#all. viola dives

[wardercloud]

Viola reminded them of Mneme. Somehow, at least. Maybe the elf was looking for pieces of her in anything, but she was gone and they were still here. They had to get used to that. Viola sure as hell talked more than the aspect ever did. That wasn't really a hard task to accomplish though. Still, they nodded their head and looked at the demon. They really wondered how demons came to have the personalities they had. Most were expected to be cold-hearted and uncaring. She seemed to be the complete opposite. Maybe that was a good thing for them. They needed that kind of thing around right now. "I do. It started off as something I was pushed into, but I care a lot about the people around me. Friends or not. I'll come to care about you quickly, too. I already do. I'll...take you to meet Aegnor. I'm tethered to him. You're tethered to me. Seems like the logical next step."

"I suppose that's where I come in." Protecting them was one thing, but she couldn't be tied to someone who wouldn't acknowledge their own worth. She'd struggled with that with Vinny for ages; she could put in the same amount of effort with this one. Cloud seemed likable enough, at least to her. "I've heard the sun elves are fond of their... traditions." Viola had been around long enough to catch wind of these antics, so many bodies and people; honestly, it sounded like far too much work. "As good a reason as any," Viola didn't feel the need to argue that if they killed enough people in front of an audience it wouldn't matter how good of a fighter they were. Still, their nature spoke to something Viola didn't know about them. Then again, the two were still getting to know one another. "you must care a great deal for people."

[the-weeping-dawn]

///

[secretmellowblog]

Les Mis Hidden Name Meanings: Jean Valjean

Every Les Mis character’s name is either a pun or has some deep symbolic meaning– or both at once! Jean Valjean’s name has a ton of layers so let’s dive in.

When we’re first introduced to him, Hugo tells us that his name is quote “a contraction of voilà Jean, or “here is Jean.”” We’re told that he was named after his father, and that his family name probably began as a nickname.

The word “Jean” in french sounds like the word “gens,” which means “people.” So his last name is a pun meant to make you think “viola les gens”/ “here are people.”

The most obvious layer to his name is that Jean Valjean is basically John Doe. He is the anonymous Everyman. His sister’s name is Jeanne, so she’s basically Jane Doe. They aren’t special or exceptional or unusual; they’re just behold! The regular people.

In fact his name is so common-sounding that it's a plot point. Champmathieu, the man who is mistaken for Jean Valjean, has a name that the police connect with his. Javert theorizes that "Champ" is a version of "Jean" in a specific accent, while Mathieu was actually Jean Valjean's sister's maiden name. ("Champ" is also the French word for "field.") The fact that Jean Valjean is a peasant everyman makes it easy for others in his position to be conflated with him.

But the other layer is that this is all an elaborate pun biblical reference!

When Pontius Pilate presents a bound Jesus Christ to the crowd before his crucifixion, he says the words “ecce homo” or “Here is the man!”/”behold the man!”

“Voila Jean” or “here is Jean!”/”behold Jean!” is meant to be a reference to that.

During his death scene Jean Voila-Jean even references the “Ecce homo” line explicitly, gesturing at a crucifix and saying:

“Voilà le grand martyr.”

Which Isabel Hapgood translates as “behold the great martyr.”

At another point in the same scene Marius says to Cosette:

“He has sacrificed himself. Viola l’Homme. Behold the man.”

But more references to that biblical moment appear throughout the novel; Jean Valjean is associated with it constantly, all the time. It’s one of his defining biblical allusions. He’ll be trying to live anonymously, or under an alias– and then suddenly his true name and criminal past will be revealed, he’ll be revealed to be ‘the man,’ and some great horrible act of martyrdom will follow.

Sometimes Jean Valjean is the one revealing his own identity, but sometimes Inspector Javert is put into the role of Pontius Pilate. Javert himself explicitly makes that comparison– Jean Valjean as Jesus, Javert as Pontius Pilate– when he’s contemplating suicide.

And this ties into one of the largest differences between the book and the stage musical.

In the musical, “prisoner 24601” is the name that represents Jean Valjean’s dehumanization–while “Jean Valjean” is the name he uses while standing up for his own humanity. He will be called 24601, and proudly declare that “my name is Jean Valjean” to assert he’s still a person.

And while this is a great storytelling choice, it’s almost the opposite of how the name “Jean Valjean” is handled in the book.

Because in the book…. Jean Valjean IS the name that dehumanizes him. Jean Valjean is the name that he’s running from. The name that Javert uses when he’s insulting him, the name that bigots use when they’re threatening him, the name that ignorant people use when they’re mocking him – it’s not 24601, it’s Jean Valjean.

And there’s a special kind of agony to that.

The name that is being used to torture, humiliate, and dehumanize him isn’t 24601– it’s his name.

He thinks of it as a “fatal name,” as a punishment. Living under that name is living in hell. When Jean Valjean is living under one of his aliases, concealing his identity, he thinks:

That which he had always feared most of all in his hours of self-communion, during his sleepless nights, was to ever hear that name {jean Valjean] pronounced; he had said to himself, that that would be the end of all things for him; that on the day when that name made its reappearance it would cause his new life to vanish from about him, and—who knows?—perhaps even his new soul from within him.

It’s no wonder that he ends up internalizing the way society views him, and developing so much fear and hatred of himself. He’s grown to see his name as just….well, ecce homo, behold the man. His name is just the two words people say before they violently punish him.

Names and namelessness are a major theme in Les Mis, and he’s the character who has the most complex relationship with his own names. He has a legal name, but it’s used to torture him, and he has a series of false names he uses to escape torture.

If I were to describe Jean Valjean– one of the most complex characters in all of literature, in one word, that word would be “grief.”

The criminal justice system takes everything from him, including things he wasn’t aware he was able to lose. His name, the last connection he had to his family and his old identity, gets warped into this thing needs to view with fear and horror. The thing society despises isn’t 24601, isn’t a number they’ve placed on him – the thing they despise is Jean Valjean, some intrinsic inherent part of himself. He isn’t hated for what he did, he’s hated for what he is, and that is something he can never escape.

{But speaking of complexity we’ve actually barely scratched the surface of how Jean Valjean reacts to names, because he spends most of the novel living under a series of nicknames aliases. And guess what! Each of these names also has some elaborate symbolic meaning! If you’re interested in more posts covering his different aliases, feel free to leave a comment in the replies!}

[thanks for reading! For more in-depth analysis, check out the @lesmisletters readalong or join our discord server!]

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 4: Emerald]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can’t seem to get away from…

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don’t like Titanic you won’t like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @arcielee @nightvyre @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama @ecstaticactus, more in comments 🥰

💎 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 💎

Back into the sitting room, fleeing like a hare from hounds, but Rush is here trying to grab you. You careen to the door to the private promenade deck and dive out into the bitter starlit cold, your breath fog, your shoes slipping on the yellow pine planks that overlay the steel skeleton of the ship, weight that could drag you down to the ocean floor. Rush is in pursuit; he swipes at your arm and gets ahold of your coat sleeve, soft pink wool. You wrench yourself free, twisting out of the coat and dropping your handbag, colliding with the barrier, Tudor-style timber paneling beneath vast windows the frigid night air pours in through. Your hip bruises against the wood, you can hear black waves crashing below; then you collapse to the deck, your spine pressed to the wall, trying to back away when there’s nowhere left to run to. You realize you are still clutching Aegon’s small aluminum lighter and shove it beneath the skirt of your gown. Rush draws his pistol.

“No no no!” you plead, showing him your palms, cowering beneath one of the windows.

They could throw me out of it. They could say it was an accident or a suicide.

The deck is lined with potted plants and lightweight wicker furniture. Inside, you can hear Rhaenyra saying something, though her words are muffled; it’s a tone you wouldn’t have thought she was capable of. She sounds afraid. Draco and Dagmar must be asleep, Fern tucked away in the tiny maid’s room. There are no witnesses to what will happen next. Your heart thuds in your chest, swollen and sickly. Cold North Atlantic wind washes over your bare skin and leaves you freckled with goosebumps.

Like a lightning storm, like a hurricane, Daemon surges out onto the deck. He is still tying his robe shut. His hair hangs in dark, damp strands over his forehead. You picture it again, though you don’t want to: Daemon with Rhaenyra like he’s never been with you, the impulsive desire, the dire necessity.

Why not in Rhaenyra’s bed? Why would he bring her here?

Because he thought you wouldn’t be back until midnight…and to prove he can get away with it. To succeed where he failed with you this morning. To feel like a man again.

“I didn’t see anything,” you tell him, but you cannot keep the shock and disgust from your face, intractable like a wild animal.

Daemon kicks one of the wicker chairs at you. You bat it away with a scream and press yourself harder against the barrier, trying to disappear, trying to become somebody else, a girl who didn’t agree to marry a renegade of a man who showed up smirking and cavalier at her father’s Connemara marble quarry.

I want to go home, you think with helplessness like a child’s.

“I didn’t see anything,” you say again, sobbing now. With one hand, you claw at the windowsill above you so you have something to hold onto if he tries to drag you away. The wind, sweeping down from the Arctic, burns like blue fire in your lungs. “I don’t know anything.”

Daemon dives to the floor, hooks his fingers into your hair, yanks you closer as you cry out and flinch away from him. “One word, one fucking word, and you’re gone,” he is threatening, a blade-sharp hiss, and you can smell Rhaenyra’s perfume on him, marking his flushed skin like a bloodstain; but Daemon’s deep-set green eyes—emerald, malachite, jade, serpentine, Connemara marble—are fearful. This is strange; this is unlike him, this is a foreign language.

He loves her, you realize. He’s terrified to harm her, to lose her.

“I would never—”

“Over the railing,” Daemon snarls, jerking your head to the side as you whimper. “Your bones at the bottom of the ocean, your name forgotten.”

“I won’t tell, please, Daemon, please, don’t hurt me.” You look at Rush. He’s staring indifferently down at you, his pistol still in his hand. You turn back to Daemon. “I’ve never told anyone.” About the bruises, about the man you really are. “Not my parents, not a soul. I don’t want to tell. I just want to stay with you and Draco. I won’t jeopardize that. Please, Daemon, please—”

“No one would believe you,” he says; but if that was true, he wouldn’t be so frantic. “You’d be a madwoman. They’d lock you up in an asylum, put you in a straightjacket, cut the pieces off of you that made you so hysterical.”

“Yes,” you agree, yielding, toothless.

He rips at your hair again, pulling you away from the barrier and to the center of the floor. Rush steps out of the way to make room. You don’t fight Daemon. You have to convince him your fighting days are over.

Why doesn’t he kill me now? A dagger to the jugular, a body splashing into opaque waves?

Because he needs his perfect family in order to march triumphantly into the skyscrapers-and-streetlights labyrinth of Manhattan. Because he can’t eclipse Viserys if people are whispering that his wife is dead under peculiar circumstances, fallen overboard on Titanic’s famed maiden voyage, insane or drunk or maybe—just maybe—murdered by a man’s rough rageful hands.

“What did you see?” Daemon says, testing you.

“Nothing.”

His palm cracks across your face. You yelp, more startled than in pain. Your skin is going numb from the cold; he’s hit you harder before. Now he doesn’t want to bloody or bruise you, he doesn’t want to leave evidence others could notice. He wants his threats imprinted irrevocably into you like scars. He wants you to listen. “What did you see?!”

“Nothing,” you moan, and then the door to the sitting room opens. You, Daemon, and Rush all whirl towards the noise.

In the doorway stands Fern with a silver-plated tray of tea and biscuits. Her black dress and white apron appear hastily thrown on, rumpled fabric and some buttons left undone. She blinks a few times, but she seems more nervous than shocked. Her eyes flit to you and then settle benignly on a wicker table. She ignores the chair that Daemon kicked earlier, lying overturned at the edge of the deck.

She knew what was happening, you think, grateful, a little awed. She’s here to try to stop it.

“It’s so cold out tonight,” Fern says at last. “I thought I’d make tea.”

Daemon doesn’t know how to respond. He’s never cruel to the staff, that’s one of his charms. His miners worship him, his valets believe him to be their true friend, his housekeepers fret over him as if he’s their husband or their son. Daemon rarely acknowledges Fern directly, as if she doesn’t quite exist to him, a ghost whose silhouette appears on eerie nights, squeaks of door hinges and objects nudged a few mysterious centimeters. He chooses his enemies with great care, like a gardener pruning diseased leaves. Daemon understands that the ones who toil beneath his feet are in the best position to rise up and devour him.

Fern sets the tray down on the wicker table and waits, her hands clasped decorously in front of her. “Will you be requiring anything else, sir?”

There are several electrified seconds—waves thrashing against the ship, wind howling as it tears through your hair—and then Daemon laughs and releases you, as if this has all been a comical misunderstanding. He stands and goes to the tray, picks up a cup of tea, and slurps on it as steam billows up into his face. “How kind of you.”

Fern bows her head in a nod, not leaving. Rush glances between them, then slides his pistol back into its holster.

“Draco should have a mother,” Daemon tells you, looking down from a great height. It sounds like it is meant to be a compromise.

“He should,” you reply. Even if I cannot touch him, cannot be alone with him, cannot teach him to love me.

“It’s not good for boys. When their mothers up and die on them while they’re still so young.” Daemon is reflective for a moment—an unusual skin for him to wear—and then slinks towards the doorway. “Fern, darling, change the bedsheets, will you?”

“Yes, sir. Right away.” She follows him back inside, a brief glimpse at you over one shoulder. Rush glowers at you and disappears with them. You are left alone on the private promenade deck.

Your head spinning, your bones freezing, you struggle to your feet: palms flat on the pine planks, black opal ring glimmering in the moonlight, knees groaning as you lift them. Slowly—stunned, aching—you pull on your pink wool coat. You find Aegon’s lighter and hide it in your handbag, then stand there clutching it like you’re on your way to some glittering social engagement, a tea party, a dinner, a gala, a Christmas party. But what you’re on your way to is purgatory, like the one Dante wrote of, a prison where you will sweat out your sins over and over again.

Why did I believe him? Why did I marry him? Why can’t I find a way out?

You leave the deck like an autumn frosting into winter, bleak, hushed, listless. You do not return to your staterooms but pass through the doorway that leads to the B-Deck hallways. The corridors are quiet and still, occasional stewards running the last errands of the night, a few men in black suits puffing on pipes and cigars, swirling clinking glasses of brandy, ruing all the blights that have incumbered their earnings: foolish wives, Democratic politicians, dissolute immigrants.

You flee towards the stern of the ship, far from the first-class sections. Outside there is a greenish hue to the sky—dim echoes of northern lights—and stars that sparkle like jewels. There is no one lingering by the back railing of Titanic, and for good reason; the air is so cold it bites like fangs, and the roar of the propellers is terrible, so loud and so guttural, sea monsters like the ones early explorers drew into the margins of their maps clawing up from the depths. You fall to the deck and sit with your knees to your chest at the end of a pair of benches—hiding in the shadows where you will not be seen by wandering passengers or lookouts scanning for icebergs—and gaze into the east as Titanic chugs westward, away from Ireland, away from everything your life could have been.

Tears bleed down your cheeks and turn from magma to ice there. You wipe them off your face with the sleeve of your pink wool coat. You ignite a cigarette with Aegon’s aluminum lighter and smoke it all the way down. You light another, and another, poisoning your blood with each breath, polishing the barbs off reality. It’s not enough. You need a drink. How long until you’re just another languishing housewife addicted to laudanum or cocaine? How long until you’re a drunk like Aegon once was?

I want to go home. I want to go home.

There are footsteps, sluggish and clumsy. An intoxicated man. You are about to scramble to your feet and escape when you see who it is. Aegon flops down beside you in a stolen black coat, the pungent miasma of Guinness wafting off of him and his face splotchy and red, looking away from you, ashamed of himself.

You say: “I thought you didn’t drink anymore.”

“And obviously there’s a reason for that,” Aegon slurs. He rubs his eyes, watery and unfocused, bloodshot and despondent. “I’m having a bad night.”

Me too. “Did you know?” you ask, a hoarse voice, a cigarette smoldering between two fingers.

Aegon is confused. “Know what?”

“That Daemon can’t get hard for me because he’d rather be sleeping with his niece.”

“What?” Aegon gapes at you, incredulous, revolted. “Daemon is fucking Rhaenyra?”

You nod, taking a drag. There is a faint orange glow, a warm hit of nicotine to your blood.

“I can’t believe that.”

“I can. I saw it.”

“Jesus,” Aegon mutters, staring out into the endless ink spill of the Atlantic Ocean. Then, more sympathetically: “No, I didn’t know.”

“You never heard anything?”

“Not like that,” he says. “I mean, I remember when I was a kid and people were talking about Daemon being a bad influence on her. But they said he was teaching Rhaenyra to go to parties and stay out too late and swear and smoke, not…you know. Not that he was committing incest with her. That’s some Richard III mischief.”

“Now I understand why you know so much Shakespeare.”

“My parents couldn’t send me to boarding school fast enough. I was shipped off the same week I turned five. Cake and presents one day, shoved on a train the next.”

“I’m afraid Daemon will do that to Draco.” You can’t keep the quiver from your words. “I’m afraid he’ll kill me now that I know the worst of his secrets.”

Aegon turns to you, and through the haze of dark bitter Guinness that’s still sloshing from his stomach into his bloodstream you can see he fears the same thing.

“I want to go home,” you sob, breaking down. Ashes build on your cigarette until you toss it away. Tears spill from your eyes, the River Shannon, the River Clare. “Nobody here cares about me.”

“I do,” Aegon insists, touching your face, trying to make you listen. His sand-colored hair lashes in the wind. “I care about you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I’m trying to.”

“Why do you care? Why can’t you leave me alone? Did you go to O’Connell’s Bar to spy on me, was all of this to spite Daemon and—?”

“No,” Aegon says, a truthful boyish confession. “No. I didn’t know you’d be there. I didn’t know anything about you except that Daemon had married some quarry heiress. I heard he’d be there for an interview, and I was curious, and I kind of thought it’d be fun to fuck with him if he ended up recognizing me, and so I got a job at O’Connell’s and made sure I’d be playing the night Daemon showed up. That’s all there was to it. And then I saw you in that bar in Galway and you were…” He shakes his head. His voice drops to a whisper, aching and reverent. “You were so sad, and so beautiful, and I…I’ve never done anything important in my entire life. I’ve never helped anyone. But I looked at you and I felt like…I thought…I could save her. And maybe that would make all the rest of my mistakes worth it, the wasted years of drinking myself to sleep every night, the aimlessness, the emptiness, the way I abandoned my mother and Helaena, Aemond, Daeron. I followed you onto Titanic because I had to try to help you. But by leading me home, by bringing me back to my family in New York…maybe you’re helping me too.”

I wish I was yours, you think, so vividly you almost tell him. I wish I was a stone in your mine to be found in the darkness, chiseled from the wall, studied and cut down and polished, set in gold or silver to be worn on your ring finger, your blood pulsing beneath my ageless gleam.

“Please stay away from me,” you beg him. “Please, Aegon. I don’t want you to die.”

He says as his thumbprints clean tears from your cheeks: “What if Daemon was gone?”

“You mean what if I pushed him over a railing and into the Atlantic Ocean?” you ask, sniffling. “Assuming I could get him alone, and he didn’t stab me first or drag me overboard with him, they would know it was me. Rush, Dagmar, Rhaenyra. And they would make me pay. If I lived, I’d spend the rest of my life in a prison or an asylum. I wouldn’t get to go home. I wouldn’t get to keep Draco.”

Aegon doesn’t know what to say, and this is because there are no answers. You aren’t overlooking anything. Sometimes reality is cold and unfeeling and lethal, primordial, reptilian, mindless black eyes like a shark’s.

You smile miserably at him. “I’m going to miss you when the ship docks in New York Harbor.”

“Daemon wanting to fuck Rhaenyra doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”

“Stop,” you say, wincing, standing to leave him. Aegon reaches for your hands, but you hide them in the pockets of your pink wool coat. He gazes up at you, drunk desperate heartbreak. You wonder how clearly he’ll remember this tomorrow.

“If you were my wife, I’d never look away.”

“You have no idea who I am. You’ve never really seen me.” Never held me, never uncovered me, never opened me and filled the void with your own rushing blood. Then you depart before someone can come searching for you and discover Aegon, rip away his disguise, toss him into the roiling frigid surf stirred up by the propellers.

In your staterooms, the lamplit air is silent and warmed by the ship’s furnaces, shoveled full of coal at all hours of the day and night. Fern is waiting on the sofa when you enter. She looks at you as if she is relieved, then vanishes into her tiny maid’s room without a word. Your bedroom has been tidied, the linens changed; but the mineral ether of sex still hangs in the space like tapestries from a wall. You try not to notice your reflection in the mirror.

Daemon never touched me like he touched Rhaenyra. He never wanted me, I never satisfied him.

Daemon doesn’t come back all night. You sleep on the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~

On the morning of Sunday April 14th, you dress in green, the color of the Emerald Isle, the color of deep poisonous envy. You affix small emeralds to your ears and one massive stone around your throat, found in Madagascar in one of Daemon’s Grandidierite mines, a lush verdant glint in a nest of cold blue like deep water, like ice.

Heavy enough to drown me, you think wryly, a swift glance at the mirror, turning away again almost immediately. I’d go straight to the bottom.

Before you leave the bedroom, you slide open the top drawer of Dameon’s writing desk, presently abandoned. His dagger is there, gold hilt and spherical gemstones like miniature planets, all fatefully aligned: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire. You lift up the dagger and study it, circling the tiny emerald world with your index finger. You are jealous of Rhaenyra getting everything she’s ever wanted. You are jealous of any woman who’s ever touched Aegon, who knows what it feels like to lie beneath him, to be known by him.

You place the dagger back in the drawer and slam it shut; the whole desk rattles. Then you go out into the sitting room, where Fern is attempting to wrestle Draco into his black wool coat, a small version of Daemon’s.

“No!” Draco is bellowing. “I don’t want to wear it, I don’t want to, let me go!”

“You’ll freeze to death out there, lad,” Fern says, strands of her long copper-colored hair escaping from her bonnet and a sheen of perspiration on her forehead, looking like she’s been to war.

Draco is stomping on the toes of her shoes to little effect. “No I won’t!”

You peer around, searching for your geriatric nemesis, a banshee, a vampire. She is nowhere to be found. “Where’s Dagmar?”

“She’s feeling seasick,” Fern replies, still struggling with Draco. “So she’s lying down in Draco’s bedroom. I’m sure she’ll be up and around again before you know it. She’s a tough old Cailleach.” And there’s no danger in being overheard; Dagmar wouldn’t know what that means, just like you don’t understand her when she mutters her strange Scandinavian curses.

You immediately scoop up Draco and run with him out of the staterooms, Draco giggling shrilly, you beaming as you fly down the corridors and ascend the Grand Staircase two steps at a time, your green shoes slipping on the English oak wood as you zoom past the bronze cherub statue and the ticking clock. All around you are first-class passengers watching with startled looks, a little baffled, a little amused. High above is the dome of glass and wrought iron, brisk white-gold sunlight streaming through. You carry Draco out onto the Boat Deck, the highest level of the ship, and take him to an unoccupied portion of the railing beside one of the lifeboats. You hold him so he can see over the barrier and out into the calm murky blue of the North Atlantic Ocean, hundreds of miles southeast of Newfoundland. The breeze is icy, the sky infinite and cloudless.

You spot slate grey fins cutting up through the water in arches, a whole pod of them. “Look, look! Dolphins!”

“Dolphins?” Draco says doubtfully. “Dolphins are real? Not just in books?”

“Of course they’re real. And they’re friendly, too. Back in Galway, sometimes they swim right up to the pier hoping the fishermen will share the catch of the day.”

“Neat!” Draco shouts. “Can I throw things at them?”

You pause, unsure how to reply. You resist the urge to shake him and say: Do you crave violence like Daemon, are you burning up inside with his fire? Do you want to be a monster like your father? One day will you paint amethyst bruises on your wife? “Why would you want to do that?”

Draco shrugs. “I like throwing things.”

“Well, throwing things can be fun, but if you throw something at a dolphin you might hurt it. Do you want to hurt the dolphin? It’s a living creature just like you. They have friends and families, and blood in their veins. They can feel it if you cut them.”

“No,” Draco decides. “I don’t really want to hurt the dolphins.”

“You can throw things in other situations, like if you play cricket or hurling or Gaelic football. Or baseball, I guess. Now that we’ll be living in America.”

“Okay,” Draco says, gazing at the ocean. Fern trots over to you, breathing heavily from trying to keep up, but she’s grinning. She has brought the coat Draco refused to put on, and this is fortunate, because now as you hold him on your hip you can feel your son is shivering.

“Do you want to put on your coat now?” you ask him.

“Yeah,” Draco says reluctantly, and you lower him down to the deck and help him tug the sleeves over his tiny arms. You suddenly remember when he was born and being so fascinated by his hands—so small and wrinkled, so powerless, always grasping—and Dagmar forever clawing him out of your arms, bundling him up in blankets and whisking him away to other corners of the castle.

“Fern was trying to help you when she told you to wear your coat. She knew you would be cold, and now you are, aren’t you? When adults tell you to do things, it’s not for no reason. They just want what’s best for you.”

“But I don’t like to do what other people say. I like to do what I want.”

“And that’s totally understandable,” you say. “Sometimes you will get to make your own decisions, especially as you get older. But right now you’re very, very young, and there are just a lot of things you don’t know yet, so you need adults more. Please be kind when Fern is trying to help you with your coat or your shoes. She doesn’t mean to upset you. She wants you to be safe and healthy.”

Fern gives you a modest, thankful smile. Draco is mulling this over. “The older someone is, the more they know?”

“I suppose you could put it that way,” you say.

“So Dagmar knows a lot more than you.”

He’s not trying to be cruel; he’s trying to figure things out. The world is so new to him. You wish you could recall what that feels like, to see everything with vast light wonder. “Well…” you begin delicately. He loves her; you cannot win by bludgeoning her into a mess of bloodstains and bone shards. “Yes, she probably knows more about certain things.”

You pick Draco up again to distract him, and he is captivated by the seagulls swooping through the air, laughing and tracking them with his wide eyes, a sunlit green beneath pale blonde hair that is disheveled from the wind. There is a figure lurking on the periphery of your vision, a man in black, a coat and a hat, hands in his pockets. You turn to see it’s Aegon, perhaps ten feet away and pretending to survey the horizon. Your heartbeat quickens; you stomach drops.

What on earth is he doing here? Why can’t he leave me alone?

But of course, you don’t want him to. You stare at him and instinctively touch the emerald that hangs from your throat, Madagascar, Ireland, treasure, envy. You think of how your bedroom smelled when you returned to it late last night.

Fern seems oblivious to Aegon. “I feel so much better knowing there are lifeboats aboard,” she says, looking at the vessel you are standing beside.

“There aren’t enough of them,” you tell her, a low murmur that Draco pays no attention to.

Fern is alarmed. “No?”

“They can fit about half the passengers, no more. So if anything happens, make sure you don’t waste any time finding yourself a seat.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am,” Fern says, troubled.

“Have you seen Lord Targaryen today?”

“No, ma’am,” Fern answers, trying to keep her tone neutral. She isn’t sure if it will be a relief to you or a knife to the heart. “He moved some of his things to Rhaenyra’s rooms before he departed last night. I suspect he will spend the rest of Titanic’s journey there.”

“He’s so fond of his niece,” you say flatly.

“Yes.”

“And she is in need of company, as her own husband is always fraternizing with the Parisians.”

Fern isn’t sure what she’s allowed to say. She smirks and bows her head to hide it. Now Aegon is strolling closer, ostensibly casual. “Good morning, ladies!”

Fern curtsies politely. “Good morning, sir.”

He casts Draco a glance—Aegon seems puzzled by him, maybe a little wary, certainly not accustomed to being around children—then extends an open hand to you. “What an engagement ring! Might I trouble you for a quick look?”

You set Draco down and he is promptly enamored by an orange-sized rubber ball someone has left here. “Of course.” You try to act indifferent, but when Aegon takes your left hand in his own you feel a jolt of warmth travel like a wave up the length of your arm.

Aegon turns your hand one way and then the other, inspecting it. Underneath, his fingertips stroke the lines of your palm. A tremor cascades down the rungs of your spine, helpless hypnotic longing. “What is that, onyx? Obsidian? Jet?”

“Black opal. From Australia.”

“A prison colony,” Aegon says, grinning at you from under the brim of his hat. “A place for villains and beasts.” Swiftly, he takes his right hand from his coat pocket and presses something into your palm: a folded piece of paper, a note, a message in a bottle from a castaway. Then he steps back from you as if it takes great effort.

“There you are!” a craggy voice cries out, and Dagmar is crossing the deck. She seems restored, if a bit wan. She swishes over in her charcoal-colored gown, her white hair twisted into a severe bun, and when Draco bolts to her she kneels down and catches him in a fierce, territorial embrace, her gnarled hands encircling his diminutive body. “Out and about without me? And I wager you haven’t even had breakfast yet, have you, my love?” She glares over his little shoulder at you. “You must be famished. How terribly irresponsible to let you suffer.”

“He ate some tea and biscuits when he woke up to tide him over,” Fern offers meekly.

“I was having fun with Mam,” Draco tells Dagmar, and you see the calculations on her cunning ancient face. She can’t scold him, she can’t correct him. She can’t defeat you with naked wrath any more than you can demand he stop loving Dagmar. You have sailed into new waters, a subtle silent war.

Aegon is receding, disappearing into the crowds of first-class passengers strolling the Boat Deck. Dagmar glances at him and then looks again, her jaw dropping open, her attention captured like a jewel in the pocket of a thief.

“What is it?” Fern asks, peeking bewilderedly at the stranger. Draco is chasing the rubber ball around again. Your pulse thuds hot and hectic in your ears.

Dagmar’s sharp blue eyes are uncharacteristically dazed; she shakes her head as if she’s just seen something impossible, an angel or a ghost. “He looks just like Viserys when he was young.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Dagmar spirits Draco off to breakfast, Fern returns to the staterooms to complete her chores for the day. You take the Grand Staircase down to A-Deck and slip into the Reading and Writing Room, mostly unoccupied this early in the day, to read Aegon’s note. Outside on the Promenade Deck, you can hear Daemon and Rhaenyra strolling by with a number of companions, chuckling and chatting away in a world where all their wishes are granted.

Daemon is saying: “There is an Armenian legend about a so-called Queen of the Serpents, who carries in her fanged mouth a stone made of light. Some nights she tosses it up into the air, where it becomes the moon, full and shining, until it inevitably drops back down to the earth. And as the proverb goes, happy is the man who shall catch the stone where it falls…”

You know that story. It was in one of the books you gifted Daemon for your first anniversary.

With trembling hands, you unfold Aegon’s note. He has written in black ink:

Petra,

One last painting?

Don’t go to dinner tonight. Meet me at the stern.

- Picasso

[starconstruction]

Moonlit Obsession

Yandere Loossemble x Reader (SFW)

The Moonlit Kingdom was truly a spectacle to behold, a modern marvel far beyond it's age. It's older than any of your known lineage and it's certainly the spot to be if you want a good life.

The gate acted as its ultimate protector, standing over the gravel path that allowed it entry. It was painted in white, it's elegance undeniable as it turned away anyone unauthorized.

Which, would and should be you. But you know a spot.

Behind the imposing stone walls held a sheltered community, full of food, full of water and more importantly money.

You knew that it was risky, every time you slid through the auspicious pipe and into the kingdom could have been your last, but the slow stockpiling of resources you were accumulating were invaluable treasure. If you get executed at least your little group would remember you.

Now was another one of those trips, grab your darkest clothes and hope you blend in. Your hand gravitated towards the sewage system, opening the entrance while fastening your backpack. You took a reflective sigh, dashing through the acrid scent while you ran on sides of dampened concrete. Taking just enough care to not slide into the kingdoms collective waste.

Thankfully, the gross part doesn't last much longer, taking a deep breath of the comparatively clean air. Now came the annoying part, the direct way out would get you killed. Hands shakily mantling on the hole in the wall you made months ago, pulling yourself up with all your strength.

The first objective of every good heist, however short is to have a way out and a way out for that way out. You knew execution was guaranteed, what wasn't was how they would do it.

The Moonlit Kingdom did not get it's reputation solely from it's innovation, their methods were strict. Known for being cutthroat in their discipline, you've seen it first hand. Given that you had some history, so to speak. Breaking away from 5 obsessive loving dictators and robbing from them was cocky.

Sneaking to the food reserve gave you plenty of time to consider who you would try to appeal to had you get caught. You knew Yeojin, her authority laid mostly in the shadows, hidden from the newspapers but no less concerning. Hyunjin was known for messing with anyone she caught, making a public display of it which wouldn't be nice. You still remember baring witness to the last person who tried what you were doing, much more selfish in intention sure but did that matter in the eyes of the law and to them? Especially with the given history, she warned you after your first escape attempt the next would be death.

Hyeju and Gowon were much like each other, preferring to get the other three to deal with it, showing up as the showmen but not the one to draw the blow. And Vivi? Well she was straight up psychotic. You never got to mingle much with the kingdom-folk, so their opinions laid largely unknown. But there was no time to worry about that, for you had arrived. And it was time to get your bounty for the night.

Your method of choice was always the same, a small pocket knife, slide it under the lock and viola. It was done, door open. You always grabbed just enough + a bit extra for when you weren't going to be so lucky.

"Hey!" A voice boomed behind you, chills rushing down your spine, neck snapping around to face him. He looked old, easy to dodge, no need to injure those who don't need it.

"Oh shit!" You yelled instinctively, the man lunged at you, just barely missing as you hauled ass, the sounds of footsteps and chatter followed you, heart rattling your ribcage as every step felt longer and longer.

"You bastard!" The old voice croaked, the steps slowing down, and soon the only ones you could hear was yours. That was far too close, but you survived. The sigh of relief slipped out, looking up towards the moon one last time before diving into the vile sewers.

-

The guard felt vindicated, frustrated at the inability to catch you. Something about how snide it was, how you sneaked out without so much as a second thought. His fist clenched at the memories of the night replayed once more.

He wasn't going to let you get off free.

He stood in front of the council, the five girls who ran this kingdom, not just with an iron fist but with a soft grasp. Their juxtaposition brought them nothing but success, fear and happiness.

Hyunjin looked at the guard, their ire caught. Urging them to speak.

"So, there was another thief! This one got away though, slid out right through the sewers." He said, frustration evident, Hyeju seemed dismissive, eyes rolling at this pointless meeting.

"Okay? This wasn't worth our attention, so if you have nothing important to say we can be on our way." Her voice said with laced boredom.

Vivi looked towards her irked council-mate, letting her words not linger for more than a half second before speaking. "Actually Hyeju, this is so exciting! Another little thief to have some fun with!" She said with a hand-clasped giggle, the prospects of what she had planned was known by everyone else in the room and the shared sound leaked both apathy and intrigue.

Hyunjin followed up, "Oh! That's such a good idea Vivi! I say we let them try their luck again and then we catch them like a -"

"Mouse." They said in unison, Yeojin scoffed and dismissed herself while the guard looked in glee, they didn't seem to want to fire him.

"Ugh whatever, I'll be there to make sure there's no wild fires. Now I'm going to bed." Hyeju joined Yeojin while the other two schemed for a bit, Gowon sat there to temper their expectations.

-

You arrived back at the small abandoned set of huts, colonized by your squadron a few long months ago. Most of your nerves dispelled in the long trek back, the moss started to grow on every surface, claiming it's own stake in the property. Most people were asleep, save for your hutmate.

She sat on the shared bed, waiting safely for your arrival. Eyes obviously fighting against the tiredness, she stood up. "Your back!" She said with all the energy she could muster, dapping you up with a euphoric clap.

"Heya Jiwoo, I'm back in one piece." You placed the bag on the small floor panel, falling back onto the bed while Jiwoo followed.

"You seem, concerned? What's up?" Jiwoo clearly sensed your worry, turning off the weak light as the darkness provided some comfort.

"Got caught, well." You took a deep sigh. "Nearly, gave em the slip but shit..." The thoughts died out as Jiwoo brought you into her arms, her platonic affection bringing you at ease for a moment.

"Well at least you made it back, so what's the plan? Our first harvest is under way, I don't know if you saw." You didn't, rarely spending much time here.

"Oh nice, I'll probably go back tomorrow night, I'll be prepared don't worry about it." You said, closing your eyes.

"But surely you will just be caught? That is so risky Y/N... And they are almost certainly going to kill you if they catch you." Jiwoo said quietly, instinctively tightening her arms around you. The whisper of the night whirring out through the smallest gap in the windows.

"Yeah" You yawned "But it's not like I'm of any use otherwise, I'll be fine Jiwoo." Your words didn't entirely convince you, it was certainly dangerous and horrifying.

"Let's discuss it tomorrow, but I don't like this Y/N." She let the words hang as the two of you begun to drift into the lands of dreams.

-

The next night approached far sooner than you wanted, even expected. Every hour a minute, Jiwoo came to send you off. Stood outside as the two of you stood in the light rain. "Stay safe, for your childhood friend!" She smiled but it felt forced, she took her necklace off. A small silver one with a photo of you two encased in it. You've been the only constant in each other's life.

Her hands put it on your neck for you, "Good luck!" You gave a quick smile, locking her into a very very long hug.

"Why are you giving me this? I'll be fine." You chuckled against her ear, the warmth of her body fighting the cold of the night.

"I, I'm just scared Y/N... I don't wanna lose you. Not again." Her voice was shaky, your heart hurt at her words.

You'd get back, you couldn't leave her alone.

You regrettably pulled away from her hug, "I'll be fine, but don't try to commit regicide on my behalf if I don't return. See you later Jiwoo." You left, clutching the necklace one last time before you made it.

You took the same route, you've taken it so many times. But you couldn't shake that feeling of uncertainty, worry, Jiwoo was right you should've waited.

You got half way to the food reserves, someone was there, you could see them. They weren't hiding very well, you had to turn around. Abort the mission, get back to Jiwoo and try your luck later.

"Going somewhere?" A feminine voice came from behind, your vision showed you how truly fucked you were now. All 5 of them, shrouded by the Moon but their anger so evident. So palpable.

"Errr, I'm so sorry for this. I'll just be on my way." You said, taking strides towards the exit. But that dream was quickly snuffed out by a sudden grab on your shirt, freezing you in place.

"Sorry? Sorry isn't going to fucking cut it. Y/N." Hyeju's voice was venomous, unyielding.

"Look let's not be hasty..." You managed to get some words out, pushed through the endless flowing saliva.

"You don't get to make demands, not here. Not after everything, so you are going to come with us. Or I'll adhere to our promise." Hyunjin appeared in front of you.

You may be fucked, no choice but to comply, they started to walk and you followed. Or well were forced to follow by Hyeju's very forceful hand tugging you along. You kept your head straight, saying nothing. Anything could make them more angry is a gambit not worth playing.

Each step gave you a moment of reflection, one which basically came back to Jiwoo. The thought of her being alone, sure the others were still alive. But it was you two against the world, that reflection may be the death of you. As with new found courage you shoved Hyeju off of you, the sudden lack of cooperation causing her to topple over.

"Oh, horrible move!" Someone behind you said, but you were too busy taking long strides towards the gate. Being a thief came with its perks for agility, under no circumstance could you take them on. But you could run faster.

Your hands grabbed onto the freezing metal, feet perching onto the small elevated ledge. "Always so fucking persistent!" Vivi said, voice booming with anger and pride.

You lifted yourself up, hanging on the gate out of reach of everyone else. "I can give the stuff back! Y-You don't have to kill me!" You stammered out, looking down you realized how truly fucked you were. The guards on shift on one side and the girls on the other. Either way you drop a descent into certain -- and probably brutal-- death.

"You should've thought about that befo-" Vivi got silenced swiftly by the hand of Yeojin.

"We don't want to kill you Y/N! We still love you, darling just come down. You were so instrumental to this kingdom once and you can be again. Just come and walk with us." Yeojin's words felt sincere, like they always have.

You could probably make the jump, but where do you go then? They'd look for you, they'd find the camp. They'd probably label everyone as rebels.

Then they would kill them.

You had no choice to climb down.

You did it slowly, falling down into the unyielding grip of Hyeju once more.

"Come. Guards prepare the interrogation room as a backup." She commanded, tugging you along.

You six, surrounded by the guards began to walk towards the castle that had trapped you prior. You got out before and you vowed to do it again, in a way safer and wouldn't compromise the groups safety.

Hyeju's grip didn't relent, digging into the exposed flesh on your arm. Ignoring your hisses of pain that could barely be heard over the sounds of the three girls conversing in front of you.

"Oh my god! I can't believe we finally got them back, oh it's going to be so good breaking them again! Do you remember last time? Could barely even think independently! Shame it all went awry, but not this time." Hyunjin ranted, getting high on her memories.

"Oh yes! That time we made Y/N grovel for a chance to leave, just to punish them for the idea! God I can't wait till we break them again!!" Vivi joined, both of them acknowledging each other but not actually responding.

"You two! Y/N is right there, have some decency and at least not say these things right after they've came back?" Gowon scalded.

You recognized this grotesquely opulent room that you were dragged into, Hyeju's bedroom. Rich gold vomited over her desk, her pillows, her bed frames, the wallpaper. It's obnoxious presence only cut through by the black that accented it. It was her favorite color, that you learned quite quickly.

The rest disappeared, contempt to leave you alone for the night. The door shutting behind, the room immediately fell quiet for a few moments while Hyeju composed herself.

"You are back, actually back... Wow." She said in disbelief.

"I don't want to be, just let me go." You stated.

"No. Obviously not babe, I'm tired but we should talk. You used to always value our chats, compared to the intensity of others. Let's sit down." Hyeju sounded tired but normal, a welcome contrast to the insanity just outside.

She took her coat off, hanging it up in her closet as she took yours as well. "I still have your old clothes, you've not grown an inch since. If you wanna change?" you declined, opting to sit on the floor opposite her.

Hyeju's normalcy caught you off guard, she just sat there. Gazing at you, like nothing had happened and this was normal.

"So babe." The nickname made you shudder. "It's been so long ey? To think you ran away then stole from us, tell me why." Hyeju demanded.

"No."

Hyeju shifted a bit. "It isn't up for debate love, I'm giving you a chance to tell me before the others torture you for it. So how about you comply, I'll be gentler than they will."

"I'm not scared, I won't put anybody in danger for you guys..." You said firmly.

"Oh? So you are protecting people. I thought so, robbing from us to feed others? Who? Tell me." Hyeju insisted, getting off the bed to straddle you. Forcefully trapping you against her, the increased proximity making your breathe hitch. "Tell me."

"G-Get off me, Hyeju." You whimpered out.

Her hand trailed your chest, nails scratching the fabric, lingering for just a moment before deftly grabbing your necklace. "Oh? Didn't know you were the jewellery type, Vivi woulda loved to share hers." She forced it off of you, chains draping over her fingers.

"Give me it back!" You grabbed for it, missing entirely as she dodged.

"Nah, honey." Hyeju unlocked the pedant, your heart dropping to your stomach. The earlier fear returning in spades.

"Jiwoo? I always liked her, until she sprouted those words in your mind. Maybe she should suffer." Your eyes widened fully.

"No, please. She's done nothing wrong, don't hurt her." You pleaded.

"I'm in love but I am not a monster Y/N, you know this. If you don't love her I won't hurt her."

"Only platonically." That's all she needed, getting off of you quickly, taking the necklace and gently placing it in her vault. Locking it away from your eyes.

"The others would want her killed, we can not let them see that. I'll let you look at it when you desire, now baby let's go to bed. You may sleep on the floor if you wish." Hyeju offered, you knew her bed was comfortable. Really comfortable. Money does buy everything but happiness itself, but you didn't want to be next to her.

"I'm gonna sleep down here, thank you.", Shit, that came out of nowhere. You don't want to appear weak, not again.

"No problem, I'll tell the others you were compliant, here." Hyeju passed you one of her pillows alongside a spare blanket. Both black and gold like everything else.

She turned the light off, leaving you in pure darkness. Mind still far too active to sleep, you could run now. But you wouldn't get far, you'd probably get your leg broken. Hyeju took mercy on you. For now, better not test it until you are ready to go.

Would Jiwoo know? When she wakes up at dawn and you weren't there, she wouldn't do anything stupid. Hopefully. You already miss her presence, she warned you. You could have waited, didn't get so cocky.

This was all your fault.

Fuck.

You eventually got to sleep.

[just-ornstein]

WHAT THE FUCK IS THE BEAKER CASTLE EVEN - A SimPE Deep Dive

Alright, so after stumbling upon some of the Beta pics on the Russian TheSims.cc site and this analysis post about the Beaker mansion, I became deeply curious if some of this would be reflected in the lot relationships. After all, some characters like Viola, Kelly, on top of several others could be found when digging through the raw and somewhat encrypted code of lots.

By now it's pretty clear that the Beaker home once belonged to this dude and his army of girlfriends (definitely check out the post I mentioned earlier). On top of that Loki (and possibly Circe) seems to have gone through at least two iterations before eventually settling on their final forms.

And on top of that whenever you scan the mansion in a completely new game, you will find fingerprints of primarily deceased Sims everywhere!

Now to get to the Sim relationships on the lot...

712 freaking Sim Relationships, all of which are unknown. Some of which still have stats set such as married, friends, relationship scores, etc. I tried comparing this to other lots in their neighborhood and NONE even come close. Both Olive and the Smiths have around 400. The other lots have below. And the only lots that are even a tad higher in this number are the Capps and the Summerdreams which makes sense when you realise that hood went through at least one other iteration before turning into Veronaville.

Now I wondered if the encrypted code (despite being very hard to read due to being partially encrypted) had any old Sim remnants left in there. And yep, several even. Many of which even have information such as their gender, hair, clothes and age in there. So lemme go over some of them:

1. First one, a guy who's name is partially encrypted so it will never fully be visible. It's not Johnny cause Johnny also has his character file on this lot.

A male teen with brown hair who used to wear the "tmbodyhoodedsweatshirtboardshorts" + the "tmhairhatcap" hairstyle.

2. Second is another teen, this time by the name of Zeeshan. He had black hair, the bucket hat hairstyle and wore the hooded sweatshirt, except with pants this time around (and grey apparently?).

3. The third was an adult male Sim by the name of Kenneth with black hair. Based on his info he was likely meant to be a Gardener Sim.

4. The fourth was one named Kana... Possibly a longer name cause once again the code becomes a bit shambled here. She too was meant to be a Gardener as seen by her outfit and hair data. Her hair would have been brown.

5. Elle, another female Gardener Sim, this one having red hair.

6. Vasyl, an adult male Sim who wore the busdriver outfit. Sadly his hair data seems to be blocked behind the code. For funsies I like to give the name to Bald Beta Loki, since he gives off that vibe. BUT, I think this was an NPC busdriver due to the outfit.

7. Joanne, an adult female Sim with an unknown hair colour in corn rows style and the classy afbodyjacketturtlesweaterdressboots. Sadly her ID is hidden behind the encrypted code, so it's hard to fully make out.

All of these Sims appear to be NPC/Townie Sims. None of them match ANYONE in the Beta pictures. And the current Townies/NPCs seem to have replaced them. Interestingly enough, those that were NPCs are still NPCs and those that were Townies are still Townies. Making me wonder if this is a thing that translates to other Sim IDs too. That Sims that were Townies in earlier iterations are still Townies in their new form. Same for NPCs and yep, Playables. This is merely an assumption I'm making on what I'm finding here, but if anyone can help research this further, that would be greatly appreciated, especially as this could mean the Viola ID may not belong to Viola Monty.

Viola is an odd case cause no outfit, hair or other data can be found in the lot file and she's only ever mentioned once in the context of lines filled with "sleep in pyjamas". But for now I cannot say anything with certainty unless more remnants of these old Sims could be found somewhere. OR, if these files could be read in its entirety which is quite difficult.

It's very hard to get a Sim ID attached to a lot (believe me I tried) and often times seems to rather happen accidentally than intentionally. Moving a Sim out or having a Sim die usually removes the data they once held to that lot. Good example is Loki in my current Strangetown who lived on this lot all of his life and when he died he had no remnants left on this lot.

REGARDLESS! The Beaker lot is ancient and seems to have been ground for a ton of testing, Sims and many more things. No wonder the Beakers got this home with its incredibly shady history. Half of the beta town was partying here!

[flaneur001]

Whitney Theory Time

[CW- talks about mental health, child neglect, random character analysis and unnecessary deep diving into little details (lol)]

I went down a little rabbit hole pertaining to Whitney’s oral fixation. I have known that when something is brought attention to constantly during any story, then it’s not a simple coincidence. I feel like (how Sydney said in the library) that Whitney has a lot going on. And it’s probably not good. I feel like their back story will be very angsty and sad.

So as someone who has studied psychology for a while, I found this…and I feel like I hit the nail on the head (for those morbidly curious like me this is Freud’s theory on oral fixation…and yeah don’t judge me for going all Freudian analysis on Whitney/silly)

So chances of our Whit being a neglected child are very high. But from their general appearance in the game (m!whitney wearing a blazer and f!whitney wearing a long school skirt. Both items are on the costlier side in game) I feel like they come from a well off family? the general hate towards the privileged people they hold, points to either them living a life of privilege but they are so miserable they want to escape? (Tbh their whole schtick sometimes gives rich kid doing all kinds of weird stuff trying to get attention from their absentee parents trope)

Or maybe used to be a part of a well off family? I feel like they are not being able to cope with the sudden change in their lifestyle if this is the case. Thus are trying to sell this fearless image of themselves.

And Is it just me or do you find it weird too that although Whitney is sent to detention Leighton almost never does anything to Whitney besides scolding? I feel like they do come from a powerful background. Otherwise why would all these lackeys follow them around?! And they own a phone to top it all off. I know all the other NNPCs have a phone too but amongst the LIs only Whitney (and Avery) owns a phone?!

The lowkey neurotic and manic tendencies they have towards PC also screams of separation anxiety. (Ahem collection of stuff toys?) For example, them needing to control PC at all times. Their love stat going high only when PC willingly chooses to act on their every whimsical/cruel wishes, them wanting to tattoo their name on PCs face of all places, not being able to be more open/ vulnerable with PC because they feel that PC might leave them.

And their dismissal event also shows just how much their image matters to them, and why they crave to be in control. This is yet another trait they share with Avery, when on low dominance, you can see how humiliated they get whenever PC fights back with them. Add insecurity about looks on top and viola, you have some deep childhood issues (I love complex fully fleshed characters so much)

Also the not being sufficiently fed during nursing part (I’m referring to the picture above) makes me think that the Headcanon about their parents being divorced and maybe their mom moving out at a very young age, seems like a possibility. Hence Whitney not being able to withstand emotional cheating seems like a result of that (I’m just spitballing here…)

So yeah. Thank you for coming to my Ted talk. I feel good after hyperfixating about a fictional character.

[Bonus Angst Headcanon] I like to imagine, if it indeed turns out that Whitney lives in some mansion with their dad, and their mom left when they were young, why do I get a feeling that their mom left them/ said goodbye to them near the water fountain on a rainy day. Them just staring into the fountain with a solemn mood, feels like there is a definite reason behind it. Or maybe they used to come to the fountain and make wishes with their mom? (Yes I like to torture myself with sad thoughts)

[creamco]

—inferiority complex in queer relationshipsᝰ.ᐟ

let’s talk about inferiority complex in lgbtqia+ relationships; i struggled and am still struggling about this so i felt like i needed to, y'know... self-awareness i guess?

like, we all know relationships can be messy, complicated, and full of overthinking. but when you add the whole society constantly judging your existence factor, things get even messier. feeling "not enough" in a relationship is already a tiring thing, but for queer people? yeah, it fucks different.

first, let’s get the basics down. inferiority complex is basically when someone constantly feels like they’re less than others— less attractive, less lovable, less worthy, less smart, basically less. alfred adler, a psych dude from the early 1900s, came up with the term, and it’s still super relevant.

now, combine that with lgbtqia+ struggles (internalized homophobia, heteronormativity, body image issues, societal rejection, etc.) which even you are confused about what you are sometimes and boom. you’ve got a perfect recipe for self-doubt and unhealthy relationship dynamics. viola!

why does this matter? well, relationships should be a safe space, not a battleground for self-worth. but for queer people, there’s often an extra layer of insecurity that comes from growing up in a world that tells them they’re less than everything "normal". this entry is gonna dive deep into why that happens, how it shows up in relationships, and what we can actually do about it.

we’ll be looking at the psychological roots of inferiority complex, the external pressures that make it worse, and the ways it messes with lgbtqia+ relationships— whether it’s one partner feeling "not good enough" or both struggling with their own self-worth. also, spoiler: it’s not just about self-esteem. it’s about power imbalances, jealousy, validation-seeking, and how society shapes the way we see ourselves and our partners.

so yeah, let’s get into it. because queer love deserves better than this cycle of self-doubt. i deserve it.

╭┉┈ psychological foundations

alright, time to get into the nerdy stuff. (that one purple-gray sonic being freaky type nerdy)

inferiority complex is basically when someone constantly feels like they’re not good enough, no matter what they do.

and surprise, surprise— this happens a lot in queer relationships because of all the external and internalized bullshit queer people deal with. let’s break it down.

alfred adler’s inferiority complex theory (why we feel like shit sometimes)

so, alfred adler (big psychology guy from the early 1900s) came up with the whole inferiority complex idea. he said that as humans, we’re all born with some level of insecurity because we start off as weak little babies who need to figure out how to survive. over time, we try to overcome these insecurities by proving ourselves— through achievements, relationships, or whatever makes us feel valid. sounds normal, right?

except, when someone constantly feels like they’re failing or being compared to others, that insecurity turns into an inferiority complex— you can call it a deep-rooted belief that they’re never not good enough. this can make people either shut down (avoid relationships, isolate, or self-sabotage) or overcompensate (act super confident but secretly hate themselves). and if this sounds familiar, yeah, a LOT of queer people deal with this, thanks to a lifetime of being told they’re "less than" by society.

self-esteem, social comparison, and why we always feel like we don’t measure up:

low self-esteem and inferiority complex go hand in hand. and in the lgbtqia+ community, self-esteem is often shaped by:

- how accepted (or rejected) someone was growing up

- representation in media (do i have to explain? it’s usually unrealistic or toxic or heteronormative IF IT IS SHOWN AS ACCEPTED. i don't want to get into the homophobia in media.)

- dating culture and queer beauty standards (which can be brutal and really depressing, now don't start with everyone is beautiful, some of you guys DISCRIMINATE BY LOOKS)

- comparing themselves to straight/cis relationships (which society calls "normal" lmao what does even "normal" mean?)

- comparing themselves to pasts of their love interest (i can't even bring myself to talk about this)

this constant comparison can make someone feel like they’re failing at being queer enough or attractive enough or successful enough which all play into inferiority complex in relationships.

minority stress & internalized oppression (why society fucks us over)

there’s also this fun little concept called minority stress, which basically means that just existing as a different person adds extra emotional weight to your life. lgbtqia+ people deal with:

- discrimination (subtle or straight-up aggressive)

- fear of rejection (by family, friends, partners, society, etc.)

- internalized homophobia/transphobia (believing the negative things people say about them)

- constantly having to *prove* they’re valid

- thinking your love interest's past lover/interest was less "less" than you or your love interest feeled them more

this constant stress creates a cycle where people start believing they’re not worthy of love, success, or happiness. and if they do find a relationship, they might overthink everything, self-sabotage, or settle for less than they deserve because they don’t think they can do better.

so yeah, inferiority complex in queer relationships isn’t just about personal insecurities— it’s built on years of societal messages that make people doubt & hate themselves. and that’s exactly why we need to talk about it.

╭┉┈ causes of inferiority complex in lgbtqia+ relationships

okay, so we know what inferiority complex is and how it connects to lgbtqia+ experiences. but why does it happen so much in queer relationships? well, a mix of internal struggles, societal expectations, and past trauma all play a role. let’s break it down.

internalized homophobia/transphobia: when society’s bullshit becomes your inner voice

growing up in a world that constantly tells you there’s something wrong with you? yeah, that sticks. internalized homophobia/transphobia is when queer people start believing the negative things said about them. even if they fully support lgbtqia+ rights, deep down, they might still feel like they’re less than, unloveable or undeserving of love.

in relationships, this can show up as:

- believing they’re not "worthy" of a happy, healthy relationship

- thinking they have to "prove" their queerness or masculinity/femininity/nonbinarity/etc.

- feeling like they’re never good enough for their partner

- pushing their partner away out of fear of rejection

basically, it’s like carrying around an invisible weight of self-doubt, and it makes relationships way harder than they need to be.

heteronormative pressures: feeling like you’re doing relationships ‘wrong’

heteronormativity is the idea that straight, cisgender relationships are the default and everything else is weird or lesser. even if you’re fully out and proud, these expectations can still mess with your mindset.

this can look like:

- wondering if your relationship is "valid" because it doesn’t look like the traditional model

- feeling pressure to fit into the generally unrealistic "masc/fem" dynamic in same-gender relationships

- struggling with public displays of affection because of fear or discomfort

- thinking your relationship is "less serious" because society doesn’t treat it the same way

all of this builds up and makes people feel insecure, like they’re failing at relationships just because they don’t fit into the mold society expects.

social marginalization: being excluded, erased, or treated like a ‘phase’

another big reason inferiority complex shows up in queer relationships? society loves to ignore, fetishize, or straight-up erase lgbtqia+ love.

- bi & pan & similar people get told they’re "just confused" or "going through a phase"

- ace & aro people are treated like they’re broken

- trans & nonbinary people face constant invalidation about their gender and relationships

- queer relationships are often left out of family conversations, media, and even legal protections

when you constantly have to fight to be seen and taken seriously, it’s easy to start questioning your own worth in a relationship.

body image & gender expectations: the queer beauty standards struggle

yeah, body image issues affect everyone, but the lgbtqia+ community has its own set of impossible beauty standards.

- in gay & lesbian spaces, there’s often pressure to be super fit, masc/fem, or "high-value" (i have no words)

- trans people deal with dysphoria, passing expectations, and unrealistic beauty ideals (while some trans people look "ugly" post-transition or for pre-transition phase "doesn't look like trans enough for a person who wants to be a *gender")

- even within the community, certain body types & gender presentations are favored over others (i hate, yes i hate all of you. having preferations and favoring is different, search it up.)

when people don’t feel like they fit into these standards, it can seriously mess with their confidence in relationships. like, why would my partner want me if I don’t look like the "ideal" queer person? this causes people feeling less than other people in community.

comparison & the ex-factor: needing to be "better" (i wrote this a bit longer than others because i experienced this)

okay, let’s be real— comparing yourself to your partner’s ex or past crushes is already bad enough. but for people dealing with an inferiority complex, +being queer, it doesn’t stop at just feeling less than— it turns into a full-on need to prove superiority.

like, it’s not just "what if they were better?" it’s "i have to prove MYSELF that i’m better than them in every possible way."

this can turn into:

- constantly searching for things you have that the ex didn’t (better looks, better personality, more interesting life, whatever helps your brain cope) this sometimes includes making your partner talk about their ex to get yourself assured, no matter if your partner wants or not.

- lowkey feeling like you’re competing against a ghost—someone who isn’t even in your partner’s life anymore, but still exists in your mind as an "enemy"

- stalking that ex/exes over and over, finding similarities between you & ex while comparing yourself to the ex

- violating your partner's privacy by going through their phone/messages/photos and convincing yourself that your partner felt/feels them more. (felt as in felt emotion and/or physical pleasure)

- needing your partner to verbally confirm that you’re better— like fishing for reassurance or trying to get them to rank you above their ex

- feeling weirdly defensive if your partner ever says something neutral or positive about their past relationships (even if it has nothing to do with you nor that spesific ex/exes)

- going out of your way to *be the best partner ever*. not just because you want to, but because you feel like you need to outdo whoever came before you

this mindset usually comes from a mix of insecurity + fear of being replaceable. if you already struggle with feeling "not enough," the idea that your partner used to love someone else can feel like a direct attack on your worth. even if they’ve moved on, your brain is like,

- but were they happier with them?

- did they love them more?

- am i just the second choice?

- am i a replacement?

- did partner love ex more?

- does partner think of ex when they are near me?

- what about intimacy? does partner think of ex while we are having intimacy?

- was ex better than me at sex?

- were ex more attractive? sexy? do i even look sexy? am i pretty enough for partner, better than ex?

- am i even good at sex? do i turn partner on?

- am i even worth dating let alone having sex?

goes on and on and on and on. (these are actual questions i wrote on my diary when i was having trouble about my gf's ex.)

but here’s the thing: love isn’t a competition. your partner didn’t pick you because you’re "better" than someone else— they picked you because you’re you. trying to "win" against someone from the past isn’t just exhausting— it also stops you from actually enjoying the relationship you have now.

economic & social disparities: financial struggles = self-worth struggles

money problems can trigger inferiority complex too, and lgbtqia+ people are more likely to face financial struggles because of:

- workplace discrimination

- mobbing

- lack of family support

- fewer job opportunities in certain industries

in relationships, financial insecurity can make someone feel like they’re not "bringing enough to the table," which can lead to power imbalances and self-doubt. i have literally zero experiences about this and i couldn't find anything online, so i am sorry about lack of information and examples.

past trauma & rejection: emotional baggage that doesn’t just disappear

whether it’s family rejection, a toxic ex, bullying or any other kind of trauma, past experiences stick with people. hair hold memories kinda shit, but in this case it's your brain. if someone has been told that they’re unlovable or not good enough, they might carry that fear into their current relationship. this can lead to:

- overcompensating (constantly trying to "earn" love)

- self-sabotage (pushing people away before they can leave or the behavioural things caused by inferiority complex ruinin your relationship)

- trust issues (assuming their partner will eventually hurt them)

so yeah, inferiority complex in queer relationships isn’t just a random thing— it’s built on years of external and internal struggles. and if people don’t recognize it, it can seriously mess up their relationships.

╭┉┈ how inferiority complex shows up in lgbtqia+ relationships

so we’ve talked about why queer people struggle with inferiority complex in relationships, but how does it actually happen irl? like, what does it look like when someone’s self-doubt starts creeping into their love life? it’s not just overthinking and feeling insecure— it can shape the entire dynamic of a relationship.

1) comparison obsession: the ex, the crush, the imaginary competition

we already touched on this, this is one of the biggest ways inferiority complex messes with relationships. it’s not just a casual "oh, i wonder what their ex was like," it’s a full-blown mentality of jealousy and hatred in a 'non-jealous + no-hate' way.

and then, of course, comes the need to be "superior." suddenly, it’s not just about existing in the relationship, it’s about winning. you start analyzing everything, trying to prove yourself that you’re better, prettier, sexier, more loveable than the ex. maybe you start manipulating, maybe you get defensive anytime their past is mentioned, maybe you just sit there in a mental cage-match versus a person who doesn’t even know you exist.

it's exhausting.

the worst part? this mindset turns the relationship into a self-competition instead of a mutual connection. the focus shifts from enjoying the love you have to trying to prove your worth to yourself— like you have to have an assurance. and that’s just sad, because if they’re with you, they chose you.

2) validation addiction: needing constant reassurance

inferiority complex can make someone crave validation like it’s a survival necessity. not just casual complimentary— constant proof that they’re loved, desired, and valued. this can look like:

- asking their partner to rank them compared to their ex/crushes

- needing frequent "i love you"s just to feel secure

- getting anxious if their partner doesn’t compliment them enough

- reading way too much into neutral comments (like, "what do you mean my hair looks ‘different’ today? different in a good way or a bad way?!")

- even in a slight inconvenience, thinking that their partner doesn't love them like partner loved ex.

this isn’t just about wanting affection— it’s about needing external proof of self-worth because they don’t fully believe it themselves.

3) fear of abandonment & self-sabotage

when someone deep down believes they’re not enough, they start expecting their partner to leave. sometimes, this turns into toxic clinginess— constantly checking in, overcompensating, never wanting to be apart:

- prohibiting their parner from doing basic daily activities (meeting friends, having alone time, constantly sending too much tiktoks/reels about love, overreacting to everything, etc.)

- when partner chooses something above them (like going to school, doing homeworks first, showering, etc) being uncomfortable that they are the second choice

- getting jealous over everyone including family members

- being obsessed about winning the "i love you more" competition

other times, it leads to self-sabotage:

- picking fights over small things just to test if their partner will stay

- distancing themselves so they don’t get too attached

- assuming every small issue means the relationship is doomed

- shutting down emotionally because "they’re going to leave anyway, so why try?" or "if i tell them this, they will get bored and leave."

it’s like the brain is trying to protect itself from heartbreak by causing problems before they even exist.

4) power imbalances: feeling like the ‘lesser’ partner (dangerous one)

inferiority complex can make someone feel like they have to earn their place in a relationship. like, instead of seeing themselves as an equal, they feel like they have to "keep up" with their partner— whether that’s in looks, intelligence, success or even just personality.

this can lead to:

- feeling like they’re "lucky" to be with their partner, instead of believing they deserve love

- putting up with toxic behavior because they think they can’t do better than the current partner

- never expressing their needs because they don’t want to "cause problems"

- agreeing with everything their partner says just to avoid conflict

- quitting things because partner already does is better and why would they bother ("my partner is so handsome even without a mustache, so why would i grow my mustache out? i'd look ugly even if i had a mustache.")

over time, this turns the relationship into a one-sided dynamic where one person is constantly trying to prove their worth while the other just… exists. and that’s not fair to both of the people.

5) imposter syndrome in queer relationships: ‘do i even deserve this?’

for lgbtqia+ people, there’s an extra layer of relationship imposter syndrome— especially if they’ve been told their whole life that queer love is "less real" or "less serious" than hetero relationships. even in a happy, healthy relationship, there’s sometimes this nagging thought of:

- am i actually good at this, or is my partner just settling?

- do we actually have something real, or am i just fooling myself?

- if society doesn’t see our love as valid, is it even real?

this kind of thinking isn’t just annoying— it can make people hold back from fully embracing their identity, yet relationships. like they’re waiting for something to go wrong because deep down, they don’t think they deserve happiness which is caused by society's disapproval.

6) so what’s next?

okay, so we’ve established that inferiority complex can absolutely wreck a relationship if left unchecked. but the good news? it’s not permanent. in the next section, we’re gonna talk about how people can actually break this cycle, build confidence, and have relationships that aren’t driven by insecurity and comparison. queer love deserves better than this self-doubt spiral.

╭┉┈ breaking the cycle: overcoming inferiority complex in lgbtqia+ relationships

so, we’ve talked about how inferiority complex shows up, why it happens, and how it can lowkey ruin relationships. but here’s the good news: it doesn’t have to be like this. nobody is doomed to feel like they’re not enough forever. breaking the cycle takes work, but it’s 100% possible. let’s get into it.

stop the ex-obsession: shifting the mindset from ‘better’ to ‘different’

okay, let’s address the biggest energy drain first: the ex-comparison spiral. it’s time to stop thinking in terms of better vs. worse and start thinking in terms of different.

- instead of "was their ex better than me?" → try "their past relationships were different, but they’re with me now for a reason."

- instead of "do they still have feelings for their ex?" → try "if they wanted to be with them, they would be. but they’re here, with me."

- instead of "i have to prove i’m superior" → try "i don’t need to compete with someone who isn’t even in the picture anymore."

relationships aren’t math equations. there’s no ranking system where one person wins and the other loses. different people bring different things to a relationship, and just because someone was loved before doesn’t mean you’re any less important now.

also, be fucking for real— sitting around mentally wrestling an ex you’ve never even met? a waste of energy. your relationship is happening now, and that’s what matters.

breaking the validation addiction

if you constantly need your partner to reassure you that you’re enough, the real issue isn’t them— it’s you not believing it yourself. external validation is nice, but if you rely on it to feel secure, it’s never gonna be enough.

- recognize when you’re fishing for reassurance. before asking "do you really love me?" for the 10th time that day, ask yourself— am i asking this because i actually need to hear it, or because my brain is spiraling?

- practice self-affirmation. sounds cheesy, but telling yourself "i am enough, i am valuable, i am worthy of love" (yes, out loud) actually rewires your brain over time.

- sit with discomfort instead of reacting. when the insecurity kicks in, instead of immediately reaching for validation, try to just feel it. let it pass. remind yourself that your feelings don’t define reality.

your partner’s love is a beautiful thing, but it shouldn’t be your only source of self-worth.

unpacking past trauma & internalized beliefs

a lot of inferiority complex issues aren’t even about the relationship itself— they’re about deep-rooted self-worth struggles. maybe you grew up in a homophobic environment, maybe you had an ex who treated you like you weren’t enough, maybe you were bullied. whatever it is, those experiences don’t just disappear— they shape how you see yourself now.

- therapy. im not shitting with you, for real. if you have access to it, therapy is a game-changer for unpacking self-worth issues. a professional can help you reframe your thinking and break toxic patterns.

- journaling. write down the thoughts that come up when you’re feeling insecure. where do they come from? are they actually true, or just old fears resurfacing?

- self-compassion. seriously, *be nice to yourself.* imagine if a friend came to you with the same insecurities— would you tell them they’re not enough? no? then don’t do it to yourself either.

stop making your partner the ‘judge’ of your worth

this is a big one: your partner is not the person who decides if you are worthy of love. you already are, no matter what. the goal of a relationship isn’t to prove you’re enough— it’s to share love, support, and experiences *as equals.*

- you don’t have to earn your partner’s love. they chose you, and that’s enough.

- their past relationships don’t change your value.

- being in a relationship doesn’t make you worthy— you already were, even before this relationship existed.

once you start believing this, relationships stop feeling like tests you have to pass and start feeling like what they’re actually supposed to be: partnerships.

building confidence outside of the relationship

self-worth shouldn’t only come from your love life. having a strong sense of identity and confidence outside of your relationship makes you feel more secure in it.

- find passions that make you feel good about yourself. creative projects, fitness, learning something new—whatever makes you feel accomplished.

- surround yourself with supportive people. friendships, chosen family, online communities— having other sources of love and validation helps take the pressure off your relationship.

- celebrate your wins. every time you challenge a negative thought or feel secure without needing external validation, that’s growth.

╭┉┈ final thoughts: queer love deserves better than insecurity

inferiority complex can make love feel like a competition, like you have to constantly prove yourself. but real love isn’t about proving anything. it’s about connection, trust, and showing up as your full, authentic self.

so yeah, breaking the cycle takes time. some days will be harder than others. but learning to let go of comparisons, validate yourself, and embrace your own worth? that’s how you create relationships that feel good.

and every queer person —every person in general deserves that.

you are valid, you are loveable, you deserve to be loved, you are sexy, you are handsome, you look beautiful, you are gorgeous.

you are fucking queer. embrace that.

[pictures are from pinterest, some about the entry some just funny to me + purple/gray sonic freaky meme]

[narnianvalkyrieofberk]

I had a lot of best friends as a kid on technicality. My mom's best friend's daughter who I'd see a couple of times a year was my best friend for a while. She was the only person who always wanted to play with me and we'd always have a good time (I was the only person besides her brother to play with when we'd visit).

Then when I was around 6 or 7, my best friend became one of the girls in my dance class. I told my mom about how she was my best friend and my mom told me "She's not your best friend. You've only been around her twice; she's an acquaintance." I didn't have the words to explain to my mom at the time that I'd spent more time socializing with her during dance class than I had with anyone else all year (my mom and her best friend stopped seeing each other, according to my dad because my mom gave so much unsolicited parenting advice) so she was my best friend by default of being the only person I had social ties to outside of my parents. The girl and I never spoke again after dance class went on summer break and I switched to ballet again the next year.

When I was around 10, the two girls who were in the same unit as me in my scouting group were my best friends. We were an inseparable trio (because group activities were often grouped by unit). I never spoke to them again after my mom decided to move me to a new church and new scouting group due to people at the church not liking her doing a semester-long deep dive into the symbolism of the sancutary for 10-year-olds instead of sticking to the lesson plan.

When I moved churhces, my best friend became the girl who sat next to me in orchestra. She was the only person I regularly spoke to more than once a week.

When I was 11, we only spoke a few times until she got moved up to 1st violin while I stayed at the top of 2nd violin.

When I was 12, my best friend was the viola player who sat next to the 2nd violin section because she'd talk to me very day.

When I was 13, I didn’t have a best friend either because of or resulting in me being the obnoxious one who sang Christmas carols every day for attention.

Somewhere in the mix of highschool I had half a dozen or so best friends. But the two who lasted the longest were the person who would later kiss me when they thought I was unconscious and the person who ended up being the first friend I held onto for 5 years and now the only one so far that I've held onto for more than 10.

[dreamcatcher-roulette]

Can I just. Hm. This is neither a positive or a negative observation. It's a personal one if anything.

I feel like I just watched a Special Clip. And it was a good special clip, don’t get me wrong. It almost wasn’t, it started very alarmingly heavy on the R&B and that is at the absolute bottom of my musical tierlist, but the chorus definitely clicked for me on second listen and it reminds me a little of Yves Viola (which I loved). It’s just... From anyone else it's not something I really would have paid that much attention to as a promoted release. A significant chunk of what makes this noteworthy to me has nothing to do with the aesthetic or the musical direction and EVERYTHING to do with the three people who star in it. Which is just... Weird. To me.

Watching the highlight medley now that it no longer contains spoilers I feel like the music isn't even really there. It's the background to the friends sitting in a bar catching up over drinks. Which is absolutely the vibe they were going for choosing that setting, but I can't imagine the intended result was to ignore the medley quite so thoroughly. There's nothing overly wrong with any of the releases! Sacrifice is kind of Jazz Bar-y and I like Jazz Bar. But that's also it. Jazz Bar was never the first song I noticed. It's gotten the playtime it has by being on an album or in a concert setlist stuck between the hard hitters and has slowly but surely wormed its way into my heart over repeated listenings. What is a whole album of songs I would not normally seek out? Isn't that just an album I am not interested in? Except I am.

When I had my 1:1 snapshot with Yooh in Sydney I told her I would always support her no matter what. A conviction that had never really been tested when I uttered it but today still feels no less true. It is easy to list reasons why Dreamcatcher are my ults. You could rip large chunks out of that list without coming close to threatening the lead it has over the competition. But when you get down to it, at this point, it's become pretty self perpetuating. Where once I saw a collection of unique qualities that made me want to dive deeper, now, even if you remove the kindling, the fire doesn't go out. I care because I care.

Your friend drags you to a concert for music you don't listen to but she's having such a fantastically good time. Do you tell her she's got bad taste? Of course you don't. You start nodding along. Because her joy is just as all consuming.

And there's nothing wrong with any of this. But somehow it still feels weird. Like a betrayal that isn't a betrayal. They haven't gone back on something, they haven't changed anything, it's very clear from the branding and marketing approach for UAU that they are trying to establish themselves as a separate entity to the group and do their own thing, which (coupled with MC Dami and Siyeon 🥺) just makes me feel even more relieved that the group I love isn't just suffering a drawn out death spiral no one will even let you mourn because they won't admit that that's what's happening, but taking every one of these things into account I feel like I'm having a really disproportionate reaction to this damn album.

The oscillation on levels of attachment is CRAZY. DC title tracks all just intrinsically feel like them. There is a spectacle to them, a grandness that matches how much love I have in my heart for this group. A Special Clip by its very nature does not. But it also doesn't expect that of the viewer. The comparatively casual nature of them and the lack of personal "ownership" of the covers accurately serves the purpose of those clips — they are a showcase of the talents of the performers who star in them but they are not EVENTS. A debut should be. I wanted to be bowled over. I wanted to be awed. I wasn't. I was anyway. Kim Yoohyeon sledgehammer to the head.

You see? There isn't anything WRONG. Because all of those words to tell you I'm not even upset. I'm certain there's a lot of posts right now from people who just didn't like the album and are not having a good time but that's not what I am trying to tell you, because that's not how I feel. I don't particularly like the album. It made me very happy all the same. And if you haven't entirely lost track of what I'm talking about yet could you please enlighten me because I sure did 😭😭

[vincenzodives]

"Good. I'd make you swear it, but..." Vinny was just really glad that she was back. After she had gone, it felt like his entire life had fallen apart. Whatever had transpired after they had been separated felt like some cruel joke. It was as if he wasn't meant to live without her. People called that platonic soulmates or something. Right now, he was some immortal being and she was... "How are you here right now? Who summoned you?" The warforged reveled in the way her hands gently held onto his face. She had been his one anchor to this world for so long that it felt like he was no longer lost anymore now. "I don't even know where to start. I died twice. Some guy put me back together." He shook his head because it sounded unbelievable even as he said it out loud. "But yeah, it's pretty fucking empty in here. I didn't...I guess I was legally dead."

There was a limit to how many times a demon could escape the Inferno without much detection, Archfiends rarely liked to let go of their things, Viola reached her limit sooner than she would have liked. Had it been possible then she would have crawled her way from the pit, through the nine levels of Hell, and clamoured back to the sweet child she'd left alone. News of his death had been lorded over her, another cruel appointment that the emissaries of hell delighted upon. Vincenzo's poor, mutilated soul, and then its entire disbursement as if even the Inferno had conspired to keep her from him.

"I'm not going anywhere, not this time." There weren't many places to go, and part of her arrangement with the elf had been made because they were sufficiently immortal. Powerful in a way that was too mysterious to most to see Viola's binding undone. She returned Vincenzo's embrace with some gratitude, anchored herself against him and let the child she'd known for so many years ground her to this realm once again. Viola withdrew but only enough to look him in the eyes, her hands on his face, "Tell me everything, have you-" she looked around the apartment that was half barren and picked over, "looks like we need to get you some more things."

[asharkapologist]

I NEED Diego Del lobo headcannons, I beg of you, I need this man so badly I’m going to explode 🙏🙏

Of course! Tagging you as well @astra-galaxie because you also requested him!

I'll also tag you, @katrinahood because I know you really like Diego, just in case you wanted to see these too~

MAJOR spoilers for Mysteries of the Past, as well as a small TW for a brief mention of abuse.

Out of all of the lab analyses he did while in the Flying Squad, his favorite was handwriting analyses. He found it very rewarding and entertaining to dive in the mind of people based on their handwriting, and would sometimes collect handwriting samples from the evidence room in order to study the person who had written the sample.

Given the circumstances of him killing Charlie, he only served a short time in prison, but was definitely haunted by remorse, and what-ifs for decades afterwards.

He always thought it would be quite fun to start a business focused on men’s fashion if his career as an artist didn't pan out.

He served as a codebreaker during World War I, and was credited with saving the lives of many, many people.

He and Maddie never really spoke to each other again after the game ended. Both of them found it too painful to do so.

He doesn’t publicize this very much because he finds it slightly embarrassing, but he is VERY allergic to fur 😭he starts sneezing a lot if he’s near a cat or dog. This isn’t me throwing shade or anything lol, my family and I are allergic to cats.

He’s polylingual (able to speak multiple languages).

Before, after, and during his career in the Flying Squad, Diego forged documents for people trying to escape Concordia to leave abusive family, relationships, etc. they were trapped with/in.

He made quite a bit of money painting commissions for people, whether portraits of them, their family, pets, objects, landscapes, you name it. Definitely an artistic prodigy, even when he was young.

Extremely good at not just painting and drawing, but also sewing, mending, and coming up with clothing/costume ideas. He often helped Viola design, create, and fix costumes for her theatrical work. She was also one of his most frequent visitors when he was in prison.

Dr. Jones also made visits to various prisoners in addition to his work as an asylum doctor, and met Diego there. Diego was able to receive very much needed counseling and help thanks to Dr. Jones.

Sorry if these ended up being kinda angsty 😅😭thank you both for requesting him!

[neopoliitan]

TEAM RAIN: ARC 4 CH7 - THOUGH THE HEAVENS FALL (PART 2)

A WRITE UP FOR THE REST OF TEAM RAIN: CHAPTER 7b

There's a lot of content warnings in this one; murder, abuse, torture, blood, the whole nine yards, so... be aware of that before diving in. This is some of the edgiest shit I've written.

ARC 4 CHAPTER 7: THOUGH THE HEAVENS FALL (Part 2)

Part 1 is here. You'll need to refresh yourself.

In a flashback, Kamala Braith is born from the PRISM. Lucius Braith cradles her in his arms.

We cut to several x-rays and tests being run as present-day Lucius narrates that they had been successful on the first run. Kamala was healthy, and even possessed advantages over a naturally born child. For one, her aura was active from birth - which he puts down to his own being active when he injected it into the PRISM to create her.

He notes her drawbacks, too - she became sickly for a time, and had even more heightened emotions due to the trauma of her gestation and birth from a machine. 

Past-Lucius becomes greedy, and decides he has to try again. In a paranoia he casts his team aside and works alone, throwing himself completely into his endeavour. This is to his detriment, as his lack of second opinion causes him to miss something in his amendments to the PRISM, leaving Gardner Braith in a constant state of draining aura.

“I longed for the perfect result, ignorant of the lives I was carelessly bringing into the world.”

We cut forward to a military convoy advancing upon Zenith as Lucius, Kamala (4), Gardner (3), Sterling (1) and Viola (newborn) watch. Out of the leading truck steps General Boris Northwind, the newly decided leader of Mantle and Atlas. 

“Boris Northwind - Atlas’s newly elected General. A man whose nationalism had won the hearts of a public sick to their stomach of the distrust Atlas was shown by other kingdoms. A man who had ousted those who had approved my projects and replaced them with his warlike allies. A man who now had access to all redacted knowledge about Zenith, and he had his own designs.”

Lucius and General Northwind meet in Lucius’s office. Boris demands that they use PRISM technology to create a home-grown army, stronger than the average man, but Lucius refuses to let his research intersect with defense or war. Boris is incredulous.

“Since becoming General of this Kingdom I have heard things that would make your head spin. If you knew what was out there - what was really out there - and that it is coming, you would militarize this operation in five minutes!”

Lucius responds that he will not let his research into creating life be used to end it, but in doing so seals his fate.

“It’s not your research.” Northwind responds. Lucius is taken aback.

“I’ve read the documents - documents that you signed. They declare that everything in these walls is property of the Kingdom of Mantle - the Kingdom of Atlas. Rossi’s Talos androids, the PRISM… those four… creations of yours.”

Lucius sees the writing on the wall, but refuses to give in. Guards restrain him, and Northwind says to have him escorted back to Mantle. As he is dragged down a hallway, Lucius turns to Kamala and cries out to her that he will return for them - to wait for him, but he is blocked from her view by Northwind, who sidles in front of her, rests a hand on her shoulder, and tells her they have work to do.

This is where it gets bad.

--

We cut back to the present, with Teams RAIN and PALM in Lucius’s cave. 

Robin asks why he never went back, and he old man explains that Northwind’s cronies found a bogus prison sentence, leaving him to rot in a cell for years. He was only released two decades after, during an administration after Northwind’s - they couldn’t find records of a Lucius Braith existing, let alone his prison sentence.

Robin then goes on to ask; “They were just kids when that happened - and there were only four of them. How did they go so bad, and how were the other three even born without you?”

And Lucius responds “Each of my children contains a hint of my aura - and through that, a faint connection to me. On occasion, mostly through dreams, I felt their memories and emotions as my own. While I may have been in prison, I experienced the rest of the story in spirit.”

--

Desperate for solutions, Northwind intended to use the PRISM to birth a ‘disposable’ army he could throw at the source of his paranoia.

We see Northwind, clearly stressed about something - clearly afraid - as he rests his head against the PRISM. 

Lucius explains; “The PRISM was hardwired to only accept my aura pattern. He didn’t know that, of course - he only knew that he had three remaining samples to work with…”

Northwind turns to Kamala, Gardner, Sterling and Viola.

“...So he focused on the children themselves. If he couldn't make something in his image, he would warp that which had been made in mine. My children were once harmless… but Northwind wanted his super soldiers. He did whatever he could to make them fight.”

We see Northwind snatching Sterling’s teddy bear from him (the same one from Arc 3, Chapter 10), and gives it to Viola, who hugs it.

“They were so delicate… So malleable…”

Sterling’s face twists into a mask of anger.

“…So unstable…”

We cut forward again. The Braiths are a little older now. Gardner’s aura is flaring, and he is clearly in pain.

“When they refused to fight each other, they were subjected to far worse pain than what they could inflict upon each other. They were pitted against each other, manipulated… drained and betrayed and they were just children. Children suffering what no one in the universe should have to.”

Northwind opens the PRISM again. His minions have cracked the code - though only slightly. They use what trace amounts were left of Lucius’s aura, and produce Zelena, Viorel and Tahlia.

We then see Kamala in the same cell the Lincolns were held in. She’s likely not even ten, but there are scratches and dried blood on the wall. Her arms are covered in surgical scars, where scientists have examined her biological makeup to see how similar she is to a “real” human.

“Between the torture, the manipulation, the starvation and the surgery, Northwind had taken my children and attempted to fashion them into weapons. He just had to pull the trigger…

…But he didn't realise how good of a job he had done.”

And again we flash forward. 

Northwind and some of his goons are sitting in the same boardroom from Arc 3, Chapter 1. A large portrait of Northwind himself sits behind it, a monument to his ego yet also his ignorance of the horrors he has committed on these children simply by the merit of how they were born. Kamala, now around ten to twelve, is serving as his cupbearer. An advisor is cradling the newborn Tahlia, whilst the other five Braiths are lined up against the wall like statues, awaiting any sort of command or punishment.

Kamala pours Northwind a drink, but twitches while doing so. Northwind reprimands her, which one of his advisors actually speaks up against; noting that the General is not winning these childrens’ loyalty. Northwind ignores this, claiming he has brought them to heel and his “soldiers” will do as they are told. He won an election, he can win Braith’s creations.

Northwind commands Kamala to fetch their food. Kamala hesitates. Then she twitches again. Then Northwind slaps her hard enough that she hits the floor. The advisor speaks out again.

“Boris, she's a child!”

“It's not anything! They're all nothing! And I have had it up to here with their hesitancy!”

Northwind commands his guards to escort the Braiths down to level eight, and that they “know what to do.” He commands Kamala to get up, and she mumbles as she cradles her face.

“When… When… my father comes home… when my family…”

Northwind laughs, a booming, terrible laugh from the stomach. 

“That's what you think this is?” He turns to his advisors. “Get a load of this! It doesn't know its place in the world -- it doesn't know where it came from.” 

He gets on Kamala’s eye level. “Maybe that's why you're so hard to housebreak. So let me put this in little words you'll be able to understand.

“You have no family. You are an experiment. You are merely the result of Lucius Braith creating a substitute for humanity in times of war, and humanity needs things to be this way.

“You are here to serve Mantle. The men, women and children will not have to lay down their lives when we can send drones such as yourself.

“You are a crash test dummy. You are not alive, your feelings are not real. Whatever you may have thought you felt… It's all just programming. Code. Read my lips:

“You're. Not. Real.”

Kamala freezes. Her eyes glaze over. Something tugs at the corners of her lips, and slowly her mouth warps into a smile - but the rest of her face isn’t smiling, it’s just absent.

Northwind draws himself up to his full height and turns back to his advisors. He begins to talk, but Kamala speaks again.

“When I was younger, my father used to read me stories. Once, he told me a story of a bridge. An old bridge that would be beaten and damaged by the travelers who crossed it. No one cared for it, and no one maintained it. People just took advantage.”

“What in the world are you talking about…?” Northwind asks incredulously, but Kamala continues.

“One day, the bridge was very weak. A large party attempted to cross it during a storm - it was the only bridge for miles around - and it couldn’t take the strain. Eventually, it collapsed and all those who had neglected to take care of it fell into the river, lost to the storm and the current. After so much, the bridge just… snapped. And they all fell down. But it was okay, you see? Because in their idiocy and self interest they had failed to do right by what they had created. It was all fine.”

She looks up at Northwind, her eyes finally focusing on something for the first time since he told her she was not real - and perhaps the first time she truly saw existence for what she now believes it is.

“Because… Well… because they deserved to die.”

In a single, swift movement, Kamala springs forth like an animal, tears a butter knife from the conference room table, and jams it into Northwind’s collarbone. A blunt weapon, it doesn’t hurt him much, but the weight of her leaping into him while he was so sure he had her “trained” is enough to knock him into the table, winding him, and sending them both tumbling to the floor. 

We see Kamala’s face now. It’s the same face she pulled on Viola at the end of Arc 2 as she screams through an expression that barely opens its lips. 

“AND YOU WANT TO TELL ME I’M NOT REAL--? NOT REAL--?”

Kamala attacks Boris again and again with the knife, eventually landing it in his eye or his cheek. Boris commands her to stop, but she grows more feral, scratching at him with her nails, tearing into his flesh with her teeth. Eventually she bites into the soft flesh of his throat, and his commands turn to pleas of mercy.

“IS THIS REAL ENOUGH?! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT REAL IS!”

The guards advance and level their weapons at the girl, but they don’t realise their mistake in leaving the other Braiths unattended. Seeing their comrade finally snap, they recognise their opening and do what they were trained to do. Sterling is the first. He wrenches a pipe from the wall and swings it at the nearest guard, who crumples to the floor. Raising it above his head, the boy screams “I'M GOING TO KILL ALL OF YOU--! YOU TOOK EVERYTHING AWAY FROM ME!”

The other guard turns to subdue him, but Viola is quick to retrieve the downed guard’s weapon and kill him with it. 

The advisor cradling Tahlia runs for the door, but we see Viorel nonchalantly locking it and turning to look blankly at them. From behind, we hear Gardner say “Give me the baby.”

We cut to Zelena, who has mounted the conference table and is stabbing someone in the face, screaming “You get everything AND WE HAVE NOTHING!” through tears.

The room is in carnage. Adults are being slain by the children they made into warriors. They did their job too well.

As the chaos draws to an end - the other Braiths becoming exhausted, at least - Kamala stands up, her face and body covered with Northwind’s blood. Through his shredded throat, Northwind makes one final plea.

“For the good of your kingdom… for the good of the world… stop…”

Kamala looks at him, unflinching.

“Your kingdom. Your world.”

Northwind dies. The other Braiths gather around Kamala. Gardner is carrying Tahlia in his arms; she slept through it all.

Zelena asks what they do, and Kamala says they’ll make “them” pay. “Everything we’ve been through… they thought it was all a lie, or they didn’t care. They stood by and let us suffer for their stupid Mantle.

“We’ll show them they were so wrong to do what they did. They’ll feel the pain we felt and more. We’ll take everything they cared about and turn it to dust like they did to us.

“When they’re on their knees, they’ll beg for mercy like we did… …we’ll make them wish they never crawled out of the tidepool. And only then will they finally understand that this is kindness.”

Viorel asks, “You propose we take back the world with only seven children?”

Kamala smirks ask her aura flares. “Viorel… you underestimate what they turned us into.

We could take back the world with one.”

--

Back to the present. Lucius clasps a cup, his hands shaking. He tells Teams RAIN & PALM that his children have been plotting ever since. He feels “their rage, their hate, their hunger, their envy.” It was all he could do to delete all knowledge of Zenith when he was released so that he might keep them isolated - keep them “safe.”

He knows they won’t understand, but they are his children and it pains him to think what might happen when his visitors inevitably arrive at Zenith. He also knows he can’t convince them to turn away, knowing how much of a threat his children are, but he begs them not to make them suffer if it comes to it.

Nyssa pipes up and asks why he never returned to Zenith after being freed. Lucius smiles weakly and explains that as much as he loves his children, he fears them more. He only made it as far as his self-imposed exile between Faraday and Zenith - shame stopped him from turning back, cowardice kept him from continuing on.

His disposition becomes more steely, then, and he stands up. He announces the storm has cleared, and tells his visitors they should go. To keep the sun to their east and aim for a notch between two mountains. 

Aware they have outstayed their welcome, RAIN and PALM pour out of the cave. Robin turns back and tells Lucius she’s sorry for all that has happened. He simply scoffs “Not as much as I.”

RAIN and PALM depart for Zenith, their final destination, but we continue to linger on the image of Lucius Braith, as he slowly sits down in front of the fire again, and runs his hands down his face.

--

We then see all seven Braiths in the elevator that leads down to the PRISM, Kamala at the front of the pack. They walk single-file across the gantry as their leader and eldest sibling explains her plan;

“We know they’re coming, and while we’ll win, we have to plan for the future. Making them pay might take longer than any of our lifetimes, so we have to keep the cause going. We refuse to be snuffed out.”

She gently runs her hand across the PRISM. “I would do it alone, but alone we are only equal to a seventh of… him. So we need to do this together. Just put your hands in the holes.”

All except Tahlia do as they are told, until she is encouraged by Gardner. Closest to the control panel, Viorel flicks a switch. All seven have a piece of their aura sliced for the machine - a machine that only responds to Lucius’s biological imprint, a seventh of which exists in each of them.

As they all clutch their arms in pain - except, of course, Sterling - Kamala produces the most genuine smile she has given in the story and turns to Viorel with only one thing to say as the machine hums to life;

“And now it begins.”

[itsbenedict]

From the beginning | Previously | Coin standings | 42 | 19

MAIN UNITⓎ again! Yes- surely nothing will go wrong if you join the skeleton union. Before you fill out your paperwork, though, you hear a distant, e𝔢rie whooshing noise... and then, nearby, a clunk. the vending machine dispenses a ASTRAL TYPES STALE PASTRY ልnd a small tub of GO, ROBOTIC PURITY PROBIOTIC YOGURT. That'll restore 2 hunger, and enhance your TURBO MIMIC EGO somehow. You're not entirely sure what that does for you, besides making you think you're really good at copying stuff.

You sign up for the NUT-GOVERNED TEETH UNION and VENTURE INTO THE DUNGEON. Should you pick Mad Mage, Lost Mine, or Tomb of Anniዘilation? It's usually good to open with the Lost Mine to get a little bit of early Treasure ramp, but you might want to try and beeline the Mad Wizard's Lair Ɨf you have enough other dungeon triggers to hit it early. What's your opponent's life total? Is Hama Pashar in this deck? It-

-no, wait, you're not playing Magic the Gathering. You're heading deeper into the ۷ampire castle, where you've found an extremely strange room. It's full of empty cages, omเnous mechanical contrapti๏ns that might be torture equipment, and...

...uh, 𝙡ots of random junk. A cardboard stand advertising dish det𝕖rgent. A suit of armor. A spinning wheel. A big lump of rock with gold flecks. A potato sack with a picture of a fish on it. A large leaf. A chuｎk of wall covered in hieroglyphs. DELETE. A bale of straw. Some skulls. A potted plan𝓽. A big dead spider.

All the---̸̢͒-̷̳̺̥͋̊̔̈́͠͠-̸̹̩̟̥͍͚̹͉̽̽̽̅̽ͅ-̴̛̹̈̍̿̍̏̉͂͘-̷̦͙̻͇̘̦̲͔̮̫͂̾͌̎͠-̷̜͆-se things- and all the e𝖒pty cages- are sort of isolated from each other, and surrounded by little pedestals on which pairs of glasses are mounted. You try them ⒪n, but they don't seem to have any effect, nor do they improve your eyesight.

...Though youʀ sense of sight isn't the on---̸̢͒-̸̛̰͈̲̲͒͗̉̀̀̈̀͘͝-̸̜̞̯̞̲͗̉͌̈́̾̕̚͝-̷̱͈́̃̆̄̂̈́-̴͖̝̑͛̌-̷̜͆-ly thing that's hallucinating, it seems. A number of noises you can't place are going off:

"OW," YOU HEAR. Who said that? Did someone get hurt? You can't be sure where the noise is coming from, but it's pro𝔟ably nothing good. Should you help?

A loud bang, and then the unmٱstakable scent of cucumber. Someone's fired a CUCUMBER GUNSHOT at you- should you dive for cover?

When you can't speak, do you develop a flatᵤlence-based language and put on a parade to raise awareness? No- there's other ways. Better ways. Ways that aren't a MUTE PHONICS FART PARADE.

There are multiple ELF VIOLA CONCERTS happening at once. Just one elf viola concert 𝓼ounds nice, but when they're playing over each other and the fart parade, it's just cacophanous.

Continued | 42 | 21

[kimmiessimmies]

OC Deep Dive Questionnaire Tag

A set of 20 questions to get to know your OC!

I was tagged a few times to do this. First by @anamoon63, thank you! ❤️ You requested both James and Finn, so I'll start with James and will address Finn on a later one. 😊

What uncommon/common fear do they have?

James is terribly afraid people can see the pain behind his smiles. He's afraid of being "found out." People are slowly catching on he's actually not doing okay at all, and he hates that. He wants to keep everything close to his chest and decide for himself who he trusts with his shit.

Do they have any pet peeves?

When people don't clear up their mess. Especially now that he lives in a student dorm it annoys him. Some housemates leave their dirty dishes on the counter or even on the tables and it frustrates James to no end. He got along fine with Chris, his old roommate, but he's also quite happy he didn't get assigned a new roommate after Chris left. Also because of the answer to the previous question.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

His guitar, his keyboard and empty staff paper.

What do they notice first in a person?

Whether they're being real or pretending. James sees through the "fakes". It takes one to know one, I guess.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Quite high, probably an 8. He can handle physical pain a bit too well... And thus uses it to mask his emotional pain...

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

James definitely flees from his internal pain. He doesn't want to feel everything he feels, so he tries to escape. In other ways he is actually quite a fighter, but he fights against the wrong things.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

James' relationship with his parents is strained, but he adores his sisters and is a devoted uncle to his nieces Viola and Rosa. He also loved his grandmother and has a strong relationship with his uncle Oliver and aunt Claire, Daniel's parents.

What animal represents them best?

I answered this before and I'm sticking to a ragdoll cat, because they're cuddly and affectionate, yet very independent and slightly cross eyed. 😉

What is a smell that they dislike?

The smell of blood is triggering for James...

Have they broken any bones?

He broke the tip of his index finger on his right hand when he dropped a heavy shelf on it when he was a teenager. He couldn't play guitar for weeks and it made him very annoyed.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

Outgoing, charming, confident (proving they don't truly know him).

Are they a night owl or a morning bird?

Definite night owl

What is a flavour they hate and a flavour they love?

James has a bit of a sweet tooth, so anything inherently bitter is not his favourite thing to eat.

Do they have any hobbies?

Unsurprisingly, anything musical. Writing music, making music, singing. It's his happy place.

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises?

While James would be all smiles when someone threw him a surprise party, deep down, he would much rather spend his birthday with his friends or someone special. He does like surprises in general, but when you unknowingly catch him at a mental low, James would secretly struggle.

Do they like to wear jewellery?

Not particularly.

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

Currently, it's clear he's fallen desperately in love, has no idea how to deal with that, and it takes over all his thoughts and emotions. I wouldn't know how to pinpoint two emotions for James even if this wasn't the case, though. His emotions always go all over the place, from anxiety to excitement and everything in between.

Do they have a favourite fabric?

Nothing synthetic, but other than that he doesn't really care.

What kind of accent do they have?

None, really. His voice is warm and kind. It's not very deep, but definitely not high either.

[applejongho]

also after listening to the entire album w my earbuds I finally have my fav songs 🤓☝️ which are def selfish waltz (jongho adlibs 🤤) and enough (just. the best vibes ever)! iomt follows behind them and bonus points bc of the viola in it 🤌 (I have been playing for 12 years, that is For Me). then comes deep dive which would 100000% be my Favorite if not for the really abrupt ending :( a final chorus would have tied it all together and made it 🤌🤌. and then I just unfortunately don't super care for man on fire 🥲 it is too atmospheric for me, However the chorus is incredibly good. it reminds me of one of my fav ag*st d songs, burn it.

and scene 1 value? MY GOD 🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌 al mentioned they sampled tchaik and now that I have my competent earbuds I just 🤌🤌🤌🤌 man I sure love the 🤌🤌 emoji today. anyways thank u boy group ateez