#just because i am paranoid does not mean they are not out to get us

[randomidiocyncrazies]

sigh. i can't say i'm confident in the writing choices of the creators when handling this topic (and tbh T3 gave me the feeling that they're going for shock value more than nuanced social commentary, with Fuuta's accusation of us doing the same thing as him seemingly being dropped for the cult plot), but i guess we'll see how it shakes out.

she's probably influenced by Mahiru dying in front of her, and i'm not against her feeling conflicted or feeling regret because some women do regret their choice, but her arc seems to be going in a direction that we are encouraged to condemn her 'sin' of getting an abortion while doing compensated dating/sex work (and maybe for even doing sex work in the first place without a 'good/justifiable reason' for it) because it's the only way it'd get through to her that Es/we care about her and that she's worthy of caring about. I'm not sure of the creators' personal stakes so idk if it's just meant to be a very specific case in which the person who got an abortion regretted it (not really helped by the album cover, or the fact that Milgram counts abortion as 'murder' in the first place).

i know Yuno hates being voted innocent bc she perceives it as, like, us/Es not caring about her enough to raise objections to what she's doing, but i personally am wary about this framing because nothing she did was 'unforgivable' (she didn't even cause the death of a person like, say, Kazui could be argued to have done, not to mention some of the others); in fact i think it's the responsible thing to do when she 1) doesn't seem to actually want a child in her life when she got the abortion and 2) don't really have the means to take care of a baby*. I guess she could give birth and then give the baby up for adoption or whatever, but that doesn't necessarily give the baby a good life either. (I strongly believe that one should only have children if they actually want children and want to care for them.)

*i guess her family could help with the child, but while they seem close we still don't know how they're gonna react to Yuno's pregnancy/sex work to know if they'd be willing to help take care of the potential baby

i do really struggle with the fact that Milgram counts abortion as murder/'hitogoroshi' (which should at the very least involve the loss of life of a person). It'd be hitogoroshi if she gave birth and then caused the child to die, but that doesn't seem to be the case here. Milgram has extremely lax definitions of hitogoroshi but i struggle to define the fetus as a person the same way Kazui's wife or Fuuta's callout victim were. It's at most the potential of a person.

I'm guessing it's cultural barriers at play here, but yeah i don't know the intention of the creators and am a bit wary (and not to be an asshole but afaik both of the creators identify as cis men, so I guess i'm like. extra paranoid about it when it's about something that neither of them will experience? I know one of them has written queer themes in his other works, so that's at least something). The reason I bring the creators into this is because, unlike a real woman, Yuno is a fictional character and as such doesn't actually have any 'autonomy'; everything about her, everything she thinks or says or does, is a decision on the creators' part. I don't think the creators are necessarily pro-life or whatever (I don't think Yuno is pro-life) but the framing of "she's in mental anguish bc we think she's innocent/we forgive her, but now she thinks we don't care about her so we let her 'ruin' herself with no pushback" from the album cover made me guarded. It could be a misdirect, so I'm not gonna say Yuno is definitely this or that until the drama and song are out.

[prlssprfctn]

Pit Maddness but instead of it being an excuse for all the wrong Jason does (which is nothing because he has done nothing wrong) it's instead just a guy in his head who is happy to have a new friend so he's here to hype Jason up with everything and anything.

The Lazarus Pit being used primarily by Ra's, it gets boring. He's an old man that likes to stay in his palace all day and the Pit needs *enrichment*. So when this kid who gets tossed into his waters, he is ready to become his ride or die, and that's what theater kid Jason needs. And being years and years old, he's got ideas of his own to help him out.

Jason: My perfectly mentally stable family seems to be hallucinating me since I've died. I'm going to haunt them.

Pit: You should recreate the buildup to your death by calling them from a random warehouse that is rigged to explode and each time they are too late to save you.

Jason adding that to his list of ways to psychologically torture his family plus the physical toll of them dealing with Red Hood while grinning happily.

It's Fathers' Day but Jason and Bruce got into an argument the night before.

Jason: He has plenty of children who will celebrate with him. I don't need to be there.

Pit: Find one of his exes and celebrate with them. I'd either go with Harvey or Minhkhoa. They'd love to rub it in his face.

Jason running to his car because that's a perfect idea. They can be a part of his growing cast of parental figures (-Bruce).

This is why Ra's said that Jason was a curse upon this world. A menace with an eternal supporter.

-🐳

I AM GIGGLING—

Jason reassures everyone that post Lazarus effects are annoying sometimes, and Bats just assume that it is about rage and pain, and whatever angsty stuff their paranoid brain come up with. except, Jason just means that Lazarus is always yapping. the worst part? Jason loves their ideas. it is his personal little enabler.

that being said, i remember someone on Twitter (i think) saying that Lady Bird car scene is Batman and Robins, thus:

Bruce: *criticizing Red Hood's ways to work while they are riding back home in the Batmobile*

Pit: open the front door and jump off the car. he would never recover and repeat the same mistake.

Jason: lol. yeah. thanks for idea!

Bruce: that's why we—

Jason: *jumps off the car, while it is on the high-speed*

Bruce: *high-pitched yell*

also, Pit encouraging Jason to spend time with Bruce's exes that haunt him for ages? absolutely. not to mention that it briefly witnessed Ghostbat's shenanigans while they were in the League, so—

Jason, sitting on the debrief, feeling particularly angsty because Bruce literally ignores his existence in the room, in his thoughts: god, i wish i found a way to ignore him back, you know

Pit: just call Ghost-maker.

Jason:

Jason: fuck, yeah

*on the other side of city*

Ghostmaker, staring at Jason's message with "wanna annoy B? come and pick me up from the cave":

Ghostmaker, wiping fake tears: Bruce was right. being a part of family means the world on good days.

[dwaekkicidal]

𝖪𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋: '𝖱𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖨 𝖶𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖸𝗈𝗎.' ༄࿔ L.K.

⤷ Dubcon/Noncon | Knife Play | Spanking

♱ word count: 2.3k

♱ warnings: this has darker content!! dont like? dont interact: dubcon/noncon, fem!reader, ghostface!minho, reader switches up during the ending but during the smut minho has control, knife play (1 small nick and he carves his name into readers back but its shallow), light mentions of blood, spanking, p in v with no prep or condom (be safe about this irl pls), open ending?

♱ notes: this was so self indulgent because im slowly becoming obsessed with slashers again 🥴

not properly proofread! i will go through it later in the day after i sleep <3

Kinktober Schedule

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

The cabin you were staying at was eerily silent as you sat in the dimly lit living room. It was a rental that you had planned to stay at for a week to spend your vacation off of work and it was absolutely beautiful during the day. Though, the forest surrounding it combined with the knowledge of just how far the nearest area with people made for a rather scary experience during the night time.

Part of you was on edge as you made your way past the floor-to-ceiling windows towards the kitchen and chills ran up your spine as you stared out those same windows only to be met with complete darkness. Not even the moon was enough to cast light on the tall trees.

‘Maybe a glass of water will help.’ You had been tossing and turning in bed for hours before you gave up and settled in the living room, only to discover that there was no signal on the TV. You were lucky to have even 1 bar as you opened your phone to check the time; 2:46 AM.

It wasn’t a horrible time to be awake, but the promise of sleep would have helped with the paranoid itching in the back of your head. Anybody could break in and nobody wouldn’t know until it was too late. And even if you knew, you were a long way from any means of help-

A sudden creak in the floorboards catches your attention. Your neck snapped towards the dark hallway, then again to the huge windows as your heart raced. The Airbnb host stated that it’s an old house so it’s known to make many noises, so ‘It was probably nothing’. You repeated this to yourself over and over again as you chugged the rest of your water and turned to clean the glass, hoping the distraction would help with the anxiety.

But just as your hand wraps around the tap handle, another creak is heard and a hand wraps around your mouth. Another slides around your front and pushes a long kitchen knife against your neck. The intruder uses his whole body to roughly push you into the counter and your heart drops as you let out a scream in surprise.

The feeling of the cold counter is almost soothing as his deep, nearly robotic, voice meets your ears. “Haven’t seen you around here before… If I take my hand off your mouth, you won’t make me angry and scream for help, right?” He slides the knife along your neck, nicking the skin there slightly as a warning.

Your lack of a response makes him chuckle and he traces the tip of the knife along your cheek, “It’s not like anybody will hear you anyway, but I wouldn’t want this pretty face to get hurt. So what do you say?” You nod as best as you can in this position and let out a quiet sob when his palm releases your face.

“P-Please…Don’t kill me.” Your plea comes out in a quiet whisper, hoping the hushed voice won’t upset your attacker. If it does, he doesn’t let it be seen in the slightest.

“Shhhhh” He tuts at you and rolls his hips forward, rubbing his hard-on against your ass and forcing your hips farther into the countertop. The pinching of your skin between your bone and the marble top makes you hiss in pain, but he ignores you and rubs your hip with his now free hand.

“Let’s play a game~” He doesn’t give you time to respond before he flips you around, wrapping a hand around your neck as he roughly pins you to the counter again.

You’re finally met with his face- or what would be his face, but is instead a long, white ghost mask that would be comical if you didn’t notice the feeling of a drop of blood running down your neck from where he nicked you.

“I’m a little stressed out, so I’m gonna fuck this sweet cunt of yours. If you play nice, I’ll let you live. But if you act like a bitch, I'll kill you!”

The joyful tone in his voice causes your skin to crawl and you let out a quiet sob of fear at the deadly ultimatum. Your choices are quite slim, and you can’t deny the ache that’s starting between your legs, so you don’t take long to nod in agreement.

“Mmmm… Smart girl. Let’s get this off of you then, yeah?” He tugs at your pajama shorts and finally moves the knife off your skin, giving you just enough leeway to move around and pull your shorts down. Once they’re far enough down your legs to drop to your ankles on their own, the unknown man behind you spins you around and immediately pulls your shirt up and over your head.

He sighs almost dreamily against the mask and you watch his head tilt down as he takes in your naked torso. You can feel his stare on you for a while longer until his head tilts further and he’s met with the sight of your pretty panties- the ones that are keeping him from his “prize.”

He curses under his breath and snakes his empty hand to the back of your neck. He grasps you tightly and uses his grip there to lead you to the huge windows, pushing you against them roughly.

“What a pretty piece of ass you got here, baby.” The hand on your neck moves down in favor of grabbing a handful of your ass cheek, landing a teasing slap there as he finishes his sentences. “Might have to go home with you- make you my little pet.” You moan both at the implication of him following you home as well as the delicious sting on your ass.

The masked man chuckles darkly and lands a harsher slap on your other ass cheek. “Call me crazy but I think you like that idea. Hmmmm? Wanna be my little kitty- my little toy for me to fuck whenever I feel like it?” You were starting to get too comfortable, and he seems to realize it. So he brings you back right to where he wants you by sliding his free hand around to your tummy. 

The occupied hand runs the sharp side of the knife around your back, leaving shallow lines that you can’t quite make out. But none of that matters. Not when he’s sliding his hand into your panties, rubbing his gloved fingertip through your soaked folds.

You’re almost thankful that he can’t tell through the gloves, but the stinging pain of the knife almost carving into your skin is diverting your attention from the rough circles on your clit. Thankfully, though, he finishes his “design” faster than you thought he would.

The feeling of a thick finger entering you grabs your attention, making you moan loudly and buck your hips against his hand. A muffled laugh is heard through the mask and his voice is husky as he speaks again, “Gonna be good for me and let me fuck this pretty pussy now, yeah?”

You don't respond right away and he pulls his finger out of you, pinching your clit meanly. “I asked you a question.” His partially wet glove comes down harshly on your ass and leaves a red mark in its wake.

You let out a squeak at the pain and apologize profusely before responding to him. “Y-Yes!”

“Good girl. You almost lost the game there, baby.” He laughs to himself and you watch in the reflection of the glass as he brings the knife down between your thighs. Part of you is horrified at what he might try, and the other part is rather aroused at the possibilities that run through your head.

But he shuts them all down when he slides the dull side against your thigh and leads it to your underwear. He runs his hand along your spine and leans you forward, pushing your ass out for him as the knife dips into your underwear- dull side up.

With this he slices downwards in one swoop, slicing your panties and causing you to gasp in surprise. You can almost hear the smile on his face as he shushes you and slices one of the sides next.

Your arms shake as they rest against the cold glass of the window and you sit there helplessly as he rids you of the ruined fabric. Once you’re left completely bare, he whistles in satisfaction and leans back.

His hand squeezes your ass cheek appreciatively as the hand with the knife rests at your hip, itching to touch you as well but knowing better than to let his guard down so easily. No matter how well-behaved you've been for him so far.

“Such a pretty thing. I really should keep you to myself.” He hums and bites down on your ear. You hear the knife get tossed beside you onto the wood floor before one of his hands slides into your hair, tangling with the strands there and tugging your neck backward. 

All of a sudden the sound of metal hitting wood meets your ears and you see the knife lying on the floor, a couple of feet from where you two stand. Then his hands are removed from you for mere seconds as he hooks his thumbs into his pants and pushes down, hurriedly shoving his boxers down alongside his jeans.

The sound of his jeans hitting the floor makes your thighs clench and he takes notice immediately. He coos from behind you and you can almost hear the smile on his face through the mask as he slides himself through your folds a few times, teasing you and testing how far gone he’s got you.

Your desperate grinding gives him the only answer he needs and he finally pushes in, groaning at the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him.

“Shit… You feel so good.” The cool plastic of the ghost mask meets your shoulder as he lays his forehead down against it.

You can’t hold back the whine that builds in the back of your throat and your nails scratch into the glass as much as they physically can as he starts to move already.

“P-Please…” You’re not so sure what you’re asking for. Maybe it was mercy. Or maybe, just maybe, all those months of research about some local town's serial killer were finally paying off.

But who needs to know that? The man behind you is completely oblivious as he pulls his hips back just to drive them back into you. You barely remember it yourself from the way his tip, thick and pulsing, rams into your G-spot.

So much so that you can feel your orgasm sneaking up so much sooner than it usually would. It eventually wracks through your body like a train as the hand in your hair tightens, holding you close to him as he slows his hips to a slow grind.

“Fffuck.. Tight little cunt, baby. But I’m not done just yet.” He picks up his pace once more and uses his free hand to caress your hips, squeezing the flesh there appreciatively before landing a slap against the same area.

He soothes it with another rub, though short-lived before his hand finds its home on your ass cheek. There he lands a series of slaps paired with his muffled moans as you clench around him incessantly.

The hand in your hair finally releases its grip only to find another on the back of your throat again. He uses this one to hold you in place, keeping your cheek pressed flush against the window as he fucks into you with no care.

He continues to use you like his personal fleshlight as he grunts behind you, legs shaking from his oncoming release. The same release that is left deep in your walls, swimming around before dripping out onto your abused folds.

You both moan in unison as you cum around him again, whining at the sharp thrusts that were meant to fuck his seed further into you.

He finally pulls out once your cunt is done milking him and he pulls out a phone from his jeans, snapping a quick photo with flash on before laughing to himself behind his mask.

While he’s occupied with his delusions, you decide it’s time to make your move. 

You push his chest lightly and watch as he collapses onto the couch, head tilted up at you in amusement while his arms settle on the back cushions.

“Yeah?” His voice is deep and breathy, it goes straight between your thighs and you almost moan at simply hearing him like that as well as the confident stance he’s taken. But you have a mission on your mind.

One that includes rushing to pick up the knife from the floor and not giving him a chance to respond before you’re straddling his thick thighs and pressing the knife to his throat.

His arms stay in place on the cushions and he huffs out a laugh in pure amusement, waiting patiently for you to make your next move.

What he didn’t expect was the grinding of your now leaking cunt on his now hardening cock. He moans lowly at the feeling and goes to rest a hand on your hip, only to be met with your hand slapping it away and the other digging the knife into the skin of his neck. Karma.

“I won your game fair and square. So let’s play my game.” Your hand reaches up under the mask and tears it off his face. 

He’s not sure why a potential survivor seeing his face doesn’t worry him. But when his tip catches onto your clit and you hold the knife steady against his neck, he thinks he’s just fallen in love.

Taglists: (red=can't be tagged)

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @bubblerizz

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess

@dreamingaboutjisung @everythingboutkpop @velvetmoonlght

[darlingdaisyfarm]

What do u think dad!Ford would be like? 🥹

☆彡 Ford Pines as a dad :)

★ his past haunts him. Ford is hyper-aware of his own mistakes and he’s terrified of repeating them. if he gets snappy or distant, he always circles back to apologise to his kid. “i didn’t mean to upset you. im still learning how to be better at this.”

★ academic expectations aren’t a thing for him. Ford understands the pressure of being “the smart one” better than anyone, so he refuses to let his kid feel the same weight. they could be an artist, a gardener, or a professional bubble blower, he’ll support them 100%

★ awkward, deeply earnest. he’s the dad who gives his kid a PowerPoint presentation on how much he loves them or offers comfort by saying things like: “i believe your emotional pain is valid and deserves acknowledgment.” but he’ll also stay up all night building a model of the andromeda galaxy for their science fair because he wants them to feel supported

★ he loves teaching them. not in a pushy way, but because it brings him joy to share what he knows

★ he's willing to explain the same thing 20 times if they don’t understand it or sit through the same annoying kids’ movie on repeat because it makes them happy

★ paranoid protector. if you think Stan is overprotective, Ford is worse. he teaches his kid how to build a Faraday cage just in case someone tries to control their brainwaves

★ PROUD NERD DAD. he’s that parent. the one who builds overly complicated science projects for the school fair or accidentally intimidates the teacher by asking if the curriculum includes quantum mechanics

★ Ford has seen things. he’s fought interdimensional monsters and battled with Bill Cipher, so yeah, he’s terrified of his kid getting hurt.

“you can’t go to that sleepover. what if it’s a trap set by extradimensional entities?!”

“dad, it’s just Timmy’s house.”

“just Timmy’s house, you say? that’s exactly what Bill would want me to think!”

★ he gives his kid tracking devices disguised as bracelets and builds a mini forcefield generator for their room. It’s a lot, but it all boils down to one thing: he’s terrified of losing them, like he almost lost Stan

★ notes on the fridge with text “out of milk. also, don’t touch the glowing rock in the lab, it might be sentient.”

★ Ford doesn’t always know how to express affection, but he’s so proud of his kid. hes the guy clapping too loud at the school play, or awkwardly trying to high-six after a good report card

★ i have a feeling he'll insist on preparing the kid for every possible situation, from wilderness survival to escaping an alternate dimension. he turns a simple camping trip into an intense survivalist training session.

“so you see this? this is how you create a makeshift compass using only a magnet and some swamp water. now, repeat it back to me.”

“Dad, can we just roast marshmallows?”

★ Ford knows he’s made some very questionable choices in life. and he’s determined to steer his kid away from making the same mistakes. but he also knows that life isn’t meant to be lived in fear. so he tries to let his kid explore and make their own mistakes, even if it kills him to watch

★ he does these impressions of weird creatures he’s studied to make the kid laugh or making up ridiculous bedtime stories about interdimensional adventures

★ being genuinely interested in whatever the kid loves. they mention liking stars? he’s pulling out telescopes and teaching them how to navigate by constellations. they doodle in a notebook? he’s buying them every art supply and researching the history of visual storytelling

★ if the kid needs help with a project, he’ll spend hours (or days) going overboard. you’ll find him at 2 AM in his study, hunched over a model volcano, muttering about optimizing the lava flow

★ casually mentions his interdimensional adventures at dinner and the kid eats it up because, let’s face it, having a dad who’s basically Indiana Jones with extra trauma is awesome

★ he’s terrified of being a bad father, of not being enough, and that fear can make him distant at times. he overthinks every decision, convinced he’s going to mess it all up. what if he's too much like his father? what if he pushes his kid too hard? but the thing is, he cares, so much. and his kid knows it, even if Ford’s love is sometimes wrapped up in layers of self-doubt and fear

★ if anyone messes with his kid oh, they’re done. Ford may be a nerd, but he’s also a six-fingered genius who’s survived the multiverse. he’ll calmly dismantle anyone who threatens his family

★ Ford's bedtime stories start off like normal fairy tales, but somehow they end as “and so, the starfish rebuilt its missing limb, but it always remembered the one it lost. and it knew that even though it was whole again, some things leave scars you never see.” you’re sobbing. the kid’s sobbing. Ford’s eyes are suspiciously glassy as he kisses them on the forehead and mutters something about needing to adjust the humidity in the room.

★ bonus point if he’s reading his kid a bedtime story, he gets way too into it, doing all the voices and even sketching out illustrations

★ Ford may not be that emotional as his brother, except when it comes to his kid. their first stick-figure drawing? framed in his study. their macaroni art project? encased in glass because he’s convinced it’s a modern masterpiece

★ i think Ford is usually the patient parent. but one day, after hours of hearing “why can’t I do this? why am I not good enough?” from his kid, he loses it.

“you think you’re not good enough? do you know what I see when I look at you? i see someone braver than I ever was, smarter than I’ll ever be and kinder than this world deserves. you are my child, my greatest achievement and if I hear you doubt yourself again, so help me, I’ll—” and then he has to stop because both of them are crying and hugging

★ he insists on teaching the kid “important life skills,” but half the time it’s just him geeking out while the kid watches in awe/confusion “okay now, if you ever find yourself trapped in an alternate dimension, here’s how you build a rudimentary portal using only a toaster and three rubber bands.”

“. . . can you teach me how to ride a bike instead?”

“right. yes. of course. bikes.”

★ and he never stops learning. about his kid, about himself, about what it means to be a father. it’s not always easy, but Ford is nothing if not resilient

★ Ford’s idea of a trip is hiking through the woods with a map and an emergency beacon, dragging his kid along while pointing out flora and fauna. “see this plant? highly toxic. don’t touch it.”

★ his passion for research often pulls him away, but he doesn’t want to miss a thing. over time, he learns to put boundaries in place, to walk away from the lab when it’s time for dinner or to prioritize their soccer game over his latest discovery

[appleblueberry-pie]

I just read through all your 42 Miles posts and I am going to explode. I swear, I’m so obsessed he looks shy in comparison. On that note, what if the reader finds out about his yandere behavior…and is perfectly fine with it. Maybe they even encourage it, giggling like a schoolgirl when they catch him following them home and giving him extra kisses when he tells them how he killed the guy who flirted with them. Definitely not just describing myself here-

I LIKE IT. JUST A LITTLE BIT<3

Miles gets greedy when it comes to you. He shouldn't, but he just hates sharing. So, using the tools he has, he gets rid of all possible competition. It's dangerous, it's reckless, and it's not smart to do, but you make him do stupid, dangerous and reckless things. Can you blame him? You're everything he's ever asked for in a girl.

So sweet to him, giving him all of your attention whenever you can. Texting him often, reciprocating his energy and letting him give the love and energy he feels you deserve. And you deserve every drop of his energy.

But sometimes, he takes it too far. He's been mean-mugging everyone lately. His friends don't like him as much because they say he's been paranoid over 'some random bitch he be talkin to'. And he doesn't let things like talking behind his back, or yours, be taken lightly. Which is why they don't talk to him the next day, or the day after that.

And it's also why people don't talk to you anymore either. Or any of your male friends. Or your girl friends.....he drove them all away. Every time someone sees you, he's not too far behind. And you don't do a damn thing about it. Which causes rumors to spread, but they die as quickly as they fire up. Because he always finds the source before shit goes south. Still, you don't do a damn thing about it.

You don't necessarily encourage him to do it, but he always gets the same amount of love from you whether he gives hell to everyone else or not. So, he keeps doing it. If he wants all of you, he's going to have all of you.

If someone asks about you in a crooked tone, he gets iffy about it, and now they scared. If someone mentions your name, their feeling that sharp stare on the back of their neck, telling them to let their tongue slip one more time. Everyone's getting the hint and he'll make sure of it.

You always smile looking back at him when he follows you in the hallways or when he's following you home.

You let him give you overly-obsessive notes in your locker. You let him like all of your stories, all of your posts. You let him stalk every single one of your socials and even the ones no one is supposed to know abut. You let him blow up your phone.

When he finally has the courage to talk to your face, you two have been by each other's side like glue. You let him whisper in your ear when he doesn't want a damn soul to hear what you guys are talking about. You let him buy you lunch every day. He always holds your hand tight as shit when walking you to class. He can be a little late. He does almost everything for you. He's real good at helping you with homework(and getting rid of niggas that bother you), and it makes your stress load so much lighter.

He's such good boyfriend material.

[assaultmystic-archive]

ive shared this essay on tranmisogyny and nihilism with a few friends, and then realised u might as well all have it. circa 3k words. enjoy x

Apology

The complete and systematic account of transmisogyny is, of necessity, a hopeless exercise. Abjection is the mother of the totality after all. We are talking about the constitutive incompleteness of the world, the necessary impotence, the weeping lacuna of artifice that begets all things! If we theorised the whole world, we would not speak of transmisogyny once, because it is a condition on the possibility of theory, and so must be forever excepted

So, what little that follows is a betrayal. Partial by design (to let the light in) and necessity (I am tired. I am weak.), it is a betrayal nonetheless. Nothing could fail to be. So let's be honest. To theorise transmisogyny in full would be to draw borders around its extent and its diffusion. To theorise transmisogyny in full would be to construct and fortify its privileged subject -who is and is not transmisogynised. To theorise transmisogyny in full would be to tell "the transmisogynised" what to do about it. I don't want to do any of these things, and I will fail. There is no conversational path into discussion of what's possible that does not foreclose some options. We, the disinherited, conduct our peculiar miracle by fleeing down paths others cannot even see. So, take what you like and laugh when I give away my limits. Have fun.

Preliminaries

All of this is play, everything is. Nothing really matters. The real, in fact, is a mesh of overlapping consensuses that have been built not merely incidentally, but structurally, on our expulsion. There is no serious, real, or proper way to be a tranny. In fact, it remains integral to the notion of consensus as such, and reality by extension, that we are delusional in our self-articulation, paranoid in our recognisance of our exclusion, and dangerous at the point at which we express any of this. We are thus freed to recognise everything as play, for though those involved in playing out the real have their stakes in us (though they are loathe to admit it) we are disbarred from ever really holding stakes in the real. Because that's what real means.

The enshrinement of this exclusion as unreal is both necessary for the sustaining of the real as really important, but is also absolutely critical to facilitating the social character of transmisogynisation. All affordances granted to us allow us to play, however temporarily, at admission to reality. Those on the inside know we ought to be grateful for this mercy. It is particularly advisable for those who would like more sway over consensus (those who do not see themselves as having that sway already) to let us play inside sometimes. We get cold out here. Some of us get so cold we become frozen, we forget we are playing, we become unable to move, so keen on coming in that we harden into fixed things, like those inside are. But we will know no benefit for it. Even if they wanted to, they could offer us no rewards. Whether they know it or not, it is just a game.

Each magic circle that defines with its border the games of the real is drawn in our blood. Each empire and every banner they flew. Every flag. Every cause. All of it, all of it had its stakes in us. All had to eject us. We were understood to stand for nothing. For annihilation, for nullification, for endings. The family line ends here. The revolutionary project will see no children. In fact, there only was a "we" insofar as we were taken to stand for nothing. We are unified in that we are constituted by resistance to that which ejects us from the social, every social. We are unified in this alone. The trappings of inheritance, family, reproduction, legacy, futurity. What world that is, or was, or is being built could truly love the tranny? At best they'll have us die in the shadow so that their gleaming future would shine more brightly for contrast. No. We have each other. There never was a world for us, because wherever a future was believed in we threatened it in our nihilising impotence. This keeps us vital. Keeps us dangerous. Keeps us laughing.

Strategy, or, how to play

We have no interest in talking about identity independent of conversations about strategy. The way we constitute ourselves is conversationally liquid. To rebuke a tranny for their identificatory strategy is to reproduce transmisogyny, to think you know what living her circumstances might take better than she does. We call ourselves what we need to to survive the imposition of gender upon us. Recalling our movements through the social this becomes trivially obvious. Confronted each with your boss, your local tboy callout artisan, the police, a John, your mother, your ex, the gender clinic, who wouldn't call herself what she did only as an attempt to get what she wanted? When we meet others like us then, we cannot presume they know that we would love them whatever they called themselves. They might see a cop in front of them, might see a John, might worry this'll come back around - the local scene might shun a girl for calling herself a crossdresser, even as a joke (let alone for 'real'). So can they trust you? Do you intend to make that clear? But between us, once we know we are among friends, identification is about options, about imaginative flight, about the proliferation of lifeworlds bleeding from the critical harm done to us. Because what could we stand to gain by insisting that girls cannot be faggots? That boys cannot be trannies? Every should've-been-man of us has run, by herself, the labyrinthine complex of gender as domestication. Are you going to begrudge him calling himself a sissy now, after a lifetime of living in the word's shadow? Get over it! You are being invited to play, to walk through walls! Fool that you are, you cannot see the smile on the face of the trannies you claim to love while they call themselves the things you promised yourself it was really unacceptable to be. You have lost sight of the game, and now you come back to your sisters and you ask them to sober up, to get real. After all, we have cisgenders to convince, don't you know? Real people. Why, if they heard you talking like that we'd all befucked! But they are not here. Or at least, they were not here until you started doing their work for them.

There is after all, no real identity. Or, rather, the claim to a real identity is one move among others, and holds no special weight. It is special only in that it invokes the game of the real, the inside of the magic circle, to push others out. This can be great when you are having sex and a tranny tells you that you're not a real woman like her and that you should [do what she wants] about it. Otherwise it's quite fucking boring. If it happens that the world has fallen at your feet in such a way that you find labels more personal to you, that is, they feel like more than social tools for communicating how you would like to occur to others in the world, we're glad for you. Just don't expect us to feel the same. There is nothing we really are underneath this, in fact there is no need for an underneath. What good has the legitimate, the true, the valid done for any of us?

Transmisogynisation, or, how to draw a circle

A popular school of thought sees transfemininity as intentionally performed through a succession of discrete speech acts through which one establishes a relationship with womanhood while cAMAB. More simply - we identify as trans women, or as transfeminine, and so become subject to transmisogyny. This is a hangover from a history of "born this way" queer sloganeering. That we must always have been settled on the inside, and our targetting is a matter of some transfeminine essence. It's bullshit, which is no problem, but the trouble is that it's bullshit with extremely low explanatory power.

More to the point, transmisogynisation describes a matrix of concrete social and institutional processes, through which cAMAB people may become (forcibly) disidentified with masculinity, and become a part of the gendered abject. What the prevailing model correctly understands, is that some of these transmisogynising processes can be willingly submitted to. We might choose self identification as trans woman or other locally prevailing transfemininity, working “as a woman��, engagement with legal or medical apparatus of gender. However, none of these social affordances (that are deployed by social institutions to effect the circumscription of transfemininity) are free from the potential for coercion. If we want access to any of the processes described we experience pressure to present a legible transfeminine gender identity. If you do not call yourself by the terms of the locally prevailing models of transfemininity your access to social, legal or medical affordances is immediately threatened. There is immediately a pressure to be a certain kind of tranny - the institutionally respectable kind, and this pressure weighs on our self descriptions whether we know it or not. Identity, then, is always already under pressure. What would I have called myself, if I had never had to call myself anything for the sake of estrogen, or for a job, or for community? I will never know. Neither will you. What the position outlined fails to account for at all, is that many processes of transfeminisation are straightforwardly coercive, have no choice element because they are inductive abuse. We did not choose our subjection to social practices of violent harassment and exclusion based on perceived difference, for example. Did not choose to be called faggots, sissies, or retards because of the position we were being forced into of not-a-real-man. Did not choose the rape, the beating, the manipulation that othered us from manhood, carried out in sacred silent complicity over a whole lifetime. Every cis woman ex who forced you into a feminised position of permanent care is in cahoots with your dad who hit you is in cahoots with the tboys you gave a bad vibe are in cahoots with the boys in your high school changing room are in cahoots with your rapists. There was, in fact, a conspiracy to forcibly feminise you. It just wasn't glamorous, sexy, or conscious. It doesn't make sense to speak of our transmisogynisation, then, as a matter of our personal identity so much as it does of our being identified. Target lock, y'know? Maybe something gave you away, maybe it didn't. But identifying a boy who's never gonna make it is socially critical, and you were picked. Picked so other boys could differentiate themselves from you, so girls could have you and know you weren't like other boys - they could hurt you and get away with it. So your ejection from your family could be justified. Even if none of them ever once called you a tranny, they were making one of you.

All this to say, the representational force of specific visions of transfeminity cannot be substitute for solidarity along the lines of that we are transmisogynised. Personal identification, pronouns, these things are secondary - and are no substitute for attending to the specifics of our oppression. We can call ourselves what we want, but falling behind the banner of a fixed identity category just limits our solidarity, makes us rigid, makes us easier to kill.

Theory, or, giving the game away

Transmisogyny is itself transmisogynised. Like us, our oppression is always novel, always ready finallyfor a good welcoming into the fold, always unmapped, always a great way to sell a book. Yours could be the first real, definitive, proper text on transmisogyny! Imagine! Over the past decade alone (say nothing of techniques perfected in milennia gone), round after round of coordinated harassment campaign and social media clean up have left us with a legacy of articulating ourselves over and over, hashing out the same points for each new spawning. A neotenised theory, in a forced state of arrested development. Our place in history continues to be the damnatio memoriae.

The kinds of theorisation that tend to stick around share a basic structure - they are outreach oriented, interested in engaging with a "broader" feminist or queer or historical or marxist tradition. Of course the subsumption of transmisogyny as a mere articulation, a phenomena within this or that more important, more material, more real tendency follows.Theory looks to place transmisogyny on terms that others might recognise, fixing some points of reference in order to reach a presumed shared audience. The trouble of course is that now you are looking to share points of reference, an audience, with a cisfeminist, a twerf, a "transandrophobia" spewing tboy. You might tell yourself that this is only in order that you might convince the undecided, to win new people round, so they see the natural integration of the theorisation of transmisogyny into your school of thinking.

These institutionalising desires exact costs. Foremost amongst which is the need to identify a positive transfeminine subject. The identification of this subject (presently, the sID'd transgender woman) ensures that the framework shares identifiable points of reference with rival theories of gender that emerge within hegemony, in order to more legibly engage with them. Put more simply, it makes it easier to argue with the tmra, the cisfeminist, the twerf, if everybody arguing presumes themselves to already know what we’re talking about, but to just differ in attitude. Whether she's valid, whether she's more or less privileged, whether she's really a woman. Such fun!This is the process of theorisation as marketisation - an audience after all is just a cipher for a market. All debate is in fact spectacle, safely ensconced within its academic home. Irrecognisance is complicity.

By entering into the bloodsport of theory we can endlessly defer the practicalities of articulating relations between the transmisogynised that are aware of the endless hatred the real holds for us, and avoid responding to that weaponised reality lucidly. We can foreclose the conversation about what we do, so that we can settle, once and for all who we are. Of course, whoever finds themselves on the outside of our shining new identity (once we've settled it - won't take long) will perhaps lack our enthusiasm for whatever solidarity we seek to build without them after the fact.

I'll concede that I only speak in these terms (not my own) because you are my kin, and I want to reach you. I am a hypocrite. I made my apology already. I believe in you more than I ever believed in anything real, so I'm going to let you make a hypocrite of me.

For the road, or, from the sickbed

I am tired now, and quite sick. I caught what might be the flu, or might be covid the other day. Things occur to me through a thicker haze than usual. So I am going to be presumptive and pass on some things I have learned talking with my friends, as though you’ve any need.

Pay attention to the way that transmisogynisation picks at and worries received views of agency. When girls tell you that their transness is something they affirmed, they are of course right. The same girls are also right when they talk about how this was done to them. Histories are mobile, histories are strategic. Stories we tell about ourselves are social technologies. We never have to be one thing, never have to resolve (scorn anyone who tells you otherwise), we exist with contradictions of coercion and choice. We have to. What does this mean for the possibility of the transmisogynised historical “subject”? What might we have to say about the necessary diffusion of subjectivity experienced by many like us- what kinds of politics is it incompatible with?

Pay attention to the lines along which people draw their politics. What kind of insults do they use? They are telling you who is other to them. They are telling you who they do not feel they need to answer to, and so in whom the stakes of their real will be placed, alongside you. If they speak of lazy stoners wasting their time in queer organisation instead of joining this or that political project - in my opinion, they have told you more than enough. Anarchist or otherwise. These are the lines that need to be drawn so that a politics can be defined. Those who speak this way, our kin not least, hurt themselves. They do this for a cause.

Kindness is never, ever, called for. Will never be called for. It is not politically substantial. People will tell you that kindness is radical and they are wrong. People will tell you that kindness is no part of a coherent politics - not something you ever owe and they are right. You need never be kind. This is because kindness is an excess. Kindness is an inherently unjustified and unjustifiable gesture, an overabundance of care that no politics invested in its own reproduction could ask for. When you meet trannies, I would really appreciate it if you could be kind to them.

[zipyolip]

Forcing the 3D: Trying to Make Reality Bend Without Changing Your Mind First

One of my biggest struggles in my reality shifting and manifesting journey was forcing the 3D. Before I truly understood the concepts and the Law of Assumption, this was genuinely the source of a lot of frustration. But after overcoming it, I wanted to share my experience and how I broke through it. Hopefully, this helps anyone who's going through the same thing!

Let’s cut to the chase: You can’t change your 3D without changing your 4D. Anything that happens in your 3D happened in your 4D first.

What Does That Mean?

For those of us who aren't fully familiar with dimensions, let me break it down: Anything that happens in your reality first happened in your imagination. You had to change your mind about something before your 3D world could reflect it back to you.

For the longest time, I didn't get this. Instead of working on my internal state, I kept trying to force the 3D—arguing with it, reacting to it, demanding it change first. But that’s not how it works.

How I Forced the 3D (and Why It Didn’t Work)

I remember getting into an argument with someone who was already established in my 3D as an ignorant asshole. Every interaction with them had played out the same way—disrespect, backhanded comments, and zero accountability on their end.

I was fed up. So what did I do? I went straight into battle mode, ready to make them understand how wrong they were. I argued. I called them out. I tried everything to make them see my perspective. And guess what? Nothing changed. They doubled down on their stance, and the argument escalated like it always did.

I kept asking myself, Why is nothing changing? I was putting in the work, right? I was trying to make things different! But I was missing the most important part: I was still seeing them as an ignorant asshole in my 4D.

What Happened When I Changed My Mind First

After the argument, I decided I was done playing that game. I took a step back and stopped engaging with the situation from a place of frustration. Instead, I started affirming:

They need to apologize to me.

I deserve better.

They regret how they treated me, and they want to make it right.

And then… I left it alone. I stopped mentally reinforcing the idea that they were incapable of change. I stopped focusing on the past interactions where they refused to listen.

A few days later, out of nowhere, they came up to me and apologized. No prompting, no argument, no me having to force anything. They just admitted they were wrong and apologized for their behavior.

That’s when it really clicked for me. My reality didn’t change until I changed my mind first. Instead of forcing the 3D by reacting and demanding, I shifted my 4D, and my 3D followed.

My Advice? Don’t Take the 3D Personally.

When I first learned about the Law of Assumption, I became super paranoid. Like, I was analyzing everything—down to the tiniest details. I remember hearing things happening across the world and thinking, "💔 Oh my god, this is all my fault. People are getting hurt in Zimbabwe because I can’t get it together as the creator of my reality."

First of all, no. That's just not true. It’s not your fault, or anyone’s. Yes, I understand that we’re all awareness, and we're in full control of our realities. But at the end of the day, we’re still human beings. I’m just one person out of 8 billion. What am I going to do about Zimbabwe or Trump other than try my best to manifest a reality where that isn’t true?

The Point Is…

When you hear people dissing Trump on the news, don’t think, Damn, they’re dissing me too. Why couldn’t I stop this from happening?

Your 3D is just a reflection of what’s going on in your 4D. Don’t take it personally. If you don’t like it, shift your focus, shift your mind, and shift your reality.

[flowersandmiel]

I've finally met Hunted during his main chapter The Beast (I'd only met him during The Eye of the Needle and the chapters where they're all here) AND OMG I LOVE HIM SM??

Not judging or anything (/gen), but I'd only seen him be characterized in fics with this sort of "overwhelmed and animalistic anxiety" in fics, instead of what I would describe as a "hypervigilant and quick-thinking survival-driven fear" during the Eye of the Needle. And it just kinda confused me bc like, how could he act so different in Eye of needle compared to the Beast and Den?? But that's the thing, he doesn't, the fic just weren't accurate /nm (i still loved those fics btw /gen)

it just reminds me of this post about Paranoid i reposted not long ago about how fandom tends to stick to one character trait of a character and overly exaggerate it to the point it's almost mischaracterizing said character.

and it also reminds me of another character from another fandom who's a bird-like creature too, and they both get mischaracterized in that similar sort of dehumanizing way?

I'm not sure how to explain but i'll try

Basically, It's just so obvious that the author loves the fact that the character is bird-like, that they do not realise that they're kinda 'feti$hising' them??

And like, i've got nothing about letting a half-human half-animal character lean into their animal instincts, but I find it strange how many people do not realise the way they write it is just not believable at all. You can have a character lean into their bird side without having them be dehumanized and infantilized by the narrative. They're not an animal, they're part animal.

Idk, maybe it's because I grew up being dehumanised and infantilised, but if I was part animal/part human, and that i needed to let myself lean into my instincts, I wouldn't take well being treated by my friends as if I'm only an animal???? Or called 'birdie' or shit like that??? Like, i know i don't like pet names in general, but i can't be the only one who find calling a half bird half human character 'birdie' kinda weird?? I'm sure most mean it in a very sweet way btw, but i always think that if i was a half cat half human, and i was called 'catgirl' or 'kitty', i wouldn't take it well lmao?? even as teasing???

Kinda reminds me of how dehumanized and infantilized disabled people are. Having "animalistic behaviors" does not make one less human. idk how else to say it.

I'm not sure I'm making any sense, i've seen nobody talk about this and it makes me feel kinda lonely ngl x,)

I just needed to ramble a bit about it, it's not an "issue" only related to STP btw, which is why im talking about it actually xP it's weird how many fandoms i've seen this phenomenon in. I know many people only create art for fun and simply do not care about believability, and they have every right to do so, but sometimes i think that some people just genuinely do not think about it because nobody talks about it!! I'm only sharing this in hope that I can make authors self-reflect a bit so they can write "better" :)

Just, remember please. You're writing characters with consciousness. They're not animals, they're not birds, they're not just their instincts, they're not just their wings. Even while being chased, Hunted isn't nothing more than his instincts, he's clever, a quick-thinker, observant, worried, has good reflexes, takes risks, his voice is soft, maybe he'd even be delicate if he wasn't being chased! and many others! He's more than his name, than his title, than his instincts. He's not just a prey, he's a Voice, created to help us survive and out of fear of the Princess.

(btw im not using examples i've seen in fics bc i think it'd be rude af to do that.)(i've still mostly enjoyed the fics i've read that had this problems btw <3, i just couldn't get it out of my head and i hate that i see nobody speaking about it so, here i am ig!)

[stilljuststardust]

I fear I'm not practicing the LOA "right" and i'm so anxious. I keep thinking "what if all my persistence is useless because i'm not practicing the LOA right?" I can't tell if I'm truly partaking in imagination or just simply daydreaming. My understanding of the concept of "daydreaming" and "imagination" seems to have no clear distinct difference. Maybe I'm spiralling, but I feel like a fraud and can't seem to have faith in my own abilities. I continue to doubt everything because I wonder "does not feeling fulfilled in imagination mean my 4D has not shifted because I don't understand I have it?"

Is it okay to not feel anything or even feel bad towards your desires but still understand you have it and actually shift realities?

Take a deep breath.

You are going to be ok. There is nothing wrong with you. You are safe. You are stronger than you think. I believe in you. Not feeling anything is OK.

I have a laptop I manifested sitting next to me right now. I didn't feel anything when I was manifesting it and I don't feel like I have it even though it's physically here right now.

Please don't be so mean to yourself. You're going to be ok

Disclaimer: This may be controversial because people have really been shitting on affirmations lately, so let me first say that all methods work. This is just my personal experience. I understand that some of you will disagree with this post, that's OK. Please respect that everyone has their own beliefs.

Emotions don't matter

I normally put links at the end but you should really read this: it's ok to feel like shit

I know you're very stressed out, I am also a very anxious person. Please know that hurting deeply doesn't mean you can't manifest.

Feeling is not what manifests. For a long time I ran in circles because I was trying to force my emotions to conform.

I am a very anxious person sometimes bordering on paranoid. If my reality was solely dependent on what I felt like was happening a girl with long hair would be crawling out of my TV right now.

The truth is emotions are fickle. Trying to force an extremely positive emotional state will most likely just make you hurt more.

Often the most painful part of suffering is our constant attempt to suppress it instead of processing the emotion.

We are not our feelings. We are often subject to dramatic and irrational emotional states that don't reflect our actual thoughts and opinions.

"I feel awful and I don't like how often I'm feeling it" often leads us into thinking "nothing is ever going to work for me", but it's important to ground ourselves and realize that feeling like shit is not divine undeniable proof that it isn't going to work.

So what does manifest?

Your dominant thoughts and mental state.

The thoughts you repeat over and over and over. Your subconscious listens to everything you tell it and it takes you at face value every single time. If you repeat something to your subconscious it will push that experience into your reality.

You ARE manifesting, just not what you want.

I'm guessing your most common thoughts right now sound something like this:

"why isn't it working" "what am I doing wrong" "why can't I get this right"

THAT is what is manifesting right now.

It's not about feeling like you have it, it's about thinking thoughts that imply you do.

So what's the whole deal with the 4D 3D thing? Those are just buzzwords that mean your internal and external world. Your internal world manifests. What part of your internal world is constant? Your thoughts. You may not be visualizing or mediating all day but you ARE thinking all day every single day. (visualization and mediation still do work, I'm not discrediting those methods. Your mental images are still thoughts)

What now? (What I think you should do)

I want you to try robotic affirmations. There is literally no way to do them wrong. They don't require feeling or belief. its ok if repeating them feels wrong.

This is all you have to do:

All of your thoughts and words are affirmations so don't affirm against your desire. I know these are often very very habitual. That's ok, you just need to break the habit. Flip the thought or start affirming.

Repeat thoughts that imply it has manifested. It's best if it's in your own words. What would you say if it his happened? Now repeat that sentence whenever possible. Whenever you are doing something that is boring like a chore or showering instead of letting your mind water repeat your affirmation.

Don't try to feel it or imagine it, just repeat the sentence. That's why they're called robotic. There's nothing else to do but repeat them. Hopefully this gives you less to worry about.

LINKSSSS:

How to break a thought pattern

Affirm and persist

Do I have to believe?

Robotic affirmations

Please please please watch this.

[weemietime]

There isn't a whole lot of content on Tumblr about schizoid personality disorder so I thought I would make a little informational post. SZPD is a cluster A personality disorder, of the odd/eccentric cluster alongside schizotypal and paranoid. It is on the schizophrenia spectrum, and comprises the negative rather than positive symptoms of schizophrenia.

This primarily means we have avolition, catatonia, flat/blunted affect (demeanor), limited interoception (emotional sensations), lack of bonds to others including primary family members, and indifference to the opinions of others.

Whilst this isn't a diagnostic criteria, many of us are also asexual and aromantic, meaning we don't want to have sex with other humans (but usually do masturbate) and have no interest in romantic companionship.

My most disabling symptom is avolition, because I have comorbid ADHD. This means when I don't have my medication (dextromethorphan 120mg) I just sit there and zone out and can't even hold a conversation or move my body, nor even do things like feed myself. It is genuinely crippling and I am unemployed because of this, even though my meds help, they don't cure me and I need a lot of time alone.

Schizoid is something of an "anti-human" disorder, because we fail to form basic social bonds with others including primary caregivers. As a child I got diagnosed with inhibited RAD because I could not tolerate human contact. This differs from autism because autistic people generally want to socialize, they just lack the skills. I don't want to socialize and it takes tremendous effort for me to do so.

To even make this post I had to wait for my meds to click in as I was just sitting there mindlessly beforehand. While we have low internal sensations of emotions like caring, love, happiness, trust, sadness, etc. we aren't typically antisocial/dissocial and don't have a pattern of exploiting others or dishonesty. This requires too much effort.

There is a schizoid version of narcissism but it is separate to narcissistic personality disorder. NPD is characterized by a very fragile ego. You can't contradict or disagree with NPD because they are unable to regulate the emotions caused by conflict. Conversely, SZPD does not care about the opinions of others at all and places little value on them.

Our sense of superiority is legitimate, meaning we just do genuinely believe we are smarter than other people. So your mileage may vary on how insufferable you find that. I recognize this trait in myself and work to actively challenge it since it is illogical for me to think I am more special than anyone else. But, my ego is very stable, so criticism doesn't bother me the way it would in NPD.

Interoception means the sensations you feel inside your body. We lack this, so even stuff like hunger and tiredness don't impact us until we are very hungry or extremely exhausted. I don't have the feeling you would to look at a family member and get a sense of love or trust. I have a logical sense of obligation that I developed through choosing what I value based on reason. I describe this as care, and I place importance on my friendships, but there is no emotional component to this, it is all cognitive.

Tangentially: I'm somewhat of an optimistic nihilist, believing that there is no grand purpose to existence. Yes, even as a religious person. I don't think G-d ultimately has a purpose either, as an agent of the universe. (I don't believe G-d created the universe.) We have a human nervous system, so we base our rubric for morality on suffering and decide what is meaningful both collectively and individually.

I don't believe in true freedom of will (but I do believe we have agency), because we know that Bereitschaftspotential or reaction potentials occur in the brain up to two seconds before we become conscious of a volitional desire. Our consciousness occurs because of quantum synchronicity in the brain, so our free will is in a bit of an in-between state rather than fully determined or fully free.

So, we are not born deciding "I'm going to be an abuser," that happens because of brain abnormalities. It's no different than the forces of creation and destruction at work like a virus infecting a host cell. I don't place much importance on concepts of self-hood, I view myself as the electrical and chemical processes that occur in my brain, which happen without my choosing, that I can influence and impact through my own agency.

Anyway, these are just some basic schizoid meanderings for you all and I hope that this was informative or interesting in some way. Peace.

[lovckett]

someone dent my head in pls i cant stop thinking about vampire tfone orion except he doesn't know he's a vampire i cant stop WONT STOP CANT STOP WONT STOP UAAAGHHGHHGHHGHHHH

yes writing these are ok . credit is nonmandatory but it'd be pretty neat to have it

TFONE 5 times orion pax looked stupid without context and one time everyone sees his plan in full action and realizes Oh he's kinda smart he just LOOKS stupid

TFP twisted beauty and the beast au . sacrificial lamb orion who's gifted to megatronus either for killing or eating but orion is Not willing to take that shit and keeps plotting to escape in the most unconventional ways . megatronus is trying and failing to explain that No he does Not eat the sacrifices and please get down from the chandelier he doesn't want orion hurt himself and spilled energon is really hard to clean from the carpet . they get along eventually with literature .

TFONE Whatever Job Isn't Really That Bad Until The One Person You Absolutely Do NOT Want Finding Out Finds Out Not Because It's Illegal But It's Really Kinda Embarrassing orion . he picked up the gig because he realized dee was willingly taking punishments by darkwing meant for him and he's given less and less energon rations each day so orion agrees to work for as long as he needs to . many repercussions like drowsiness and dee growing more and more concerned because Why is pax so tired and is pax giving me Extra energon ???? is he starving ??????

TFONE secret orion job but it Definitely Is Very illegal . he sells crack ( synthesized energon ......... hi tfp ratchet ) . orion needing to come up with the weirdest lies to save his aft .

TFONE/TFP orion finds a sparkling and decides You Know What I Can Totally Handle This . suspicious d-16/megatronus until the eventual Oh Shit Got Caught . humorous misunderstandings (" where is the sire?! does he not have the grace to even stay by your side ?!!!? ") (" oh my god you got sparked up???!? pax????? i thought— how didn't i— when?????? ") . no the sparkling isn't b-127 that is a grown man with huge balls .

TFONE orion misusing a word and the aftermath dragging out longer than it should've been .

TFP optimus x MTMTE lost light . after optimus jumps into the well of allspark he appears in the shadow zone with soundwave . theyre very wary and by soundwave's pov especially hateful but learn to get along . lost light suddenly appears to pick them up . i don't know enough about lost light to add anything but it'd be cool to see them both progress . someone give me fics to read pls anything

TFONE orion pax gets cybertronian equivalents to piercings and tattoos . or he USED to wear piercings and he now hides his tattoos . i dunno i just want to see d-16 jaw drop because What What Do You Mean Orion Pax Has Tattoos Excuse Me Did I Hear You Right Hello Repeat That Again Where Even Are They I Need To Know .

TFP extremely ticklish orion pax . except it's the kind of ticklish where megatronus keeps poking him and he slowly descends to the ground clutching himself each time and it happens so much that he grows paranoid of being tickled again so he goes to drastic measures to get Away from those horrifying servos . he somehow ends up on top of one of the archival shelves and can't get down . (" come now, little archivist, i swear on my servo that you will not be deceived! ") ("YOU CANNOT FOOL ME MEGATRONUS. YOUR SERVO WAS ON MY FRAME JUST MOMENTS AGO . I THINK I AM INCLINED NOT TO TRUST YOUR SERVO . ")

TFONE d-16 convinced that orion pax is doing something suspicious and each time he stumbles on orion it's either seemingly incriminating or seemingly innocent .

TFONE orion being a secret fanboy . he laughs at d-16 for his very open admiration toward megatronus but he's so much worse than d-16. he hoards pictures and figurines and posters and drawings of prima prime . he has a body pillow . he knows he can't hide it forever but the secret he will keep to the grave is that he's written fanfiction of him . he is either found out by dee stumbling on his collection of things or orion immediately getting into an argument with someone that hates prima .

TFONE miners knowing about the cybertronian equivalent to birthdays and orion having zero clue what that is . dee asks him when his birthday is and orion's reaction is that he sort of has this slightly horrified look because he has this extremely misconstrued idea of what's birthday sounds like it would be. Um . Dee , What The Frag Is a Birth Day . Is It like When You— vague motion OR he nods very stiltedly and roblox man face smiles and is like Ah Yes the Birthday the Birthday For me Hm yes that's i ah uh haven't decided yet !

[maudie-duan]

Series Summary: For nearly two years, Harry has been fighting to keep his relationship with Olivia afloat. At what point does he make the choice to either endure or let the strain of the world defeat his ambitious hopes of a lasting relationship? Or will a single night and a fleeting encounter be enough to change the projection of Harry’s path? Maybe our ‘Mystery Girl,’ Shiloh, will happen to be in the right place at the right time. 

Word Count: 2K

Warning: SLOW-BURNER, Strong language, minor angst, eventual smut, emotional.

I don’t usually think of how my relationships will end, but I’ve been thinking about our ending. The consequence of our beginning has been looming over our heads as if it were a pleading prayer whispered into the night.

When “I love you” no longer sufficed to fill the emptiness that stretched between us, and how fickle we were. Desperate as we continued seeking tiny moments, anxious to close the gap—A revolving door of new faces and places where we lay tucked away, pressing our bodies together like puzzle pieces, hoping that one day they would fit together.

Indefinitely.

But I’m still waiting.

Surely, we knew this wasn’t going to work, right? From the beginning, we’ve been on two different parallels, trying to make this work, trying to force a path through murky water when neither one of us knew when or how the tide would roll in—and here I am, miserable out of my fucking mind. In a shit headspace just waiting for this evening to end because there’s nothing worse than getting into a massive blowout right before an event. I can’t figure out what’s worse, the fight or the forced niceties. The last place I wanted to be was in public, but this is my life.

Olivia was on about something—actually, I don’t even remember what the fight was about this time, and that’s what it’s been lately. These bullshit fights about petty, senseless matters that take more energy to create than they do to fix. It’s just that she’s gotten so jealous and paranoid that I’m growing distant, Olivia thinks she’s the only one fighting to be in this relationship, and maybe she’s right.

—Side note: Before tonight, I really hadn’t been interested in anyone. Honest to god, I was truly in this wholeheartedly.

Anyone who knows me knows I’m constantly in the public eye, even if I think I’m lying low. There’s always a chance that someone will recognize me. The chances of someone taking a picture are even greater because everyone needs proof, or it didn’t happen, right? I personally don’t believe in this, but to each their own. If you know me and who I am, that’s precisely what you get. She knew this when we met, yet she insists that every move I make is for the world, like I can’t comprehend all of the sacrifices that she has made to be with me. Trust me, I know, and as of late, she’s taken every opportunity to throw the list back in my face. 

In all honesty, I know that relationships take work, but isn’t there supposed to be balance? Somewhere along the way, we’ve lost that. We both jumped in feet first, and now life seems to be catching up even faster—the constant push and pull in every direction is getting old. Everyone wants something, and she wants the most. It’s like she doesn’t understand the sacrifices that I’ve made. It’s not easy being the world’s biggest pop star and falling in love, but I felt she was worth it at the time.

And now she wants more—Roots that I can’t seem to give her. It’s like I’ve only just begun to find my own footing, stepping into the skin that finally feels right, that’s mine, and she wants nothing to do with it—She wants the control. She wants me to align with whatever she thinks our life should be.

I mean, I get it. 

I understand wanting the security of always knowing your next move or having a better grasp, but surely Olivia knew what she was getting herself into. It can’t be this big surprise that our life together isn’t panning out into what she had imagined, and the shittiest part about it is that I don’t even want to try anymore. I don’t want the things that Olivia is trying to project onto me with every fight that ends with her begging me to choose her.

Is that not what I’ve been doing this whole time?

I’m lost in thought when Olivia whispers something into my ear. She had gone on and on about this Gucci Cruise show and was pissed when I decided I didn’t want to sit front row. I didn’t want to distract from the show or draw unwanted attention. Especially after that fight—God, that stupid fucking fight that left her in tears, her makeup a wet smear all over her face, almost making us late. 

Tonight was supposed to be memorable. How many people get the chance to attend a Gucci show? This was my first. It’s an honor that I wanted to appreciate and take in with the gratitude I feel not only for the brand but also for the friends I’ve grown quite close to.

“I just feel like the whole point of coming to a fashion show is to sit in with the audience and have a genuine experience of the clothes and the people—” Her comment is pointed and sets me off, so I do the asshole thing and walk toward someone I know leaving her alone with her underhanded comment.

Eventually, I walk over to the edge of the curtain, peering out into the crowd, trying to pinpoint faces I’ll see later, making a list of people I’ll want to see or possibly avoid. As I skim the front row, my eyes land on a woman who looks vaguely familiar. Still, I can’t put a finger on it. 

She sticks out like a sore thumb. For instance, she is one of the few wearing dark sunglasses in a dimly lit room. Making her stand out in all black, except for the few accents that set her apart from everyone else around her, who are dripping with vibrant colors—something you would expect at a Gucci show, wild statement pieces, different patterns, and textures that ebb and flow amongst each other.

She was magnetic in a way that made it hard for me to look away. The light seemed to play off her features, creating a soft aura. A delicate ray of pink traced a faint glow around her. I couldn’t tell if it was an illusion or a trick of the mind in my rose-colored glasses. When I lowered my frames to get a clearer view, I found that she was just as stunning without them—and still, to this day, I can’t explain the feeling; it was like my soul took the lead, reaching out, hoping to find a tether. A single piece of thread that could tie me to her.

And there I stood, my mind spinning out of control. 

I don’t even know how long I stood there. How long I continued watching her, captivated by how the light seemed to dance with the shadows every time a model passed in front of her. Another thing I noticed was her ruby-red lips. How they spread into a shy smile, the light catching the gleam of her white teeth—a sight I imagined could be seen from anywhere in the room if you were fortunate enough to catch it. I observed her as she straightened upright and crossed her legs, almost as if she had suddenly become aware of her surroundings. 

Was she nervous? 

Her hair was slicked back into a sleek bun, tight against her scalp, making her features more pronounced, giving her a tidier appearance than everyone else. This timeless look could set anyone apart from the crowd, but what really caught my eye was the gilded chain dress that hugged her all-black attire underneath. I wanted to see her stand up. I wanted to know how the light played off the delicate beads draped from the woven metal. I wondered if it was uncomfortable for her or if she realized she stood out more than the celebrities around her. She had to be someone important, right? Not just anyone can sit front row at a Gucci show

Who is she?

As if she sensed my gaze, her head abruptly turned toward the curtains, causing me to jump back and bump into Olivia. “What the hell?” I hissed. 

Olivia stepped back, eyes wide, my words landing with a bite. I thought, “fuck is she about to make a scene?”—and yes, the bitterness was unnecessary, but it came more from defense than anger. I didn’t want to be found out. What was I doing anyway? How long had she been standing there? Could she see what I was looking at? Or could I pretend that I was trying to get a better view of the show, which was technically true, right?

“Can we please start over tonight?” she asks, almost pleading. “I know tonight is special for you.” And then Olivia is running her hands up my chest and cups my face.

“Okay…” I exhale. I want to have a good time, but a part of me knows I would enjoy myself more without her here, and it’s this very feeling that will haunt me all night, my thoughts like demons filling the room—unwanted guests that I’m no longer sure I want to keep at bay, and I know this isn’t fair. 

I couldn’t tell if it was the afterparty or the drinks that came with it, but eventually, the mind fog that plagued me throughout the evening began to lift. It was like a breath of fresh air, each drink diluting the pressure; the animosity threaded into every conversation Olivia and I had was evaporating. I could let go of the stress and relax into the theme of the night—and that was to have fun and fucking enjoy myself because I work hard, dammit.

It was getting easier to play into Olivia’s game of putting on for the crowd. This was the part she liked; she loved putting on in a room full of people. She fucking thrived on the attention—she loved wearing me like a glove she could take on and off whenever she pleased. 

And at times, I allowed it.

I was already three drinks in when I spotted my “Mystery Girl.” It surprised me—she was much shorter than I had imagined, but there was something compelling about her presence. When she finally looked my way, I instinctively put my arm around Olivia, feeding into the lie, feeling like a fool when her eyes flitted over me with no recognition, piercing my ego in one swift look. I didn’t know what I thought would happen…actually, I’ll tell you exactly what I thought would happen. I thought my presence alone would be enough to garner her attention. Instead, I stood there stunned when her eyes lingered on Olivia, sending her a friendly smile as she mouthed the words, “I love your dress,” pulling at the strap of her own dress to drive her compliment home.

Astonished, I stood by, holding my breath as the transaction morphed into Olivia mouthing a returned compliment, making ‘Mystery Girl’ beam and my chest swell with jealousy as she turned away, not even sparing me a second glance. She moved through the room effortlessly, like a hummingbird, moving from flower to flower fast yet graceful, donning that beautiful smile that had me begging her to look my way—just one more time. That’s all I would need. 

Was she a journalist? 

It seemed like everyone knew who she was. She spoke to everyone she encountered with such ease that each conversation I noticed flowed as if they were friends, though perhaps they were, but how was I to know? At some point, I lost her in the night, or maybe I knew I had to release her from my thoughts. I wanted to end the night on a high note, not go home with a suspicious partner to whom I would have to explain myself later. 

So, by drink five, I was being pulled onto the stage with Stevie, duetting a few songs, and as I closed my eyes, singing out the lines:

Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?

Can the child within my heart rise above? 

Can I sail through the changin’ ocean tides?

Can I handle the seasons of my life?

I opened my eyes as we swayed into the chorus, browsing the crowd, and my gaze locked with Olivia’s, who was crying, tears streaming down her face, a pained look of grief stealing her features. We shared a look of understanding. Maybe even realization, but it hit me hard, the sadness creeping up my spine as she turned and moved away from the crowd, and I noticed her bump into Alessandro, who caught her by the arm with a concerned look on his face. I pulled away from the microphone then, my voice choking up, and I let Stevie take over. We both knew that our world was crumbling right before our eyes, and when I glanced back over, searching for Olivia, she was gone. 

And I knew what I would face later, what would come later.

A/N: You guys, this is my first series; bear with me. In no way, shape, or form is this meant to follow Harry’s actual life, nor are the facts or timelines real. This story will be from Harry and Shiloh’s POVs. I like switching between them. I’m nosy, and you get more details this way. So, if you like details, you’re in the right place. This story will be a slow burn, so hold tight. I’m glad you’re here!!! ENJOY!!!!

LET'S TALK ABOUT IT: Yo, Harry, one thing at a time...Ya'll let me know in the comments what you think

->chat with me<-

PART TWO

All Chapters Here <-

[niqhtlord01]

Interviews with the Mythical

Human Reporter: What do you mean you invented Christmas?

Vampire: I mean just that, we invented the entire thing up.

Human Reporter: But we have documents, records of-

Vampire: All fabricated during the 3rd century as you call it.

Human Reporter: But why would you do that?

Vampire: Long term plan to subvert the day Christ was born.

Vampire: We gathered and felt that if we could slowly subvert the holiday with something less Christian we could dilute the faithful.

Vampire: Eventually we took a step back and you humans corporatized the holiday all by yourself to the point many associate it with our “Saint Nic” over that zombie boy Jesus.

Human Reporter: How would you say that has played out?

Vampire: I watched a woman throw a child like a football all to get the last Christmas day sale Toaster.

Vampire: It’s going swimmingly. ------------------------

Shape shifter: Oh yes I knew him.

Human Reporter: You knew Vincent Van Gogh?

Shape Shifter: This will be a short interview if you continue to question everything I say.

Human Reporter: I was just surprised since you look so young.

Shape Shifter: Such things as aging function differently for us.

Shape Shifter:  We appear old because we wish to feel the ravages of time.

Shaper Shifter: We appear young because we wish to bask in the depravities of youth.

Human Reporter: So are you immortal like vampires?

Shaper Shifter: *scoffs

Shape Shifter: I wish they would stop referring to themselves like that; the arrogant bastards.

Shaper Shifter: Vampires age slowly, but they age all the same; and I’ve yet to meet one that didn’t find a stake through the heart a grievous inconvenience.

Human Reporter: You are dodging the question.

Shape Shifter: Because I don’t have an answer.

Shape Shifter: The only way I imagine I can die is if I change into something dead, but I have no idea what that feels like so in the back of my mind there will always be a part of me alive meaning I am never really dead.

Human Reporter: Sounds like a maddening state.

Shape Shifter: Gogh said the same thing before he asked to paint me in my natural state.

Human Reporter: Really? What was it like being in one of his paintings?

Shape Shifter: Let’s just say he wasn’t always paranoid. ---------------------------

Human Reporter: So you take being a wolf seriously.

Werewolf: So?

Human Reporter: I mean, really seriously.

Werewolf: What kind of stupid question is that?

Werewolf: You take being human pretty seriously for being a human.

Human Reporter: But that’s just it, you are half wolf and half human; but your more animalistic side seems to take more precedent.

Werewolf: *Snarls

Human Reporter: I mean from what we do know you still form packs and groups with other werewolves even when in human form, you organize yourself like a pack being led by an alpha, etc.

Werewolf: I see what you’re getting at.

Werewolf: The animal tendencies are more…overpowering than human ones.

Human Reporter: Aren’t they the same?

Werewolf: No, they’re not.

Human Reporter: Could you elaborate?

Werewolf: Do you want to leave with your head?

Human Reporter: Yes.

Werewolf: Than this interview is over. ----------------

 Human Reporter: Do you have a moment for an interview?

Sphinx: Only if you answer my riddle.

Sphinx: What walks on-

Human Reporter: The answer is man.

Sphinx: ……

Sphinx: I haven’t even finished.

Human Reporter: I mean…..it’s not exactly a secret riddle.

Sphinx: But how can you possibly know it?

Human Reporter: Oedipus recorded the answer after he solved it.

Sphinx: *Defeated sigh

Sphinx: I knew I should have just killed that little man.

Sphinx: What else did he write?

Human Reporter: That after he solved the riddle you were so distraught you flung yourself into the sea to commit suicide.

Sphinx: That lying sack of shit! --------------------

Human Reporter: So does your pumpkin rot and you need to collect new ones or is it just eternally ripe?

Headless Horseman: Through the pumpkin That is what you are opening with?

Human Reporter: Well I just wonder how that thing could be still fresh after almost 300 years.

Headless Horseman: *Tilts neck down to show severed neck muscles and spine

Headless Horseman: None of this is freaking you out?

Human Reporter: If I’m being truthful I did interview a zombie before meeting you and they also were missing a substantial amount of flesh.

Headless Horseman: Did you just fucking compare me to a zombie!?!

Human Report: You technically are undead in a sense.

Headless Horseman: They made a bloody movie about me! It had Johnny Depp and I was played by Christopher Walken!

Headless Horseman: They made a tv show about me!

Human Reporter: With respect they’ve made more shows about zombies.

Headless Horseman: *Storms off and kicks over a stack of boxes while swearing in german ----------------

Human Reporter: Thank you for your time.

Leprechaun:  Pay my fee, lest I shall flee.

Human Reporter: *Reaches into pocket and tosses three gold coins.

Leprechaun: *Catches coins, takes a bite on each, then pockets them.

Human Reporter: You’re the only creature I’ve met that’s actually charged for an interview.

Leprechaun: Fools and half-wits waste fortunes with words said free, but I’m neither lest I’m paid handsomely.

Human Reporter:  Bit of a rhyming theme going on I see; very poetic.

Leprechaun: Words and songs are my crafts by trade, but none still finer than my cobbler days.

Human Reporter: What makes Leprechaun gold more special than normal gold?

Leprechaun: A simple question gets a simple answer.

Leprechaun: No gold is finer than the ones I gather.

Leprechaun: Through trade and trick I make my wealth, and by deceit and death I keep it still.

Human Reporter: You’re saying you’ve had to kill to protect your gold?

Leprechaun: The penance is clear, there’s no debate.

Leprechaun: You take my gold, I take your life. ------------

Human Reporter: What is it like to be the neck tie for a god?

Nag Vasuki: You would mock an immortal being?

Human Reporter: Do you not coil yourself around the neck of the literal god of destruction?

Nag Vasuki: I do.

Human Report: Then that makes you a neck tie.

Nag Vasuki: *Lunges across table and bites reporter in the neck, delivering a lethal amount of poison before storming off to get a bagel. ---------------

Human Reporter: Why do you eat children?

Baba Yaga: Why does a raging river drown those lost within its grasp?

Human Reporter: Because a river is part of nature.

Baba Yaga: As am I.

Baba Yaga: There is nothing more unforgiving and unrelenting than that of nature, and in their youthful bliss many young find themselves lost within its tangled woods of thorn and wood.

Baba Yaga: I, like nature, stand at the gates of great change that children must face; be it for great joy or misery.

Human Reporter: Are you saying you eat children because they refused to adapt?

Baba Yaga: *chuckles

Baba Yaga: Only the unlucky ones. -------------------

Human Reporter: in hazmat suit Thank you for the interview.

Nuckelavee: Through the hanging mouth of a horse and its rider man Save your false gratitude.

Nuckelavee: I seek neither your accolades nor your ponderous questioning.

Human Reporter: Then why did you come at all?

Nuckelavee: For all of humanity to know that their end will soon be at hand, and it will be by my machinations shall you fall.

Human Reporter: Forgive me but you remind me of the four horseman.

Nuckelavee:  *laughs

Nuckelavee:  Ah yes, the fear of the southerners was so rich when they first laid eyes on me.

Nuckelavee: They had come to preach the word of their god, so it was only fitting I made them scream out to their savior as I peeled the flesh from their bones. The look of abandonment they gave was so amusing I allowed the last of them passage back to their stone temples.

Nuckelavee: So wrought with horror they were that when they scampered back their minds could not conceive such malevolence as a singular being.

Human Reporter: So you are claiming to be the inspiration for the four horsemen?

Nuckelavee: There can be no other.

Human Reporter: If that was the case are you not upset you were depicted as such?

Nuckelavee: In the end I shall feast on you all; what mind have I to care for such trivialities?

[hellonerf]

this post is going to be my depository for the caname yandere notes i wrote a while ago and im finally posting. below this line is it. if you want you can just ignore the walls of text for this image of ame as miyuki from you and me and her or read through it for my yandere caname braindead details

straightforwardly, they'd be different in approach. dumb in their own ways 🤤 loosely using yandere here okay i know the meaning has changed a lot okay(snoreee)

for a yandere cana, in context to caname. a mumbling withdrawn yandere… just a general big fan of how it can come off as shyness. well i personally love a really messy sadled-by-internal-conflict kind of yandere… i think there’d be a weird type of shame there. always has the feeling that he’s afraid to be perceived. a weird overlap… with his ame-related frustrations “he won’t even look at me… (seethe)” and “ohhhmygod he CAN’T look at me (shaking)”. like he feels in the right but feels afraid simultaneously. and he knows so much about ame but ame doesn’t reciprocate such effort? unfair…(grits teeth).

he can confidently say he knows everything about ame, and then mumble about how ame barely knows anything about him. i want to him to rage internally about that that it bubbles up (>_>) entitlement and yandereness kind of go together anyways. she’s glaring at her with such intensity and she won’t even turn around to notice… can't she at least have this... she rarely gets anything for herself... at least this... i like any case of someone being yandere for ame where they take on a kind of caretaker role. he’s so stupid he can’t do anything he doesn’t know what’s good for him etc… (happy)(happy anytime ame loses control in some way)(ties him to cana like a balloon). loveee the idea of cana hitting him or something and then doting on him right afterwards like he didn’t cause it. HOW’d you get such an INJURY…… so irresponsible 🤦‍♂️

another thing is cana is more comfortable with femininity than ame. this is factual and ame i’d imagine to be tenser about it. i don’t know what this means guys. anyways i think his feelings build up into a climax more... turned into action! whatever it is he does to ame

a yandere ame is harder for me to put into words. because i okay. i like her a lot. i think he’d be so rage jealous upset internally, but also so much so that he can’t keep it in (i don’t think his control on how much of his emotions leak out is very good, i don’t think he has a good enough lid on it) so he’ll come off very spiteful, controlling, accusatory. she’s keeping track of where you go where she can’t see you. she doesn’t believe what she can’t see. ame’s high and fragile ego i think… deep down he can be insecure and paranoid. it’s frustrating for him to feel unsure at all. especially if it contradicts what he believes he heard. and it’s an insult that someones even making him feel so unsure. she’s like stomping her foot… wants her full attention at all times… she won’t and can’t let you get away with fooling around.

in a caname nationverse… i think there’d then already be a lot of interactions ame would consider “the ultimate betrayal” lol… similar in cana that he’d want reciprocation for the attention given, but i think he’d be 10x more blatant in the rage and entitlement. it'd cause more lashing out to the perceived betrayal i think. he's stuck between wanting affection and being so mad that he's not getting it already. demanding of cana's time loyalty and reciprocation... yandere that seethes that the one they love isn't as crazy about them lol... paired with all this… complexes about doing things “right”. communicating “right”. i think ame doesn’t really have a natural intuition in communication, relying on imitating social customs while not understanding them fully. so it'd be even more upsetting to him that he's "done it right" and he still doesn't get what he wants.

and also with that i think he’d be lacking in self awareness so hard… gets into antics… thennn i think he's more explosive in this, feels a white hot jealous rage and acts based on that, but its easy to forget outside of those moments.

in these descriptions i think cana's works prior to dating... if dating ever starts at all lol i think he thinks of it less like a romance endeavor and more like a... well he's already always right next to him! its been building up for forever... for ame's i think these only really get prominent with something "established". he already demands your time but if cana like specifically promised something, or he had some epiphany, that'd cause all these wants to be much more visible. i feel like he tends to need a catalyst for some feelings to come to the forefront

the switching pronouns is cause saying all this im imagining them yandere girl-like no matter what because i have personal feud with male yandere

[avelera]

I reread Distinguished Innovator's and Progress Day and I appreciate how you write Viktor as someone who lives as healthy as he can (apart from the overworking tendencies and those glasses of champagne at the party which were clearly an exception)

I see a lot of Viktor smoking and/or drinking and/or using drugs and I personally really don't think he would. He wouldn't risk worsening his health it unless it's to further his goals to leave a mark (through the overworking since he does need to finish his inventions in time). (And I also liked that he's not necessarily judgmental about people who do, just conscious of how it would affect his health)

Thank you! I admit, "my" Viktor is somewhat influenced by my years of writing Hermann from Pacific Rim with regards to depicting someone with a disability that might necessitate regular use of pain medication and how they might be careful around certain lifestyle choices. In that fandom too, you saw a rather similar mix of some people writing Hermann as extremely careful with his health and thus avoiding smoking or drinking, and others as writing him as a chronic smoker or regularly having a drink because fuckit, the world is ending and he's a disaffected academic.

If I may ramble on the subject and get a bit philosophical, since you got me thinking about it, for Viktor, like Hermann, after examining my own feelings about the character I wanted to write and my own interpretation on what I saw in canon, namely that neither of Viktor nor Hermann is shown smoking, drinking, or otherwise partaking in any kind of substances for recreation, I opted for "paranoid about his health" rather than "dismissive of his health". And as for him being ok with others partaking, I saw it that since it's not a moral choice or a chosen lifestyle, I wanted to stress that he's not judging others. "My" Viktor in particular would partake too, if his body allowed it.

(Cut because I got to rambling a bit, as I am wont to do)

I can see why people might opt for "disaffected academic" Viktor who is cool and a rulebreaker from Zaun with a devil-may-care attitude and a sordid past, but that's not what I see on screen, personally (well, besides the rule breaking, but that was in pursuit of SCIENCE).

For example, the one time we see Viktor partaking in any kind of "substance" it's Shimmer, which he views with deep suspicion and only reluctantly partakes in. That to me doesn't read as someone who was a regular in the party-drug scene. Indeed, we see Shimmer used as a party drug by Salo in S2.

Then again, one can totally partake in alcohol, cigarettes, and party drugs while being rightfully wary of, say, meth, so people can really go any way they want with the character. Viktor's caution around Shimmer doesn't need to mean he doesn't use drugs recreationally, but to me at least it was a point of reference to use for my take on his general reluctance to partake in substances.

Speaking formyself, I am someone who regularly drinks, circumstances permitting, quite possibly in excess at times. I've smoked, tried some substances though never really taken to anything except alcohol, but l I have a live and let live attitude towards those who do, even if I was never one of the "cool kids" who got invited to many parties.

For me, writing a Viktor who can't go out and have even a casual drink, who must be meticulous about his health because he's trying to squeeze every second of life he can out of his failing body, because he feels a higher calling to better the world with his mind while he can, not only feels truer to the character to me but also is the sort of limitation I like writing. Having characters loosen up over a casual drink is the sort of scene I love to write.

But the Viktor I like to write can't do that, not because of moral reasons but health reasons, and he feels the inability keenly. He resents that he can't risk his health, he feels it's just one more thing that separates him from fitting in and being able to mingle with others. It's one more damned thing that makes him not the sort of person that Jayce deserves to be with, which is someone who can stay out at all hours, wining and dining and shmoozing with the elites. It feeds Viktor's profound social anxiety and sense of physical inadequacy that he can't loosen up over a drink and be like "everybody else".

To me, this feels truer to the character that there are myriad things in his life where his body keeps him from being the person he wants to be, from doing the things he wants to do, going all the way back to chasing after his boat as a child. His inability to safely partake in even small amounts of alcohol fits thematically. We see how Viktor wants to see himself on numerous occasions, in the astral plane in S2 but also back in S1 we see that reflection of Viktor in Singed's vat and he's no longer unhealthy, but he also doesn't have his moles. That tells us that Viktor keenly feels his "imperfections" and would remove them if he could.

But just like choosing, by choice or necessity, not to partake in alcohol or other substances, these things aren't imperfections. As Jayce points out (though the discussion around disability and the framing of Jayce's speech at the end is much more complicated and this isn't the place for it).

To go along with that theme, what Viktor doesn't realize in my fics is that Jayce doesn't care about those things. He doesn't really care about drinking or partying, he does it because it's socially expected. But Jayce would rather be back in the lab with Viktor. He doesn't need a partner who can stay out at all hours and get hammered with him, he wants Viktor exactly as he is.

Once again, these things that Viktor perceives to be barriers or deal-breakers for a relationship with Jayce are nothing of the sort. However, perceiving them as such is something that I think is very much in line with Viktor's character, even if admittedly the choice to make substances like alcohol into one of the many things he can't partake in that make him feel "othered" is somewhat arbitrary on my part and mostly based on vibes and my own tastes.

This got away from me but to conclude, it's also worth noting that Viktor clearly does stop taking care of himself later in canon, sometime during the post-1.03 time skip. He sleeps at the lab, he's not eating square meals as far as we see, he is neglecting himself. I very much see that as part of the trajectory of the Viktor I'm writing too. When he's young and relatively healthy, he is meticulous with his health because he's optimistic that he can beat his disease or at least squeeze out a few more decades. The Viktor we first meet in 1.01-1.03 is quite healthy! And he's the one I see getting enough sleep, eating well, and doing his best to make sure his mind is sharp to dedicate to science.

But I see it that during the 1.03-1.04 time skip, the period my fics largely take place in, something happens where that goes away.

I think, ultimately, it's because of the betrayal by Viktor's body of all his hard work. He did take meticulous care of himself, but it wasn't enough, so... fuckit. Better use as much of the time he has left and screw sleep, screw stopping to eat healthily, screw all of it, because it didn't matter, it didn't help, and he's just getting worse so he has to use as much of the time he has before he gets worse to try to leave some mark on the world. The body becomes wholly a prison to him at that point, not a machine that he can tend to and maintain.

At least, that's how I like to write him :)

[baelabong]

ʜᴏᴡ ʟᴏɴɢ

(ʏᴜɴᴊɪɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ) ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ

plot: yunjins been cheating. but she didn’t mean it … right?

notes: toxic yunjin, dumbass y/n again, istg guys the only things that gain attention iz my karina and winter fics 💔💔

you sit on the couch, your phone clutched in your hand, staring at the screen, waiting for yunjin's name to pop up. it doesn’t. hours pass, and the ticking of the clock feels like a taunt. where is she? you tell yourself it’s nothing—she’s probably stuck at practice or maybe went out with the girls, but that nagging feeling in your chest grows heavier. it’s been too long.

finally, you hear the door creak open. she stumbles in, not her usual put-together self. she looks messy, worn-out. the smell of alcohol hits you before she even speaks. when she does, her voice is low, slurred.

"hey, baby," she tries to smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. her gaze is distant, foggy, like she's not really here with you.

"where have you been?" you ask, trying to sound casual, but the hours of waiting twist your voice with anxiety. you hate sounding paranoid, but you can't help it anymore.

"just out with the girls. practice ran late… then drinks," she mumbles, her words stumbling out, as if she’s trying to get past them quickly.

you get up, moving closer, searching her face for something, anything, that makes sense. but her eyes—they’re empty, evasive. "why didn’t you answer my calls?"

"didn’t hear it," she shrugs, still avoiding your gaze. "too loud, i guess."

it's weak. her excuses always are. and it's not just the excuse, it's the way she says it—like she doesn’t care enough to make it believable. your stomach twists, a cold knot forming. there’s more to this, you can feel it.

"yunjin, what’s going on?" you ask, your voice wavering despite your effort to stay calm. you’ve been through this too many times to ignore the signs.

she sighs, running a hand through her hair. for a second, her tough front slips, and she looks at you, really looks at you. "i... i messed up."

your heart stops. "what do you mean?"

"i was drunk, and... i kissed someone else."

her words are like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of you. you take a step back, needing space to think, but your mind is spinning. "you kissed someone?"

"it didn’t mean anything," she rushes, stepping toward you, but you back away again. "it was just a stupid, drunken mistake. i swear, it only happened once."

the room feels too small now, the walls closing in. you trusted her. after everything, you trusted her, and she... "how long has this been going on?"

"what? no, i told you, it was just once—"

"how long, yunjin?" your voice is louder now, anger bubbling up. you don't want to be the fool who believed her lies for too long.

she hesitates, her eyes darting away for a moment before coming back to you. "just once," she insists, but the doubt in her eyes says otherwise. "i was drunk. it meant nothing."

you want to believe her. god, you want to believe her so badly. but the way she's been acting lately—distant, secretive—there’s more to this.

"i deserve the truth," you say, your voice shaky but firm. you’re done playing this game.

she steps closer, softening her expression like she’s trying to lure you back in. "baby, you’re overthinking this," she coos, her voice sickly sweet, the kind that used to comfort you but now just makes you feel uneasy. "it was a mistake. everyone makes mistakes."

"but you didn’t tell me," you push back, feeling a flicker of anger spark in your chest. "you hid it from me."

"because i knew you’d overreact," she snaps, her patience thinning. "you always do this. you always assume the worst."

her words sting, making you question yourself. am i overreacting? was it just a one-time mistake? you’ve been second-guessing yourself so much lately, it’s hard to tell anymore.

yunjin’s close now, her eyes locked on yours, her voice dropping lower, more intimate. "you know i love you, right?"

"yeah, but—"

she cuts you off, cupping your face in her hands. "i love you," she whispers, her thumb brushing over your cheek, her touch soft but with an underlying tension. "you’re the one i come home to. don’t let something this small ruin us."

her words start to blur the lines in your mind. maybe it’s not as big of a deal as it feels. maybe you are overthinking. she’s here, isn’t she? but then, the memory of all those nights alone, waiting, wondering—those doubts flare up again.

"yunjin, i can’t just forget this," you murmur, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on you. "you hurt me."

for a moment, her eyes harden, just for a second, before she puts on a sad, almost pitying smile. "i know, and i’m sorry," she says, but her voice feels insincere, dripping with mockery. "but you need to stop being so paranoid. it was one kiss. do you really think i’d throw everything away for that?"

your mouth opens to respond, but she silences you, pressing a finger to your lips. "shh, don’t ruin this," she whispers, stepping even closer, her body pressing against yours. "we’re good together. you know that."

her other hand trails down your arm, sending shivers through your skin. you should push her away. you should be angry, but instead, her closeness overwhelms you, clouding your thoughts.

"just let it go," she murmurs before pulling you into a kiss, one that’s not soft or reassuring. it’s possessive, controlling, like she’s forcing you to forget everything else.

and somehow, it works. the fight drains out of you as her lips move against yours, your mind going blank. you forget the pain, the doubt, the questions. it’s just her now, her hands on you, her breath mixing with yours, until all you can feel is her.

when she pulls back, you're breathless, but not from the argument—from the way she’s made everything else disappear.

"see?" she whispers, her lips brushing your ear. "it’s just you and me, baby. nothing else matters."

you nod, your mind too hazy to argue anymore. "just us."