#start to make sense. the fragmented sense of self to where i feel like nothing and also feel like i am multiple people without actually

[crustuu]

I think it's funny that, if it turns out I do have BPD, the first fucking domino to me figuring this out was goddamn FNF Weekend 1 coming out. God this is so funny like:

me finding the erect remixes came out -> sudden fnf fixation -> slowly make mutuals & friends through this fixation -> make a personal BF interp -> [the multiverse au] -> "oh this song would work for my guy let me check the comme- this is about bpd ???"

[judebellenthusiast]

Where trust meets fear- Jude Bellingham

Content: Jude x fem!reader, slight mature language, not fully proof read, Angst!

w.c : 2.2k

summary: You struggle with insecurities and self-destructive behavior in your relationship with Jude. After a painful argument fueled by jealousy and past fears, you find it hard to accept Jude’s constant support.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Staring at the cellular device for the umpteenth time that night, the thought of smashing the screen against the marble floors crossed your fragmented focus.

Your thoughts drifted back to the slow-witted argument you had with your boyfriend earlier this morning, over a stupid blog post about his new companion for this month.

You knew Jude wasn’t the type to cheat—he did everything to make you feel secure in your relationship. But being an overthinker, you couldn’t quiet your restless mind. You dissected everything: the tone of his texts, why he chose you over the women he was often linked to.

His wild past wasn’t a secret, filled with women who matched his fast-paced world, while you were nothing like them. It made you uneasy, and you resented the constant questioning of his motives, knowing it wasn’t fair to either of you.

Harsh words slipped from your mouth, cutting deeper than you intended, as you watched the hurt ripple across your boyfriend's face. You said things you didn’t mean, questioning his integrity, throwing accusations that didn’t even make sense. The moment replayed in your mind—Jude reaching out, trying to comfort you, before you pushed him away, building a wall between you two.

the same wall he had worked so hard to break down, and despite everything, he had succeeded.

He left shortly after, leaving you wracked with guilt. — reminding you that he wasn’t the one walking away, it was you who was pushing him away.

Your self-destructive tendencies resurfaced in full force, catching you off guard. You thought you had dealt with them, convinced you had outgrown that sorrowful habit.

Mid-thought you hear the front door open, your clearly exhausted 6'1 athletic boyfriend walks in, tossing his training bag onto the counter avoiding your gaze. You walked up to him pulling him to face you which left you even more shattered as you gazed into his exhausted, hurt eyes, what hurt even more was knowing that you were responsible for inflicting that pain on him

"I'm so sorry for everything I've said." you started

"Baby-"

"No, Jude, I really mean it. I hate this—I hate that no matter how hard you try to make me feel safe, I always end up ruining it." You cut him off, your eyes brimming with tears as you refused to meet his gaze. He placed his large palm against your jaw, gently urging you to look at him, but you couldn’t. You felt unworthy of his attention, of his care, of him.

"Look at me," he said firmly, and you complied, locking your gaze with his. A wave of fear washed over you, the unsettling thought that you had finally pushed him to his breaking point, That this time, he might choose not to break down the walls you had already begun to build.

"Hey… hey, stop that," he added, using his fingertip to wipe away the glistening pearls from your cheeks.

The sentimental gesture only confused you more. You questioned why he was being so gentle when frustration radiated from him. It was evident in the way his eyebrows furrowed, and how his eyes darted back and forth across your face, yet he still managed to prioritize your feelings above his own once again.

"You’re doing it again. I can practically sense the thoughts swirling in that head of yours." He attempts to lighten up the mood, as a way to calm you down once again.

"Please, don’t be gentle with me, Jude. I said some messed-up things."

He brushed a strand of hair away from your tear-streaked face, his eyes seeing right through your bullshit. Deep down, he understood—you hadn’t signed up for his lifestyle. He knew this was your first time loving someone with that kind of intensity, and that kind of love made you do things you never thought you would. It pushed you to act out of character, to question everything. And despite your words, he secretly empathized with the weight you were carrying.

"I get it," he said gently. "I know you’re scared of losing us, so you push me away, thinking I’ll leave. But I won’t. You have to accept that I’m not going anywhere" he firmly stated

"I love you, Jude" you replied. Your chest tightened with the weight of the argument looming between you, and he looked at you with a mix of worry, fear, and disappointment in his eyes.

"And I love you, but you won’t let me." He whispered softly as he hesitated, finally letting go of your face. A breath escaped him, one he hadn’t realized he was holding.

The silence was deafening, every unspoken word hanging heavy between you both. You felt like the elephant in the room, foolish for letting things unravel with the one person who truly cared for you, who knew you inside and out. Once again, the realization hit—you didn’t deserve him. And yet somehow, letting him go seemed easier than admitting the depth of your feelings.

"I wish you could let me in, I wish you could just let me love you the way you deserve to be loved, But your fear is greater than what we have and that's something you need to figure out"

"Jude please-" You plead selfishly, knowing that this repeated pattern of you pushing him away and him chasing after you had finally reached the finish line.

His attempt to reach out to you is returned by you taking a step back, further proving his point

“You’re pushing me away when all I want to do is hold you. How long are you going to keep this up?” he replies frustrated with how you keep getting in your own way.

You felt like you were being examined under a microscope, your thoughts laid bare. The silence between you only intensified his frustration, pushing him to dig deeper with more questions in search of clarity.

"You still haven't forgiven me for my past," he states.

“Don’t -” you say, but he interrupts pressing further into your vulnerability.

"The women I've been with—part of you still believes that part of my life is attached to me." He delivers this like a fact, another unpleasant reminder that he knows you better than you know yourself.

He waits patiently for your reaction to his truth bomb, knowing that he is treading on thin ice and that his words aren’t kind. Still, he can’t bring himself to acknowledge how you feel at that moment—not when he constantly puts up with your antics and guards your feelings over his. He knows that this is something you need to hear. You know that too.

“It’s not that simple,” you reply, “You don’t understand what it’s like to constantly compete with ghosts. Knowing I have nothing in common with your lifestyle or the fact that I look nothing like them. How do you expect me to just let that go when that's the bane of my existence Jude"

He sighs, the disappointment evident in his eyes.

"I never asked you to be like them. I'm asking you to trust that I am here, I'm asking you to believe that you are more than enough for me - that I won't leave you."

You turn away, frustration boiling inside you. “How can I do that when it feels like I’m always one step behind, waiting for you to slip back into that life.”

“You’re not behind,” he counters, stepping closer, his tone urgent. ignoring the last sentence you blurted knowing that your vulnerability made you say shit that was insubstantial.

“You’re with me. But you have to let me in. You have to let go of the pain.”

“...And you need to stop feeling so goddamn sorry for yourself,” he said, tone sharp, words piercing through your fog of confusion, challenging you to confront the emotions you’d been avoiding.

He employed the same tactics as on the football field, assessing your vulnerabilities and strategizing. This time, it wasn’t about rivalry or hostility. He was in the same match, but instead of defending against you, he was charging into your thoughts, eager to show he was equally afraid of losing you just as much. To him, you being off the field of his life just wasn’t an option he was settling for.

Your lips trembled as you absorbed his words, your fingers gripping the thin fabric of Jude's shirt. His scent wrapped around you, offering a sense of comfort amid the chaos of the moment.

“I wish I could,” you whisper, tears clouding your vision. “But I’m scared...Scared that I’m not enough for you”

He reaches out, brushing a tear from your cheek with the gentleness you so desperately crave. “You are enough. You don’t have to be perfect. Just be honest with me. Let me help you through this.”

His eyes dart all over your face attempting to decipher your thoughts secretly hoping that you don't push him away; hoping that you'd comfort him.

"I need you to meet me halfway on this; Please, just allow someone to be there for you—for once in your life."

His fingers gently brush against your face, gliding back and forth across your cheek, silently urging for a response. He tilts your face upward, guiding your gaze to meet his, the intensity in his eyes pressing you to say something—anything.

It feels like an eternity since you’ve spoken, the silence between you heavy and suffocating. The tension hangs thick in the air, punctuated only by the faint, steady ticking of the clock bolted to the wall, each sound a reminder of how much time has slipped by without a word.

"Please don't give me space, that's the last thing I want with you." you finally respond

He lets out a sigh of relief, his eyes filled with gratitude. You’re still here, still willing to wait for him, to fight for him with the same intensity he’s fought for you. Without hesitation, he pulls you flush against him, holding you tight as though you were slipping away like quicksand, desperate to keep you grounded in his arms.

But as he holds you, something unsettles him. Your body feels rigid, like you’re pulling away, even though you’re standing in his arms. He brushes his hand gently down your back, tension slightly easing but not fully fading. It lingers, heavy and unspoken - Just like where the both of you stood —on edge

----------------------

Thought daughters unite!

This is my first fic in a very long time, so please be kind lol

I love angst so much and I overthink a lottttt hence this fic!!!, so please lmk what you guys would like to read next, my inbox/ asks are open <3

this fic is gravely inspired by Silver Springs - Fleetwood Mac. I’ve had that song stuck in my head for days!!

Huge thanks to @urfriendlywriter for the apology prompt, It truly resonated with this story

[ebonysplendor]

Prescription: LOVE (Demo) Review👨‍⚕️💊

TL;DR: I've got a head injury? I'm gonna need a doctor! How's my memory been? It's been fine. Wait, what? I've got a head injury? I'm gonna need a doctor! How's my memory been? It's been fine. Wait, what? I've got a head injury? I'm gonna need a doctor!

Game Link: https://livingslime.itch.io/prescriptionlove

Notable Features: Self-Insert, Yandere LI, gender neutral language, 2 endings Spiciness: 0/5 -- Don't get me wrong, it's not wholesome either, but this is the type of LI that'll make you say "But daddy, I love him!" even though something is clearly off. LI Red Flags: 2/5 -- Gaslighter, obsessive tendencies, overly "medicating" us DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT. HE'S SO SWEET. I CAN FIX HIM.

Wanna know more? Well, let's get into it!

Okay, not gonna lie, this review is long overdue, because I played this like...maybe 3 or 4 days after the initial drop, and here I am, like, 3 weeks later lmao.

Um...okay, you know what? I'm-- I'm not gonna push myself to write an intro this time lol. I mean, since when is it ever good to push yourself? ...Sometimes, the answer is sometimes, but you should never push yourself too hard, ya know? ...I'm getting off track.

I guess I could start by saying how I found this game on a total accident, and holy shit, am I glad that I found this game regardless. It was damn good, and...honestly, a little unnerving at times. Like, I'll tell you more about it later, but let me tell you, one part in particular had me genuinely spooked.

Anyways, before I get too far into my yap session, I'm going to go ahead and tell you about the game -- with as little spoilers as possible, of course. I mean, how would you be motivated to play the game otherwise unless I leave just enough suspense and mystery? Exactly, so allow me a moment to set the scene, and let's get into it.

So, boom.

We wake up...somewhere.

No, like you don't get it. Logically, it's like, duh, hospital, but we have a whole ass IV in our arm, a splitting headache, and it's almost painfully obvious that our memory took a hit, because we don't remember damn near anything, you feel me? We have, what is essentially, a hole where our memories are supposed to be, and the memories that we do have are so fragmented that they doesn't make any sense. Like...what the hell happened, ya know?

At this point, we're making things worse, because we're trying to force ourselves to remember something -- anything -- and our brain is just like "Mmm...nah. How about we panic, though? Let's do that instead." So, we do. We start feeling really anxious because it's like, how do we go from remembering everything one moment, blink, and then just...virtually no memories at all? Like, nothing? Like, we can't even recognize what a hospital looks like or even is.

"Hey, hey, it's okay".

Huh?

Oh! Oh, hello~! Could this be our boyfriend? Fiancé? Husband~?

"I'm Dr. Anselm."

I mean...he didn't say that he wasn't our husband, ya know? :3 Okay, wait, wait, no, stop, don't distract me. Let me get back on track.

Anyways, this tall gentleman helped us regain control of our nerves and informed us that we were perfectly safe and were currently in a hospital. Dr. Anselm basically told us that he has been overseeing our care and that he was the one in charge of our surgery.

...Wait, our fucking what?!

Before we get too freaked out, though, he tells us that we had some kind of accident that involved blunt force to our head which naturally caused a traumatic brain injury. He then tells us that, when we were brought it by the paramedics, we were in need of an emergency operation in order for us to live. Oh, and we had been asleep for two days straight. Well damn...

Imagine not remembering what you even ate for breakfast yesterday -- well, two days ago -- and this random man who claims to be a doctor comes out of the woodwork and tells you that you had brain surgery. If I could just reiterate once more...what the hell happened?!

Even still, admittedly, Dr. Anselm is being super gentle about the whole thing, and it's bringing a good amount of comfort and security, like everything is going to end up okay; he's even going to let us call our family to let them know that we've pulled through and that we're safe...even though, it's a bit off that no one's visited to start with.

No matter though, because it's past curfew anyways, and Dr. Anselm is adamant that we should rest first and call tomorrow. Fair enough. Rest is a part of recovery after all, and we'd rather get our memories back sooner versus later, not to mention that we actually are a little tired. Lmao, now here's when the issues start coming in...

See, we managed to fall asleep, but then the creak of the door woke us up. Now, at first, we're like "Meh, probably the nurses checking in or whatever", but the issue is, remember when I was like we felt a sense of comfort and security from Dr. Anselm? Lmao, this shit was far from comfortable, let alone safe. So, we make the mistake of we look at the door, and in the gap --

Lmao nah, ain't no way. We're hallucinating.

BRO, AIN'T NO FUCKING WAaaaAAAaAaAaaAAaY. WE ARE NOT HALLUCINA-- DoCTOr ANSEeEEeEEEeeeELM!!!!

Bro, we hit that call button so fast, but that thing also ran off just as fast before Dr. Anselm came rushing in. So, naturally, now we look like we're experiencing the side effect of delulu, because we're trying to explain that we saw something that was clearly not there, but it's like...bro, no, we know what the fuck we saw! Like, dude, please do something!

As always, Dr. Anselm's being super sweet and promised that he'd look into it and get someone to check the security cameras. He encourages us to try to go back to sleep so we don't disrupt our recovery, and, oddly enough, we're able to, even after that.

The next morning, comes along, and Dr. Anselm let's us call our folks, like promised, but...no answer. Hurtful, but okay. Dr. Anselm, also like promised, tells us that they checked the security cameras, and there was no one watching us from the door. Great. So, now we're two for two in this bitch. Perfect.

Still, leave it to Dr. Anselm to help us feel better, though, so it doesn't weigh on us too much for too long. He really is our knight in shining...lab coat.

Even though, with all that medicine he's been giving us...

Not to mention, we had this vividly weird dream...

And, sometimes, there's these weird little flickers in his expression when we ask certain questions or say certain things...

Is Dr. Anselm really trying to help us? Or...

...is it benefitting him that we don't know what happened to us?

Then again...

Nah, that's kind've delulu to think. He's done nothing but try to prioritize our health and recovery. We're safe. We can trust him. It the doctor's orders, after all, and he'd know what's best for us.

4 words: I CAN FIX HIM.

No, no, no, no, no, hear me out! I can fix this one! Like, the red flags are there, but I can FIX him! Is he the one that caused us to have a traumatic brain injury? Maybe. Is he over-medicating us? Possibly. Am I gonna overlook all of that? Absolutely. I mean, who cares that I have an intense suspicion that we're not actually in a hospital and that we're just in a basement that's staged to look like a hospital. Who hasn't played doctor before? I ain't gonna fault this man for trying to heal his inner child and playing pretend. Like, honestly? Good for him.

Okay, but no, enough of that. This...was really good! It physically hurts me that this game is not done yet, but I am so excited that this game isn't done yet, because I am anticipating the hell out of what is next to come. The developer really has a strong foundation, and I can only imagine how they're going to build on it.

The pacing is a little slow, but it's not a bad slow! It's literally seeping us into the story, and I honestly feel like the pacing could not have been executed any better than it has been. This flowed exactly how I feel a demo or prologue or intro or whatever you wanna call it should. I just know that whenever there's an update, shit is going to start getting real, and I cannot wait for that!

Let's talk about the environment/atmosphere...ooh bitch. Let me just say this, I can watch all of the horror movies in the world and be totally fine. I can watch let's plays of horror games and read scary stories...but I cannot be in the situation myself. Haunted houses/trails? Playing horror games myself? Shit scares me out of my soul. That being said, that part where it was talking about being watched through the crack of the door? Chills. Fucking chills. I don't know what it was, because that's not anything revolutionary, especially in these yandere games, but for some reason, the way that the dev executed it just hit different. And the art! Like did you see the CG?! Lmao nah, nah, let me remind you. Actually, let me zoom in on it.

Like, what the fuck is thaaaaaaaaat?! (╥ᯅ╥)

I didn't mention this, because I was narrating/summarizing, but I had genuine fear tears when I read through it the first time, and it was somehow worse when I had to grab and attach the screenshots and type through that part. Like, I HATE shit like this, bro! Like, just make it obvious! Don't put faces and figures and shit like that in the darkness and barely out of view to the point where you can't see it unless you focus on it!

I was literally squinting my eyes and reading fast as shit because I wanted to read it, but I wanted to get through it and away from this scene, but I also wanted to prep myself for a possible jumpscare. Like, developer. De-ve-lo-per. Pop off. This part was so good, and I loved/hated every second.

I'm doing that yap thing that I do again, so I'm going to save you from the rest of my ramblings and start winding down. If you do not already have this downloaded and ready to play, you have got to do that expeditiously. I am telling you, I know I say this about a lot of these visual novels, but this is one that I absolutely cannot allow you to miss out on. This one is so good! Just don't get too invested, because it's just a demo. I suggest going to the game's page, putting your pride aside, and beg for an update as soon as possible -- respectfully, of course. It should be common sense, but don't harass the dev for an update ... but damn, do I hope they come through with an update soon. Very soon. Tomorrow actually...today.

Anyways, here's the link. Go download it, and tell the dev that your life is theirs, because I'm honestly contemplating starting a cult in their honour. I'll sacrifice the nearest weeb for two extra lines of reading material in this visual novel. I'm serious. I'm yapping again...

Okay, anyways! Ending it for realsies this time. Again, I highly recommend giving this game a playthrough. Here's the link to the game page and download...again. If you're able to donate to the cause, donate to the cause, as I'm sure the dev would seriously appreciate the monetary support. Oh! And just as a "pro"-but-not-really-tip: for right now, the choices are more of an "illusion of choice". The endings will be worded the same no matter what, so there's no extra dialogue or CGs, or secret options, or anything like that. It'll just be dialogue pertaining to that specific answer choice at that specific time, and then it's not brought up or mentioned again after it's done.

And...that's it! Lol I'm finally done yapping. Big preesh for getting this far! Please remember to drink water, don't be dumb, and hope to see you around~!

Prescription: LOVE (Demo)

[todorokies]

A LONG WALK - satoru gojo & suguru geto

✩࿐ a midnight summer stroll with your companions stirs certain emotions regarding self doubts & nostalgia . . .

contents: sfw, polygamous satosugu x reader (can be perceived as platonic or romantic), gn!reader, fluff & angst with some comfort, 1.3k words

a/n: based off of this fanart … pls support me by reblogging my work !!

the chilled summer breeze flows melodically through the air and finds its way swirling into your skin, arising small goosebumps on your exposed arms. you should’ve taken suguru’s advice into consideration by wearing a light cardigan for your midnight outing instead of leaving with a simple tank top.

albeit taken back by the breeze, you couldn’t be truly bothered by it, allowing the gentle wind to cascade your face caressing you softly like an embrace. with closed eyes, enjoyable fragments of your childhood flashes before your eyes with each rippling gust of currency.

your mother taking you to your first hanabi festival, getting your face painted with unique spiral patterns, the colourful loud sparks of light illuminating the sky as children’s laughs and adults’ excited clamours follows along with each firework.

your chest begins to rapidly ache by the supposedly fond memory, causing palpitations on your fragile heart. your innocence got unrightfully taken away at such a young age being forced to slave the rest of your life away to the occupation of a sorcerer, something you still haven’t come to terms with.

despite the roaring traffic in the centre of the city, a particular voice is able to pull your mind out of self imprisonment.

“a penny for your thoughts?” satoru appears standing by your side with two popsicles in one hand —one that is wrapped and the other unwrapped, presumably his.

you playfully scoff, reaching for the wrapped popsicle and satoru takes a seat next to you on the bench; your face must’ve been in clear discomfort for him to ask. “keep the penny, it’s nothing serious.” you attempt to wave off his concerns.

he nudges at your elbow, “if it’s causing you to look like you’re going through a midlife crisis on a park bench then it’s definitely serious, cmon spill it.” his words are lighthearted but voice is woven with sympathy.

“where’s suguru?” you dodge his inquiry “and you got me the shittiest flavour, really? nobody likes grape, you should know by now i’m a cherry type of person.”

satoru throws a complex glance your way but decides to not push it any farther, “he went to the convenience store to pick up some ingredients. i think he wanted to cook us beef stir-fry this time? not sure though.”

you hum in acknowledgment finding it a bit strange how he doesn’t press you for more information or your popsicle flavour statement. comfortable silence soon falls amongst you two, the frequent honking of cars and chatting of civilians keeps the streets lively. it’s a nice reminder that you’re never truly alone in such a big city as tokyo.

but alas, the warmth the eccentric city provided could never be enough to rebuild the wall of blissful ignorance you once had as a child. having to lick over the fresh wounds that reopen every time something triggers the painful truth of your inevitable death that will come from this line of work.

you must’ve been zoned out for quite some time because the grape popsicle began to melt and trickle down your hand landing in droplets on your pants.

“‘toru—” you begin but bite your tongue unaware of where to even start in your pursuit to find answers to calm your erratic mind.

“what does nostalgia feel like to you?” a stupid question indeed, as you watched satoru’s face twist and turn trying to either make sense of it or formulate his answer.

he soon replies, “it usually hits me in the face at the weirdest times, but when it does, it’s a bittersweet feeling that makes me glad i was able to experience it when i did.” he shrugs, licking at his almost-done blue popsicle.

“oh.”

“was that not the answer you were looking for?” he frowns, peering at you through his sunglasses.

“no, it’s not that, whenever i feel nostalgic it’s a gross gut wrenching feeling that seriously makes me ill. i hate it.” you truthfully express yourself.

“well, there’s no right or wrong way of feeling nostalgic, it just stems from how intense you feel about that specific memory.” his words flow casually as if this topic was second nature to him.

you huff, “since when did you become so insightful and wise?” you attempt at a joke to lighten the dull mood.

he laughs. the type of laugh where his snowy white hair bounces rhythmically with each chuckle that emerges from his throat “oh stop that! i’ve always been big brained with knowledge.”

another fit of comfortable silence washes over until you felt the urge to break it, “y’know, sometimes i wish i could live in the past forever… the present is too painful at times.”

satoru demeanour falters as an unfamiliar emotion glistens in his eyes then disappears shortly after. his eyebrows furrow causing creases in the middle, he nibbles at his bottom lip with a visible hurt expression distorting his face, “are me and suguru not enough for you?” he immediately regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.

satoru isn’t religious by any means, but he’d like to thank whoever is higher above for making it possible that you and suguru have crossed paths with him. you both complete him and give him a sense of purpose to continue what he deems he does best at; protecting. satoru prefers to live in the present with his loved ones, not the past. hearing those string of words from you caused a small pit in his stomach to erupt.

your eyes widen, “no! that’s not what i meant—”

“sorry for the long wait, i had trouble deciding if i should buy teriyaki sauce or we should just make it ourselves.” suguru comes into view from the sidewalk with a grocery bag in hand and a popsicle in the other. his eyes dart between you and satoru, already sensing unspoken tension, “everything okay?” he quirks an eyebrow up.

“yup!” satoru responds with obvious faux glee. he stretches his legs then proceeds to get off the bench taking a quick peak in the grocery bag, “took you long enough though, we were gonna turn into skeletons soon.” he flicks suguru’s forehead then scurries off like a mouse farther down the sidewalk to avoid getting his foot stomped on.

you join suguru by his side to journey back to campus. he briefly recalls his sightings that included a newly opened karaoke bar and hydrangeas are finally in bloom having seen them on his way to the store.

“you should talk to him when we get back, let him cool off for a bit,” he refers back to satoru. his minty breath fanning against the shell of your ear, “i will, don’t worry.” you send a tight-lipped smile his way.

the walk back is peaceful. the breeze from before turned into clouds of humidity, grasshoppers chirped loudly replacing the buzzing traffic that has now quieted down, assuming everyone else is calling it a night as well.

suguru takes out his phone to check the time mumbling curses under his breath once he reads three-thirty-five am, “we should hurry back before yaga kills us.”

his words trigger something in you.

“do you think we’ll be able to survive in the long run?” you suddenly blurt out. your voice shakes as you attempt to shove the forming lump in your throat down.

context isn’t provided but suguru has a hunch of what you could be referring to. the air around gets thick and the world stills as he carefully thinks over many ways to respond to the difficult question with a simplified answer.

“i think—” he pauses, and glances over at you to see your glossy eyes reflect in the moonlight and his heart crumbles at the sight.

at the end of the day, you were all still children forced into a wretched society that measures self value to strength and was either discarded by the horrors that walked among this earth or the adults in charge of the hierarchy. 

“i think we should just protect who we can and cherish our possibly limited time together.”

tags: @tokyeoi @satocidal @yunymphs

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated <33

[sweethoneyrose83]

Glitchcore dialogue prompts

1. "Reality is buffering… What happens when we hit pause?"

Character A stares at the glitching horizon, where the sky flickers between pixelated voids. Character B frowns, “Maybe we’re not meant to see the code behind it all.”

2. "You’re a corrupted file. But that doesn’t mean you’re broken."

Character A experiences moments of disconnection, their speech fragmented by static. Character B tries to reassure them, but each word feels like it’s slipping through the cracks of reality.

3. "Every time I blink, the world skips a frame."

Character A notices the world is out of sync. People flicker, objects disappear, and their reflection isn’t quite right. They turn to Character B for answers, but even their words are distorted, glitching mid-sentence.

4. "I was never programmed to feel this… but here I am, crashing."

Character A, an AI or digitally enhanced human, starts to experience emotions for the first time, leading to a system overload. Their thoughts flash like corrupted code, scrambling their sense of self.

5. "We’re stuck in a loop. But maybe this time, we can break it."

Time is glitching for Character A and Character B, repeating the same moments over and over. As they try to escape, reality fractures, showing distorted fragments of alternate timelines.

6. "If I glitch out, don’t follow. I’m just data—nothing more."

Character A is fading, pixel by pixel, as the virtual world they live in begins to collapse. Character B insists on trying to save them, even though the lines between digital and physical are breaking down.

7. "I hear the static whispers… It’s like they know we’re here."

Character A starts to pick up on strange sounds—static, broken transmissions, and voices from somewhere beyond. They believe the glitches are alive, watching them.

8. "We’re just echoes in the system, flickering between what’s real and what’s not."

Character A questions their existence as the world around them constantly shifts and deforms. The glitches feel too intentional, like someone—or something—is controlling it all.

9. "I saw myself glitch today… but it wasn’t me. It was something pretending to be me."

Character A sees their own reflection glitch and morph into something unfamiliar. Is it an error in the system, or is something trying to overwrite them?

10. "I’ve been patched up so many times, I don’t even know which version I am anymore."

Character A has been modified, both physically and digitally, so many times that they’ve lost their sense of identity. They question whether they’re still the same person they once were, or just a collection of fragments.

"You're not seeing me right now, are you? I'm stuck between frames."

"The code is breaking down. I can feel it. Every time I blink, something new glitches."

"We were perfect once. Now, we're just corrupted data fragments trying to piece ourselves together."

"Reality doesn’t crash. It fades, like static, until the lines blur and you can’t tell what’s real anymore."

"Don't trust what you see. It's all just a simulation rendering too slowly to hide its flaws."

"Every time I move, I leave a part of myself behind, like I’m lagging between timelines."

"I’m not sure if I’m the glitch or if the world around me is. Does it matter?"

"The pixels around your face—they’re unraveling. We need to reset the program before you disappear completely."

"I keep hearing this… echo. It’s like my thoughts are repeating, but they aren’t mine."

"I thought I deleted you. Why do you keep reappearing in my feed?"

"The horizon just flickered. Did you see that? I think we’re reaching the edge of the simulation."

"Every time I think I’ve fixed it, the glitches return, worse than before. Maybe we’re meant to stay broken."

"If I lose connection, you have to promise to reboot me. I can’t afford to stay stuck in here."

"It’s strange, isn’t it? How the glitch makes everything look more real than reality ever did."

"What if I’m just a copy of me, and the original got corrupted long ago?"

"I saw the world tear for a second. The sky turned into data streams, and I think I saw someone behind it all."

"I can’t trust the mirrors anymore. They show me… versions of myself that I don’t recognize."

"They keep trying to patch me, but it never works. I think I’m beyond fixing."

"You keep glitching. Are you real or just an error in the system trying to communicate?"

"I can feel myself desyncing from reality. Every moment, I drift further away."

"I’ve been seeing static in the mirror. Like I’m glitching in and out of existence."

"I can’t tell if I’m in the real world or a simulation. The lines are all blurred now."

"My thoughts are stuttering—like an old video buffering. Can you hear it too?"

"We’ve got less than a second before the whole system crashes. Are you ready?"

"Every time I blink, I lose a part of myself. The screen flickers, and I'm gone."

"There’s a glitch in my memory. Did we meet before, or is this another loop?"

"I’ve been coded wrong, haven’t I? My emotions don’t feel… real."

"I tried to log out, but the world didn’t let me. Now, I’m stuck in the error."

"We’re all just data points now. I can see your code unraveling."

"You’re breaking the system. If you keep doing that, everything might collapse."

"Sometimes I hear a voice, like a distorted signal. It tells me the end is near."

"I reached out to touch you, but my hand just passed through like you were a hologram."

"The colors are bleeding into one another, like corrupted files. Can you fix this?"

"I’m not supposed to exist, not like this. I’m a glitch, an error in the code."

"Reality froze for a moment. Did you see it? Everything just stopped moving."

[destinysbounty]

Huh. I just dug up an old fan-theory i came up with back when i was like 15. And while its definitely way too weak to hold up against any real scrutiny, it at the very least makes for some mildly interesting fanfic fodder so i thought id share it with the greater fandom hivemind.

(Dont come at me about the holes in this theory btw, i was practically a baby when i came up with this and it was one of my first attempts at theory-crafting. Trust me, ive come a long way since then)

Anyway, the theory goes like this:

While in the lighthouse, Dr. Julien builds a replica of his son. But try as he might to get it to turn on, it never actually works. Whatever special spark brought the first Zane to life is inexplicably absent from this one. So he locks it away in his basement, and never gives it the light of day again. This is the reason Dr. Julien never told Zane about Echo, or brought him with them - because at the time, Echo wasnt even functional. Wouldnt even turn on. Was nothing more than a lifeless shell collecting rust in the basement.

So how, then, did Echo become sentient by season 6? Great question! But uhh heres where the theory kinda starts to go off the rails. So buckle up, folks.

Basically the theory goes that when Zane died at the end of s3, his soul still lingered in Ninjago. And his disembodied spirit eventually found itself drawn to a vessel that was similar to the one he'd lost - one his father had built yet long abandoned. But his new body lacked the memory storage contained within his old one, and his resurrection effectively gave him almost complete amnesia. All he could remember was his name and his purpose (to protect those who cannot protect themselves).

Meanwhile, when Titanium Zane says hes a replica, hes actually completely right about that. Some fragments of his code left behind from his visit to the Digiverse gained sentience and inherited Zane's elemental power, creating the Zane we know and love today.

But the original Zane, the one that died fighting the Overlord, actually ended up becoming Echo Zane. Which then would have explained why Zane had so many holes in his memories after being resurrected, and why his sixth sense became much less active as well - he was only made from fragments of the real Zane's code, after all.

Now, as the big smart grownup i am today, i can look back at this theory my baby self had crafted and poke about a million holes into it. But...idk, i always feel nostalgic about this theory in spite of all that. Not just bc it was one of my first fan theories ever, but also bc it would have such fascinating narrative implications if true.

Like, the idea of Mr. E being Echo? Well, if we apply that to the concept of Echo being the Original Zane, then his hatred for Current Zane takes on a whole new dimension. It also gives me a lot of emotions about the whole Ice Emperor situation, as well as Zane's apparent discomfort towards his own statue.

And what kind of position does that put the rest of the gang in? If they had to choose between saving one or the other - the Zane who died for you, or the Zane who lives for you - which one would they choose? Could they choose? How long do you have to love a replica before it starts to feel more authentic than the original? And in that case, who becomes the 'real' zane? The one you love, or the one you lost?

Again. This theory has more holes in it than the Titanic. Cut me some slack, i was an idiot child and also a novice at making theories. But giving credit where its due, i do think it at least raises some interesting concepts. And Ive always casually wondered what would happen if it turned out to be true.

Like i said. Fanfic fodder.

[icarustypicalfall]

HOLDING ON TO HEARTACHE p2

rodolfo parra x fem!reader

part 1 𓆩♡𓆪 MASTERPOST

SUMMARY: mere whispers on the brink of madness; where a sinful soul mends it's mistakes..

Reader's callsign: Leal

warnings: poetic? guilt, silent treatment, slight mentions of fire and injuries, COMFORT, proofread, pet names (amor)

apologies for the delay, i had some stuff on mind, hopefully a good start after the break, I kinda have mixed feelings about this one, but still, enjoy <3

“And yet i loved her more,

I e'er had loved before.” W.W

You left his quarters and made your way back to your own, consumed by agony and hurt.

The onslaught of emotions only intensified the pain, shattering your heart like a mighty hammer, reducing it to mere fragments.

It was difficult to put into words the surreal feeling that gripped your soul. It was almost as if the events were imprinted on your very being, like a haunting nightmare that refused to let you wake up. You almost swore this was a nightmare.

But, if it was so, you'd be already awake. Longed to be cradled in the arms of Rudy as he whispered sweet nothings to you.

But the harsh reality made it clear that this was not a mere figment of your brain.

You found yourself sitting on the thin mattress in your old humble room, your eyes aimlessly wandering over the modest furniture and worn sheets. Everything remained unchanged, as if the past few months had never even happened.

Once again, you felt like a rookie, a frightened infant amidst military veterans, questioning how you had ended up there in the first place.

In the weeks that followed, you avoided Rudy as if he were the plague. His bittersweet caramel eyes seemed to follow you everywhere, silently pleading for a chance to make amends. It was ironic, you thought, that it took a slap to jolt him into remembering your existence. But at what cost?

The pain in your wrist had already faded by the time you prepared yourself in the morning. However, the ache in your heart remained, a constant reminder of the harsh words hurled at you by the one person you believed you could be vulnerable with.

You chose silence.

You turned a blind eye to him, giving him a taste of his own medicine. It felt almost cruel, walking past him, brushing your shoulder against his as you evaded, almost succumbing to the sight of his imploring eyes.

In the chambers of his soul, a symphony played. His heart ached, a melody of longing conveyed.

His hurtful words echoed in his ears, tormenting him throughout the day. The throe of causing you pain was unbearable, surpassing any sin he could fathom. He prayed relentlessly, seeking forgiveness and mercy for his faults, as the suffocating emotions continued to torment his heart and senses.

Once a tough nut, he was now reduced to a pleading shell of his former self. Every time he caught sight of you, Rudy felt the weight of your indifference, the absence of conversation.

He became a ghost in your world.

A presence you denied and refused to acknowledge. He knew he didn't deserve your forgiveness, yet he pleaded for it every night, hoping against hope that redemption would find its way to his soul.

As if nothing existed between the two of you, you worked alongside each other on missions, sat together in debriefs, and even shed tears for fallen comrades. But, despite all that, you never had a proper conversation about what happened.

The night before the Vaqueros teamed up with the Brits and the Americans to catch Hassan, the soldiers were already asleep while you remained in the base, searching for your car keys. While your team went after their targets, you were assigned another side mission.

As you were about to leave, a familiar voice called out to you, pleadingly. It was Rudy, standing in the hallway, guiltily clutching his arm and looking at you.

Something inside you broke when your eyes met his. Instead of staying, however, you chose to run.

Again.

It almost felt like a cruel joke, two people in a hallway longing for each other's embrace, with pride and hurt witnessing their pain from a distance.

You treated him like a ghost, knowing all too well that Rudy had a fear of ghosts. Yet, you continued to treat him as if he were one. He stood there in the hallway, watching you leave, your perfume lingering in the air, adding to his pain. The words he wanted to say felt heavy on his tongue as he leaned against the wall, slowly sinking to the ground.

𓆩♡𓆪

Several days later, it was almost midnight and the Vaqueros were throwing a party. The recent events had been suffocating, and the soldiers deserved a moment to breathe. It was raining outside, and the old Spanish music filled the air as the soldiers shared drinks and laughed with light hearts.

You had just returned from your mission, unable to contact anyone due to confidentiality reasons. The slightly drunk Colonel, Alejandro, offered you a blanket to warm yourself and advised you to find Rudy. Thinking he might be unwell, you embarked on a search for him around the base. Just as you were about to give up, you spotted a figure sitting outside in the pouring rain.

Pushing open the sliding doors, you stepped into the small garden of the base. The scent of soil, rain, and purity filled the air. You joined Rudy on the ground, draping the blanket over his soaked shoulders and hair, and together you found solace in the silence, the distant sounds of shattering laughter and music barely audible.

Rudy was drunk, reeking of alcohol and burning fire. A deep cut on his temple made you frown, wondering what had happened to him. Your hand instinctively reached out to cup his face and inspect the wound. Instantly, he relaxed, looking down at his hands in his lap.

As if awakening from a drunken haze, he murmured your name like a devoted siren. Not your call sign, nor the code you were assigned, nor the rank you had earned.

It was silent tears at first, followed by trembling lips and averted gaze. He covered his face with his hands, whispering nonsensically.

Was this the moment for the heart-to-heart conversation you had both been avoiding for so long?

Peeking through his fingers, he looked at you before lamenting, "I'm sorry, amor... I never meant to hurt you like this." He sneezed before continuing, "I didn't treat you rightall this time... tonight... I was pulled from the fire, closer to death than life... If Alejandro hadn't saved me, I would have died in that house." He looked at you, his eyes filled with regret. "The only thing I could think about was you. Not being able to apologize to you would have been the worst punishment... It was already hell not being by your side, let alone knowing that I made you cry and suffer all this time..."

You pulled him into an embrace, tears streaming down your cheeks as you comforted him. "I should have been there for you. I'm sorry, amor... I am truly sorry."

You silenced him with a gentle kiss, your lips interlocking like puzzle pieces. He had longed for this moment, resting his forehead against yours as he wept.

"I will be better, I promise," he whispered between sobs. "Give me a second chance, amor... Please, it's all I want..."

"I can't lose you again"

~

kindly leave a comment, rebelog, like, anything, it motivates us to write more :3

[waywardstation]

I have been watching the (amazing) PMV "Virtute the cat explains her depature" again and as I was watching some thoughts came up.

Only after Ingo met Akari (or the Protag in general) he starts remembering things about his old life. Like the Gear Station Battle Facility, Chandelure and Emmet.

We've had a fic about Ingo being reminded that he's got a brother named Emmet in one of your fics.

But I've been wondering about something else.

Would you think it's possible that after remembering the fragments he gets in canon he gets a little "haunted" by them. Like keeping him up at night or how he possibly keeps thinking on these fragments to make sense of them or how they make him feel?

It would also make an interesting comfort fic if Akari notices Ingo not being his usual self and helps him dealing with his fragmented memories a little. Coincidentally she has some distortion snacks with her. It could lead into the whole thing sharing the stuff she finds in distortions to jog his memories! Nothing significant comes out in this day but it helps Ingo to stop focusing too hard on the few things he does remember.

I know you've likely have a huge backlog on fics already but I had the need to share this with you as I think it would be nice to read about that!

OHH OH YES ANON!! I have some moments for things like this both in Rain Check and in IWLYB (I really need to finish those!! AUGH!!) but I can’t really rest with them and get deep into it as this subject aids the fics, but it’s not what either of them are really about.

BUT I REALLY REALLY LOVE THIS IDEA and I really love that connection you make where it can lead into the events of Comfort Him! That’s so good!!

Again technically this is a prompt that I’m answering and I don’t usually, but I really wanted to talk about it haha. I’ll keep this in mind anon, fics like this are fun and cathartic to write. Thank you!!!

[theimperials1]

Feelings of Remembrance.

The amount of things V couldn't handle amounted to an extremely short amount of miscellaneous feelings she couldn't crush, stab, burn or simply repress into submission, they were for her most dreaded, even more so than the solver's sick games, there wasn't any amount of comfort she could force into herself to make them vanish, oh no, they remained and dig holes into her neural net to remain around and rouse her into the worst restlessness she could ever feel.

Today was one of those nights, completely fueled by those wicked emotions she wished had gotten suppressed by the entity responsible of the manor incident, yet, it's sadistic streak seemed to have deprived her of that peace, so wished and needed, as she took a long exasperated sigh as her frame kept crawling through the vents, taking peeks into the outside of each room she could access from there.

Why, why, why why-

She stops for some seconds, an awful headache is coming, adding only more gasoline to the already burning pyre inside her neural net: A pyre made of an odd, almost ever-vanishing yer always-returning distant tune, or was it a song? she couldn't simply put a finger on it, if the echoes on the deep dark before she woke up, and on this awful state of consciousness were either notes or lyrics. Nothing made sense, nothing...

All she knew was that this awful craving was pushing her to keep searching for...anything that could allow to put a musical face to that relentless tune that kept echoing through her, the unknown rhythm yer always urging her onward, and right as she was about to probably start a rampage through the whole colony of the purple thing, she caught a glimpse of just what she was looking for, V frowns, as she opens the vent through a gracious kick that amounts to the only little pulse of happiness that she has felt on the last 3 hours.

The music classroom from the purple's academy. It is a composite and organized deployment of musical instruments, all perched into stands right in front of named seats for the little orchestra they had on here to perform, but nothing of that mattered, in the dark, and with the predatory instincts she has been forced to develop, she moves around, seeking, trying to find a sense on that untouchable tune that keep just echoing, on and on, like what could be heard from behind a door.

It increases her anxiousness to put an end to all of this, to simply do, and return to sleep on this cursed bunker and forget about it all.

"I will rip your limps one by one, Cyn" She mumbles as she eyes a a violin "Couldn't delete things right even if you tried- fucker-"

As she moves through the rows of seats, her optics, luckily used to the amount of darkness present on here, caught the glimpse of something that makes her halt right where she is, the song still echoing only somewhat louder, perhaps the instinctive and faceless remembrance incensed due to the proximity of so many chances to acquire an identity...

And V is not wrong, for as her optics settle right into the piano of the classroom, her careless grip into a drum turns into an all-crushing hold that leaves the instrument useless, optics hollow with anger cursing through her wires as she starts smashing aside anything that gets into her way towards that instrument.

The tune keeps beating, almost like the tainted core that is all below her chassis, yet it starts to show itself in a somewhat recognizable shape, no longer hiding on that limbo that kept it close and far at the very same time.

V breaths raggedly as fragments, little pieces of corrupted and mangled memory begins to pour back in,curses towards the solver on it's wrecked job of deleting what they used to be come on right as the very place she is standing in glitches in and out.

The great hall... no corpses, she is walking, what used to be her weak, idiotic self from the past. Pain settles into her as both hands end up grabbing fists of white hair, almost ripping it, breathing becoming a mess out of pure rage.

The image shifts and that thing, is playing piano, a muffled tune her audio receptors can't process, again evasive, practically mocking her from the periphery of the mind, V stares at the self from the past, and can't but grown ireful against those memories, feeling sick, both at her own powerlessness and at the shards of happiness before the whole tragedy that now has all of them crushed started.

She manages not to scream, nor to do anything more drastic than viciously squeezing her eyes shut and trying to regain a proper hold on reality, she doesn't manage to do so before the first audible part of that mysterious tune is actually played by her older self.

It all vanishes, and again she is on that classroom, at a few meters from the piano, V blinks and offers a shaky sigh at the situation, exasperated and angry, she does little more than what she always has done; pick herself up and continue, more like a soldier than a maid, akin more to a warrior.

She advances, the only note from that song ringing now in loop inside herself, the very first key to touch to start it and then finish it. The drone of white hairs is barely able to control herself enough to sit right in front of the damned thing...and stare, her optics analyzing which key should be played to start, hands moving over the instrument and taking position all too naturally, V curses everything for that memory to not be a decoy of the solver. One of those so many cruel pathways for her to take and then get deleted once again, yet, there is a little trace of thankfulness towards it due to the fact it granted some insight on what she was supposed to do now, she bits her lower lip as the headache takes a sharp severity, and yet doesn't stop, V doesn't allow her hands to halt as they settle themselves, and the first key is pressed.

An expected and yet unknown sound echoes as the fingers presses the key of the instrument, V's almost hyperventilation starts to settle as it travels through the air and it's received by her audio receptors, yet it wasn't done, of course; she starts pressing more keys and a cacophony, a broken melody, forms, it is like a clutter of trash, senseless, disposable, it makes her halt for a few seconds, hands sprawled over the piano and with the fingers positioned in bizarre ways as she stops her attempt right after some keys are pressed.

Gritted teeth, hands balling into fists that go right into her lap, and she stares at the black and white, seeking sense on this madness, on this ordeal that has been imposed by her own weak convictions from ages past, V hesitates, and keeps seeking inside herself the rest of the song, the notes that should be struck for this to work, the veil of destroyed and mangled memories is thick as the fog surrounding the manor, cunning, keeping it all under the wrap of a incipient amnesia that kept, just, getting, in, the, way.

And yet, it is not perfect, as she seizes on the split of a second another soundless echo, one that like draws her to another key right as she repeats the first one, the sound travels through the empty and now on disarray rows of empty seats and instruments, right as V smiles, not confidently nor happy, but with the sanity on the very tip of the edge, as those two notes keeps now reverberating inside her neural net, she needs them out, all out.

The process is too alike to peeling off skin to get shrapnel out, like when she first woke up as...this, and heard the beat of the tainted heart, too many wishes to simply drag everything single stain of the taint out of herself, maybe killing herself on the process, maybe not: This was similar, maybe without the existential dread, but this, just like any other things that came before it, is trying to drive her mad, maybe so she 'remembers' who she used to be.

She doesn't need that.

Another key is struck on a violent movement, and now there is three reverberations deep, deep, inside the cranium ~ perhaps ripping every piece of herself doesn't sound so bad. Not at this moment, because this is like quashing a bug and then hearing it rip your guts from the inside right away in a bizarre display of horror; she is gonna maim Cyn and make sure she doesn’t do any of this to anyone ever again.

Another.

Four, four bugs, using their mouths to chant inside and keep driving her towards insanity, she is not having it, and even if those bugs are faceless incarnations of the older V, still the thought of them being sick fuckers prevails, luck haves it that she doesn't have anything to crush right now. Something to let it all out, something to burst and let bleed; how she wishes to have Cyn's stupid smiling face right between her palms so she can- burst- it- open-

A fifth key is struck and the endless pain of having them play and reverberate keeps on, how she craves for it to be the kind of pain she is used to enduring, and that has been burned to disturbingly clear into her circuits she already knows what to do, with this? there is little more to do than keep walking the path of agony.

She starts adding more, and more notes, the fingers striking and dragging into the naked open the soundless and muffled echoes that keep pushing her night into this awful direction so dreaded. The cacophony starts to slowly not only acquire both pace and reason, but speed, all at jarring and at spots extremely bizarre way, a crescendo of oddness in music, witnesses to this would have grown most confused, for what V was enacting could be called little more than sculpting through notes, for that is what she did, not an act through chisel and stone, but rather through anger and the harsh playing of the keys on the piano.

The featureless tune, heard so far away into the corners of her mind, driving her insane, was slowly shifting and transforming into something that could be interpreted, from a odd composition of notes scrambled into an imaginary partitive, it became something little less than worthy of a hundred applause, a song so beautifully crafted from the scraps left on the broken corners of the mind of the disassembler, whose pain was less than over, as her movements became more vicious, albeit the concentration didn't wane at any second, what amounted inside V's mind to a maddening buzz of ever-increasing insects crawling inside her chassis was only increasing in volume as it combined with intrusive memories of the great hall and those ended up infected by the damned memories of THAT BASEMENT

Yet it had to end. End as it could, and as it, perhaps, should, there wasn't anything clear on it, on this sensation of pain that kept crawling all around herself, this sense of restlessness that plagued her, the temporal madness. But it had to end.

No matter how many painful memories of all the moments between her and N came crashing down, how much the song seemed to summon and rebuild the fragments, how many times had they danced at this very same song in the great hall before that thing started dragging everyone down the basement?

How many times had they kissed?

How many times had they shared books on the library?

As tears of oil start dripping down her cheeks, and the insane tune kept pouring of the piano, reaching it's climax, hands moving now more by themselves than by any real will to continue, V can only heard the buzz (or is it the tune?) more loud than ever, more clear than ever, it and the tune coming out of the instrument are one and the same, for her a forbidden symphony of things she doesn't want out in the open, memories and remembrances of a love that was cut short.

The damned giggle of that thing incenses the anger and sets ablaze a final sprint to end it all.

She crosses the threshold, more and more pieces of the song come together in the climax, wrapping one on another and revitalizing a wrecked melody that had hummed so low in those buried times and now stands alive, sounding broken, but yet with the beauty beating right below what the ears can make of it.

The joints burn, the hands keep moving but she wants a rest from this, the visions only burning themselves clearly again and again into her neural net, she and N dancing, what amounts to years of broken feelings collides against the bulwark she has become, and endures them despite the crushing deluge their sleep has turned them into.

Each final note little more than a spark of those broken years being modified, shifted, turned into this very aberration with a curse that wouldn't end even if she shot herself, oh no, she would turn into it, devour, consume, and then back into this wrecked CYCLE.

Her breathing, synthetic and as unnecessary as it could be- becomes as painful as feeling her parts being torn, broken, and then set together again, half-screams of pain come out of the lips...

And right as she strikes a final note, the last the past has to offer, and right as she and N's dance fades completely, a sharp string of pain surges, no longer muffled or endured screams come out, sheer horror and repugnance expressed on the raw way of a proper scream that moves on through the halls of the academy.

She shakes as she screams, stares up, up into the dark ceiling of the music classroom, tears of oil down her cheeks, moving down, staining the jacket, she swears, for the split of a second, she can see the stars.

She and N had promised to watch the stars after the gala was over.

As her body falls back, like a puppet with the strings cut, and more and more errors notify that she has reached the bare minimum of oil to work, she wishes that not only this insanity has been satisfied, but that the heavens have had enough of tormenting her for daring to boot up after Tessa rescued her.

Enough torment.

Enough Pain.

She wants to rest.

It has to be enough.

"I'm sorry N"

The apology never said back then, and not even now, to who used to be the target of her deepest affections, slips as little more than an incomprehensible sound of pain to the world. The sound of V's body hitting the floor echoes just like the scream did, a dry and brutal sound.

It is finished. Both for the insanity, and for her.

No more restlessness to quell.

No more sins to atone for.

It. Is. Done.

For now.

ΩΩ

Hi. If you liked this mini-fic:

Help me buy a New Router.

Check my Carrd.

[countlessrealities]

{ @mcltiples & @evilmcg - mentioned }

The end of the call is followed by a long silence. If asked, Morty wouldn't have been able to tell how much time passed, because it feels like a minute and a decade at the same time. The world around him seems to evaporate, leaving behind nothing but paralysing darkness. It's like his body can't move, and yet his mind is working, rushing, whirling, so fast that he can't keep up.

On the other hand, thought, a part of him wonders if there's anything he's supposed to keep up with. After all, what he has just been told makes no sense. It shouldn't make sense, because it should be impossible.

Meg is dead. Killed by that useless bad copy of theirs.

If he were fully honest with himself, he would admit that he doesn't really want to know, and that's why he refuses to glance at the clock once he starts resurfacing from the numb daze he has fallen into. Acknowledging how many minutes have ticked by would mean acknowledging how deeply the news has affected him and he refuses to do it.

He can't accept each and every emotion that's storming in his chest right now. The fury, the bitterness, the jealousy, the thirst for revenge, they are acceptable. It's what he is expected to be feeling. But all the rest? He can't afford those emotions, he can't afford their implications.

Sadness, anguish, grief. And a dark and violent feeling he can't name. The visceral need to rip apart the whole universe because he has been brutally robbed of something that was his.

Gritting his teeth behind sealed lips, Morty takes a slow breath through his nose. He had known that something was off the moment his counterpart had called him. They never speak on the phone unless they have agreed to do so. Usually they text each other. If something is truly important, they show up in person.

This is important, vital even, despite the fact that he would never call it that out loud. And yet, not only his counterpart has chosen not to deliver the news face to face, but he has also told him that they'll see each other in person "soon".

And isn't that a whole different kind of painful grip around his heart. He isn't welcome now, there's no room for him by his other self's side. It's all her, and it makes him think that it will always be now that she's been turned into a tragic leading figure.

As for him, this is the tale showing him that, in spite of what he thought, there has never been a real main role for him in it. There have always been only two, and neither has ever been his.

His grip tightens around the glass of liquor he doesn't remember pouring, but he doesn't realise what he's doing until the sound of glass breaking reaches his ears. The pain of the shards cutting into his palm doesn't register, nor does the wetness of his own blood pouring out on the surface of his desk.

What his mind registers, instead, is the firm grip of cold fingers methodically pulling the fragments out of his flesh, before leaving just to return, mere momenta later, with gauzes for the wounds and a rug for the mess.

"I-I'll clear your schedule for tomorrow," is all Rick's says, once he has performed his tasks.

The hand that has been removing the pieces of glass squeezes lands on the president's shoulder, too tight for comfort, but he knows that it's welcome. This is what Morty needs now. His physical presence, too suffocating to be ignored, and his mind pushing into the teen's, rough enough to feel like a violation.

His Master needs to be grounded, in a way that only Rick can provide, just as he needs to relinquish control to the only person who can be trusted with that. And what his Master wants and needs, Rick never fails to provide.

"L-Let's go."

The boy steps through the portal that has been open, quiet and pliant like a puppet, no questions asks, putting up on resistance against the hand guiding him. Behind him, instead, Rick walks steady and purposeful, gray blue eyes alit with a ice-could blaze where Morty's amber globes are dull and glassy.

Meg's fate in itself doesn't faze him in the least. He has no attachment to her, no interest in her outside what was her role in his owner's life. What sparks his silent, deadly fury is the effect that her death is having on his Morty and it's enough to make him ravenous. Only one thing will quench his copper-flavored hunger: the slow, prolonged sheer agony of the hand behind her murder and, consequentially, behind his Master's pain and torment.

What he craves, he will get, and the third iteration of the president won't be allowed to stop feeling until he has enough. Then, he'll be wiped from existence, back to the nothingness he should have never come out of. Reality will be set right.

Because no one is allow to break his Morty. No one but him.

[ventruevitae]

Katerina's baby sister is a Lasombra? :0

indeed!

of course, she had no idea of this until Many years after the event had already taken place, but yeah, elissavet is still out there & survived despite the odds. she was embraced a short handful of years after kat was by a lasombra looking to gain a foothold within the camarilla. not exactly a mirror of apollonnio, but definitely not a person with her best interest at heart either. elissavet's sire is... 'friends' isn't the correct term, but they know apollonnio & had business dealings with him prior to either party embracing a childe. elissavet's embrace was actually suggested by him, knowing how much tragedy her family had experienced in recent years tragedy which totally completely had Nothing to do with his meddling, none at all & knowing how the lasombra typically went about scouting candidates, it made sense.

he also saw it as an opportunity for future potential plans, knowing there was a solid chance he would be able to use this to his advantage some way in the future. it didn't take a lot of manipulation on his end to convince elissavet that her older sister had intentionally fucked over their family and that definitely shouldn't waste her time reaching out to kat in any capacity. elissavet may or may not have been privy to at least some of the abhorrent treatment kat was receiving at the time, which makes for a very 'interesting' discussion in the years following the events of bloodlines.

basically just a lot of betrayal and hurt feelings between the two lmao :')

elissavet was the youngest of the five sisters, & being the oldest, kat basically raised her after they lost their mother young. i think at some point, elissavet realizes how much she was used and manipulated, but won't broach the topic herself because she's quite frankly Terrified of her sister's reaction. she also feels that kat would be completely justified in feeling any type of rage towards her, because she took everything apollonnio said at face value & ergo was complicit in kat's abuse. realistically, was that a fight she could have won, had she tried to rescue her sister? probably not, but at least kat would have seen that she still had people who cared about her.

& as for how kat feels about her sister presently, it's really complicated, tangled up in so much pain she doesn't even know where to start unravelling it. on one hand, she knows what her sire was like, so she's not surprised and even a bit forgiving about the whole thing. in her head, elissavet was a victim too, just in a different form. on the other hand, kat finds herself sitting with real genuine grief about it. she can't help but wonder just what it is about her that makes her so easy to leave behind, if it's somehow her fault, if she didn't take good enough care of her sisters, if she somehow deserved all of this. somehow it evolves into a nasty spiral of self loathing.

but she also knows that would still be a way of letting her sire win. whether that's true or not is debatable, but that's how it feels. he took her away from her family, made her old life disappear and made her stand by and watch as her father & sisters scrambled to pick up the pieces. she still hasn't visited her father's grave and doesn't know if she ever can. if she stays mad at elissavet, she's losing that one final fragment of who she used to be. apollonnio and his bullshit will have completely severed those ties, and that would be just one more thing he took away from her.

so she's kind of a pushover when it comes to her sister. elissavet struggles to put aside decades of being told that kat intentionally abandoned them all, selfishly fleeing once she got tired of playing caretaker at home. keep in mind, elissavet never really had another mother figure, but her siblings did, so they never felt as gutted when kat disappeared. she spent a long time convinced that taking care of her was what drove kat away. incidentally, their current relationship's status varies wildly from one week to the next. elissavet ends up accidentally hurting kat often, not really able to properly process the reality that kat never wanted to leave them & she was used as a pawn in someone else's fucked up mind game. kat keeps allowing it, not wanting to be abandoned or give the impression that she's leaving elissavet again, not wanting to let her sire take something else away from her.

elissavet is... conditionally allowed to be around the rest of kat's coterie, shall we say lmao. they tolerate her presence because kat wants to be close to her again so badly, it's kind of sad to watch her keep putting her neck out there time and time again, only to have it all crumble after a misplaced word or two. skelter is by far the most cordial, content to just let her sit there and mind her own business. elissavet is keenly aware of her status here, so she does what she can to not rock the boat. damsel's grudgingly tolerant, especially after she ends up friends with kat, because it's a favour for someone she's come to care about. still, she finds it frustratingly paradoxical that kat is the only person who seems to be able to openly express distaste with elissavet, even if she kind of gets it at the same time. (kat appreciates the great amount of effort it takes for her to bite her tongue, don't kid yourself.)

nines is also very much letting this happen for kat's sake. he does Not like elissavet, doesn't like the cowardice she's exhibited before, and definitely doesn't like her habit of stirring the pot & then leaving when things start to get too heated. he absolutely understands why kat will put herself through the ringer for her sister, and thinks that if the roles were reversed–if he suddenly found out that one of his siblings had suffered the same fate as him–he'd also be bending over backwards to keep them around. of course, he has the added benefit of knowing none of them would ever end up working with someone so openly fucking Vile like apollonnio, so it'd be easier in that respect. he genuinely can't wrap his head around how elissavet could just be a bystander for all of that. kat hasn't told him everything that she's been through, but the bits and pieces he's heard are enough. to him, it doesn't matter what lines she was being fed, elissavet shouldn't have fucking done that. if kat ever decided she was 100% done with her sister and never wanted her near the vicinity again, he'd make it happen without a second thought. for now, though, her just kind of hovers whenever she's around. elissavet isn't going to try anything, it's just more of a silent reminder for her to try not to say anything stupid.

mitchell is ambivalent about her, honestly. they've met a handful of times, with elissavet avoiding the malkavian more than anything. it's pretty clear that she doesn't like how insightful mitchell can be, or how easily she reads her. elissavet has always preferred keeping her cards close to her chest, so someone who has an uncanny ability to see right through that is unnerving at best. mitchell also seems to be the one person who can get away with telling kat that her sister is a horrible person (is this because kat expects it from her, or because mitchell is a more objective opinion? we may never know the truth).

none of kat's other immediate family found themselves as kindred, and elissavet lost track of their other three sisters as time went on. she knows for certain that none of them stayed in new york after losing two siblings and their remaining parent, but beyond that, not much else. it's very possible that kat has some neices and nephews out there, but she tries not to give that too much thought because the idea of being removed from that hurts. they each use falsified surnames and swap them out every few decades for the sake of upholding secrecy, though kat is a little more lax with the timing these days. kat is far more sentimental than her sister, and far less adverse to physical contact. elissavet likes to pretend that she's unaffected, but one of the things she missed the most after kat disappeared was the easy way she would offer hugs & brush her hair well past childhood. reflexively, she finds herself opening her mouth to get on kat for smoking so much, since she's never liked the habit, but stops herself when she remembers that the cigarettes won't hurt anything at this point. despite it all, she misses the sound of kat's laugh. they aren't at the point where she's had many opportunities to do it (tears are more common), but she remembers it enough to know it was a sound of comfort.

[vulturevanity]

There is a warm presence living in my chest. It is a stranger.

I genuinely don't remember a time I've connected with my inner self. Though not officially diagnosed yet, I'm autistic, I'm pretty sure; and we sometimes tend to not notice our emotions until they burst out in uncontrollable storms, if at all. Mine don't do that, though, they're more like being plugged into an outlet with the wrong voltage that's constantly sending just a little too much power through the fuse until it blows and everything goes dark. It's the only outlet around, and I need the power, so all I can do is leave it there and use as little of the machinery as possible. But the cost of changing the fuses is starting to pile up.

I don't remember a lot of my teen years. The (not many) memories I have are descriptive -- I know they happened, I can recall them as faded photos in an album and warped voices in an old cassette tape. I wasn't there, though, I'm just experiencing them as if someone's showing them to me, reminiscing about embarrassing teen moments and music they used to listen to. Revisiting those songs, I find I don't much like the stuff.

There is a warm presence living in my chest. It is an angel or a monster, I'm not sure yet -- I don't know if there's a difference.

My deeply religious family wholeheartedly believes in the spiritual world. I'm not exactly a sceptic either; we've experienced some truly unexplainable phenomena that someone with a more solid understanding of the human mind would probably have words for, but I'm only a guy who likes to draw sometimes. My point is, I'm not sure if I can tell them about the warm presence. They might think I'm being called by the Holy Spirit, or compelled by an angel, or posessed.

I don't like going to church anymore. I was raised a fundamentalist protestant, which, if you're queer and were there with me, you know exactly how well that goes. Sundays feel unsettling and suffocating. The pastor's voice makes me squirm. The thought of going to them for help is a little terrifying and, I am aware, probably a bad idea anyway.

There is a warm presence living in my chest. It made itself known when I asked if anyone's there.

Last year I had a few sessions with a therapist my cousin managed to score for free. Honestly it was too brief to start unraveling the i-don't-know that's landed me where I am in terms of mental health nowadays, but it did open my eyes to a couple things. Most importantly, my inability to prioritize myself and my need to be out of the way of other people. Everyone is going through so much already, they don't need to deal with my problems on top of it. My family has an extremely turbulent history, it only makes sense that I wouldn't want to be a burden. I made myself walk alone when everyone else was busy trying to build a home out of shattered glass.

One of the memory albums in my mind is, strangely, of my childhood friends who didn't exist. I had imaginary friends until I was 12. Or I think that's what they were; maybe I was just playing make-believe with myself. Regardless, I was a lonely child, and my imagination kept me company, and since I was old enough to understand how weird that would look from an outside perspective, I'd only speak to them through thoughts. It was one of my most well-kept secrets. But eventually they had to go, I think so that I could "grow up". The strange part is, rather than just fade out of my mind, they formally said goodbye to me before they left. I don't really think that's supposed to happen. Maybe I really was roleplaying?

There is a warm presence living in my chest. It doesn't have a voice.

Last year, while I was seeing the therapist my cousin had arranged for me, we briefly talked about this sense of heavy derealization I feel toward my teenage years. That logically, I knew it happened, and I had the (not many, strangely fragmented) memories to prove, but emotionally I feel entirely detached from them. Nothing in particular can be pinpointed as the cause for it, as far as I can tell. Regardless, I became curious about different types, causes and symptoms of dissociation. In the end, I didn't really think much more of it, as I didn't believe my experiences overlapped enough with what I'd read about it to be worth looking further into.

Two months ago, I went to sleep on a Thursday. When I woke up again, it was Sunday; the weekend had happened, mundane and uneventful (as far as I recall), and I hadn't been there for it. It was a startling moment -- though the machine hadn't been running much lately, maybe another fuse had been blown. But this was different from a shutdown. I can recognize a shutdown. This -- being out for a whole weekend -- was scarier. Scary enough that I had to reconsider the possibility of dissociation. I'm no good at introspection, and I still don't think I fit any criteria for a diagnosis, but regardless, I was a little desperate, so I finally -- after 30 years -- tried to reach into my psyche. Awkward, embarrassed, like a newbie actor talking to a plastic prop, I asked in thought: "Hey, uh. Anyone there?"

There is a warm presence living in my chest. It doesn't have a voice.

It pressed itself against my ribcage with a strength that nearly startled me out of it. Now I have a vivid imagination; like I said, I had imaginary friends until I was 12. So I was terrified that I'd just manifested a new symptom out of nothing. Symptom of what? No idea; like I said, I'm not diagnosed. It's very likely that I'm autistic, and I have a lot of baggage to work through, but never had a chance to do it. All that aside, I decided to ignore the fear and investigate this new... thing that was happening. The feeling was a strange mixture of elation and desperate loneliness. As if it had been waiting to be addressed. As if the thing it wanted most was to say hello.

It didn't say hello, though. Or rather, the feeling was its way of saying hello. (Is that how you want me to put it? Okay.) It doesn't seem to use words. I realized it on that first time. I told him (oh? Him? Thank you!), tentatively, "hello. Is this real? Are you here?" And he pressed against my sternum again -- yes. He felt really happy, almost overwhelmingly so. But I asked him if he wanted to come outside, and he vanished. No. The sensation in my chest now tells me he feels anxious about it. That's alright, he shouldn't force himself. This is new for both of us. We'll learn together.

There is a warm presence living in my chest. This feeling might be me.

[yunessa]

It is good to start a story with a fond looking back on childhood memories. A fond reminder of parents who raised you, the kindly elder that guided you or the friends who showed you the right and proper path. Maybe something spiced up with a bit of demons added to a story. It'd be a good start to mine if I remembered any of those things at all. I am cursed and whatever memories I had of the life before that curse are lost to me.

Two decades and some change ago I only remember my teacher finding me wandering a road alone. Art, as he called himself, helped me by taking me in for a time. I do not know or remember where I was cursed or even when. All I know is that I am. Art helped me find a way to alleviate the curse with a magical item he gifted me. With my curse held at bay, we travelled together for a while as he taught me how to be a bard- teaching me to take care of myself, he said. I needed the help- I only recalled the basics. He was a tiefling with a sense of humour, easy to speak to, and was a mastefully skilled bard. To this day I've never quite managed to play his version of Renizo's Fall Sonata on my lyre with his level of skill.

We parted some ten years back. Art had a journey he wanted to take himself and I wanted to seek something else out- perhaps even to find myself. It's easier than you think when you don't remember anything at all and there's no clues. I suppose I should have some longing for who I was, some desire to find my old self. But after a decade I don't find myself wanting that. I have many vague wisps or scraps of memory that seem to be mine. Bits of colours, flashes of memory. Not too dissimilar from a moulded manuscript.

I don't know if those memories are real or if they're false. Each passing moment makes the details more foggy, the sharp edges of memory blurred like the memories of a hard night's drinking. I feel the wrongness in the memories as if I committed a story to memory and changed the names. I do not remember the names of those adoptive parents, the siblings, friends or city I grew up in. Perhaps some of those fragments of memory are fake, half remembered stories I recall that are easy enough for me to find the agreeable if I don't inspect them closely. But the moment I do they dissipate.  

I've been cursed as long as I could remember and what does it matter if the curse can't be lifted? I should enjoy life while I had it. Because the truth of the matter is that while I was cursed, only two things in life mattered to be: Freedom and being able to see the sun again. I was alive and free and nothing else mattered.  

Of course, that was before I met my friends.

-Yunessa

[adhbabey]

Its laughable that people fakeclaiming or claiming that they have "faked" DID or any complex dissociative disorder.

I've seen people mention that they have struggled with their sense of identity after "intentionally faking" having a system, and I need to reiterate the fact that if you're having identity confusion, disconnection from your body, feeling empty or numb, and have conflicting thoughts, those are symptoms of having a dissociative disorder, and you never "faked" in the first place.

So, it's just really stupid and funny that people claim to understand what's going on in those with CDD's minds, when those with the CDD, don't understand it themselves. Like, the brain has built layers of protection from pain and suffering and people expect it to be all unraveled like a loose piece of thread on a sweater. That's not how it works and it's not at all simple.

I'm gonna be honest, if you never had to go through the immense mental gymnastics that your brain does, denying that anything ever happened, then you can't possibly imagine what it's like to live with this disorder. You don't start learning about things until you're further into recovery, that's the truth. Most systems don't know what's going on for a reason. It's so easy to deny that you were ever hurt, than to accept that you went through something traumatic.

Its the whole point of the disorder, you couldn't run away or fight what you went through, so you chose to lock it away, in hopes to live another day. Most people don't have to learn how to emotionally shut down or repress their memories, so it feels incredulous that anyone would know that by instinct. In fact, to most people, which had to dissociate in order to survive their perils, they don't have any idea of what happened, the story is broken up into pieces, so that you may have hope to see tomorrow. If you don't know how bad it is, then you don't have anything to worry about.

So acting like you're multiple people, without understanding the context of why someone's identity is so fragmented, is honestly kind of funny. No system chose this, and to outright avoid the subject or cherry pick information, is its own cognitive dissonance, and is kind of ironic. The fact that you're denying the existence of something that causes you to deny the existence of your own memories.

You can't fake this disorder with any realism or agency. It's pathetic that attempts have been made to discredit those with unique experiences. It's not about having alters, if you try to say it is, that's missing the point. Complex dissociation is about trying to survive an ongoing situation, in which a child cannot fight back or flee, nor can they rely on a trusted adult, so they must rely on themselves.

If you can't imagine how someone may be able to get through something like that, then that's not very imaginative, is it? What were you saying about how simple it is to fake DID? I thought you thought of reasons and explanations, I thought you experienced what it's like, first hand. People don't go on the internet, and tell lies, that can't be true. It sounds like someone's projecting. It's all a lie, then. No actual argument, no actual reason, just another way to bully or make fun of someone, then. It's a bit childish, if you ask me.

I find it rather pathetic, that people expect this to be a shut and close case, but have no idea what lengths the human psyche will go, in order to survive. It's human instinct. I think we can all agree that we've seen at least one movie, read one book, had one experience, where someone would do anything that they can, as an act of self preservation. So, why is it so hard to believe that a child will create another self to help them go through what they cannot do alone. To create a scenario in which that they can live. It's evolution, isn't it? I think these people know nothing about science, and just are using it as a way to make everything a competition. Grow up.

[casketscratch]

i think this place has been good for me in a... tentatively feeding scraps of myself to the blog, and instead of getting my hand smacked or regretting it, it's just. an okay thing. it's like a neutral thing to exist in a space and to have experiences i talk about and that's like. some people even kinda relate sometimes, and that's like. neeeew? i don't want to oversell it and be like tumblr is healing something in me just by letting me exist in the smallest way possible here, b u t:

people relating to me is not an experience i am ever prepared for. even my friends now it's mostly a... as long as i only exist close to them but don't try to connect too much. because i know i make other people uncomfortable. you know? it's not nothing but it's not... emotionally nourishing, either. i know it's not, because i'm trying to figure out ways to connect without feeling scared or sabotage myself by being like "what's even the point, it's too late to try."

this is. i struggle with admitting this enough that i'm having to interrupt myself to unclench my jaw. but it's the ... teeniest, tiniest little attempt to be open and honest. i am so scared of doing that again after the last year, two, three? that i have to actually like. argue with some of our more edgier (affectionate) protectors about doing it at all.

i say teeniest and tiniest but it's been a huge effort to not shut down totally and keep trying. "connect with other people" is apparently our most convoluted labyrinth of internal defenses. (like a labyrinth should be!)

so thank you to this space, i guess? i can never like.

initiate contact, the self-sabotage is mostly like, the hour of "no one wants to hear what you'd say anyway," "you'll just feel bad the whole time," "why even bother think of all the wreckage and people you've hurt behind you." and it works, is the bitch, it hits so hard that it feels like a gatekeeper that turns us all into these little like, "oh he's right, why WOULD we?" because then it's such a disorienting switch i barely remember what i was doing. or trying to do.

(i just typed all tht out and now i'm like oh fuck i got your number, man. we're gonna talk. see, this shit is useful! so many tiny insights)

anyway right yes uhhh.

... thank you. the internet being what it is i always feel like i'm one wrong word or opinion away from being run out. and when your connections to communities or other people are zero, or close to zero, feeling like even your preliminary avenues to try to connect in the first place are traps is really bad. for me. probably for other people but i'm just talking about me.

and then you take all that constant supervision from others and marry it with that internal protector sense of "see i told you everyone is a piece of shit and you won't belong there, either" and enter the canyon of despair. to crawl out of until the next time the cycle happens again.

but i think the scraps feeding bit is working. we're committed to being honest and non-judgmental of each other as possible. it at least seems to work against the endless vigilance and paranoia over, is that an okay thing to say? is someone going to call me out for [long list of discourse points in my head]. can i even talk about my own trauma without upsetting the people who'll tell me it's fake or invalidating their own, is the fact we work with our persecutors even when they're "bad" or "evil" going to start shit, etc. You know... the concerns that all boil down to avoiding feeling shame for stuff we're just trying to figure out.

which means we're like. obliquely managing to work with the alters and fragments who carry the shame that DOES immobilize us and DOES send so many of us to the stars. in baby bites. right here. just like that. where no one's yet ripped our head off or even tried to for not doing any of this right or sometimes having Bad Opinions or whatever.

something's working. and the sleepy meds are definitely working and if i don't stop now this will turn int a 2k word thing about shame and avoidance and freedom and let's just. flop. i'm gonna flop.

[shivunin]

Am I too late for the music meme??? If not can I ask for 4, 5 and 6 for the whole crew? Pretty please?

It's never too late for music!! Thanks for asking, Lilou c:

(Music Meme list)

4. a song lyric that describes my muse

Answered here for all of them c:

5. a song that makes my muse sad

Oh, songs that make me sad, you said? Songs that make me cry in front of my computer while trying to transcribe relevant lyrics? Those songs?

Arianwen: Welly Boots by The Amazing Devil.

Not that everything comes back to her mother, but I think Adaia's loss is one of the things that's going to push Wen's buttons every single time. This song is about someone watching a loved one from the afterlife (perhaps as a ghost?), knowing that they can't really do much to help but still reaching out over and over again anyway

Choice lyrics: "If only you could hear my voice, but you are screaming far too loud to hear me swear: just because I left doesn't mean that I'm not still there." and " 'How could you leave me here?' You scream/ and louder I'll scream back from I don't know/ 'I know you're strong enough, I know you're strong enough, I know you're strong enough to do this on your own.'"

Maria: Stay, I Pray You from Anastasia (the musical)

I've talked about this before, I think, but this song so encapsulates her watching Ferelden fade into the distance from a ship bound for Kirkwall. Everything she's ever known, her sister's body, her home, her father's final resting place---gone. The grief of losing her homeland lies firmly under all the others until she goes back again someday. Thinking about Ferelden makes her feel an unshakeable sense of loss even years later.

Choice Lyrics: "You are all I know/you have raised me/ How to turn away?/ How to close the door?/ How to go where I have never gone before?"

Elowen: Queen of Nothing by The Crane Wives

This song taps into Elowen's imposter syndrome, the sneaking belief that everyone else knows that she is a fraud and she has already doomed herself in some looming, unknowable way. Deep down, she believes that she is not enough and it will eventually and inevitably hurt the people she cares for best.

Choice lyrics: "Like a moth in the night/ I'm desperate for a minute in theb light/ Cus everywhere that I go/ Something pulls me to the shadows/ And I'm trying not to get too close, but it's always there/ Saying my name, calling to me/ Isn't this what you wanted?/ Time sure feels like it's runing out/ Just finish what you started/ Queen of nothing/ Wearing such a heavy crown."

Emmaera: Chords by The Amazing Devil

For Emma, I think that she often gets caught on the knowledge that to love something is to have already lost it. Nothing lasts forever, but how do you love something even knowing that it will be lost? The thought of it fills her with a soft melancholy, and I think this song (which is about one's children leaving home at last) taps into that feeling.

Choice lyrics: "Pick your chords well, loves/ but sing your notes off-key/ You can't rehearse the chorus, but the verse is sweet/ And if your voice begins to crack, if you ever feel alone/ They might laugh because you're leaving, but know we'll sing your name when you come home."

Salshira: Neptune by Sleeping At Last

Salshira knows that she's intentionally presented a fragmented picture of herself to everyone else. She does this to keep her truest self safe, but it also means that it's really hard for others to really know her. In turn, she never really feels seen or known. I think this song is an uncomfortable mirror held up to those parts of her personality.

Choice lyrics: "I'm only honest when it rains/ If I time it right, the thunder breaks when i open my mouth/ I wanna tell you but I don't know how/ I'm only honest when it rains/ An open book with a torn-out page/ And my ink runs out/ I wanna love you but I don't know how"

6. a song that makes my muse want to dance

Arianwen: Scary World by Night Club (backup, Beautiful is Boring by BONES UK)

Wen is easily the most graceful of my OCs, but I think she probably gravitates to music she can grind or headbang to. In her modern AU, she is very much into music you can feel with your whole body.

Maria: Dance the Night by Dua Lipa (and a backup, Universe by Ambar Lucid)

Maria is very good at formal, structured dances (she's an excellent partner for the waltz, for example) but she's awful at anything free-form, so I want you to imagine her with her hands over her head, flailing to both of these songs. Gorgeous woman laughing her head off doing the most ungraceful dance moves known to Thedas.

Elowen: Labyrinth by Miracle Musical

It wouldn't be her if even a song she would dance to wasn't also about being trapped in a maze of your own making lol (but I picture Elowen's dancing as lots of shoulder work and rhythmic swaying, maybe the occasional gesture of her hands if she's really feeling the lyrics)

Emmaera: Magic by Juniper Vale

For a nice little "spontaneously slow-dancing in the kitchen" moment with her love

Salshira: How to Be a Heartbreaker by Marina

I rest my case