing. I long for you, for the life we once built, but our paths have diverged and we must walk them without one another. I love you still, which means I want you to have every good thing on Earth. That includes someone who will love you gently and understand you again.

I pray for you more than I do for myself. You have so much life left to live and yet you are so reckless with it. You have trouble internalizing your lessons, no matter how many times you face life's fragility and the fickle, unpredictable nature of death. I pray that God continues to protect you from yourself, I pray He gives you the time to mature out of your self-destruction. I pray one day you can face yourself authentically. I hope one day, I get to see it.

Please keep my little heart with you, keep her safe. I miss your tender smile, but it is enough to know that part of me lives with you forever. The rest of me will sit in this sound, enveloped by your memory.

Until my next goodbye,

xoxo

[dex-starr]

God I can’t believe I saw Volta and Loathe twice this year I am in disbelief about that for a multitude of reasons. Two very big reasons sticking out like a pair of sore thumbs but fuck I just have to gush about the caliber about both of these shows like the attention to detail on Loathe’s second show that I went to was fucking great. I love that I got to check out the Fresno show tho since that was like the FIRST headlining show in the states if I’m not getting my info wrong. 

Big ADHD brain post under:

Even with Loathe being one of my new favorite bands, I just can’t get over how fucking great Volta sounds after the hiatus. It’s like they just perfected everything. Every little nuance that my ear picked up that seemed “imperfect” yet great about their live performances is there but it’s so tight and refined at the same time too? Like the fact that there was a key change to accommodate Cedric’s range and make it easier to just keep this going was such a good idea because he gets to fucking shine without putting so much strain on himself. Omar’s playing just keeps getting better and better it makes me so happy as someone who was originally a fan of At The Drive-In and kind of caustic when it came to the inception of the Mars Volta as a unit. Like I was just so upset because I was a teenager and one of my favorite bands was no more. They had just gotten big at the time too and fallen on my radar because of early internet friends so needless to say my dumbass teenage self was heartbroken by not being able to see them ever again at that time (still haven’t gotten the pleasure to unfortunately, my bestie got lucky for the first reunion that fucker!). But yeah I am just gushing because of hearing the current version of Cicatriz ESP (which is just one of my all time favorite tracks it really got me into Volta and started to convince me that yeah you know these fuckers can still make great fucking music). The new keyboard sections and synth sections during the bridge and Cedrics new passages during it too fit so fucking well. Roulette Dares is always a fucking banger too. It just filled me with joy in a time where I’ve just not had much to be happy about to see them having so much fun on stage too. Interiatic ESP was the best fucking closer and made me fuck up my voice a bit.

Like being brutally honest I thought I was going to be miserable about this experience because of just things I don’t want to further go into (me being a fucking optimist even though I snagged FUCKING TICKETS TO THIS SHOW). It’s a little bittersweet honestly, a lot bittersweet if I have to be honest. I got to see them perform was one thing, they performed a lot of tracks from Deloused (which I just love because this album was just so influential to who I’ve become -- it pulled me away from a group I just wasn’t gelling with put me onto my own thing music wise). I know I didn’t really write much about this experience when I went because I was just kind of happy but sad about it. But fuck man I know part of me wanted to be gushing with you about this shit because y’know sharing this band was a big deal but I also needed to go to this show for me. I needed to do these things for me because I can’t just stop going forward even if you’re not with me. I know I wanted you to be able to like be independent of me for some things but I wanted to be able to do that for myself too which my approach was just terrible at this, but hey what’s new regarding that? I just yeah, part of me does wish we could’ve shared this together still but it is what it is and I need to take the enjoyment I was able to have and treasure it. My brain isn’t really good at allowing me these things, it’s not really wired properly for this and I’ve come to realize that I have to go above and beyond to be fucking happy so I’m just going to try to be happy about seeing my boys Cedric and Omar and my boys in Loathe

[kayzero]

so here’s my experience with shin:

i am introduced to him in chapter 1. i say, out loud, “the game used you to introduce its core concept. the game wants me to distrust you. i will force myself to keep an open mind about you.” he is then displayed as the average amount of suspicious that someone in a death game who isn’t immediately trusting of everyone would be, so he’s pretty interesting.

and then—

there’s a part of my brain that formed during my first watchthrough of drv3. i have labeled this tiny piece the “fuck kokichi ouma” center. it is small but permanent.

it is screaming throughout the first main game. he is lying about anything he can to get an advantage and doesn’t understand why it’s backfiring so badly. i am led to hate this character.

he pops up in 2-1 with “amnesia” and that sets the core to yell again, and it yells every time he pops up, and every time i see kanna. but he doesn’t really. do anything. so that part of my brain shuts up.

then during 2-2 he’s actually. helpful? and trying to escape with us?? and appropriately devastated when we find the rubble??? and then the second main game happens and he’s completely genuine about his motivations and fears and he spills his guts and begs everyone to kill him and spare kanna? that’s good shit! what the fuck! this kid’s kinda awesome!

but here’s the thing.

chapter 3 happens. midori shows up. the “fuck kokichi” center is in FULL FORCE EVERY TIME HE IS EVEN MENTIONED.

that’s what helped me figure it out, i think.

i like shin tsukimi. i loathe sou hiyori. and thus i hate every second shin is trying to be sou hiyori.

everyone loves to (rightfully) bully him but i personally have never seen someone say that they genuinely dislike Shin. like, never. i've seen many who dislike his route compared to Kanna's and call out some of his less-than-acceptable actions, but i have never ever seen someone actually go "Shin is my least favourite YTTD character" or even just "i don't like Shin"

idk, i just thought that was interesting

This ask is really interesting!

I've seen a few people dislike Shin, which is fair. Yet, I see it much less than someone would expect for the game's antagonist, who's not very likeable at certain points in the game.

I think what makes Shin's character likable is that his actions are understandable even when they're wrong.

I understand when he does crappy things like sending the sacrifice card to Sara. He was wrong, but I get why he would view someone with such a high win rate as dangerous. It's hard to look at that situation and say that his thought process had no merit because Sara can be a threat. We see that in the logic route with Ranmaru.

His relationship with Kanna also saves his character a ton. I was won over to loving Shin when he begged for her life in exchange for his. It's hard to see someone who's fought so hard to live throw away everything simply because they love a little girl as if she were family and then say, "Yeah. This guy has no redeeming qualities."

Two other things that help his character is his fear is a very common one and it's made canon that he isn't an antagonistic person outside the death game. He's just some guy that was faced with his mortality and spiraled. Not an evil mastermind that's hard to root for.

So I think all of these things combined makes Shin a pretty likeable character considering...everything that happens in 1-2 really. I love this ask because I've never really considered before how likable Shin is presented to be despite all his terrible choices.