#when two worlds (hyperfixations) collide

[futuremrscameron]

just realized “i wanted him dead. i wanted him all to myself.” can also apply to rafebarry

[marchessa]

[jungkoode]

ALTARS IN SHALLOW WATERS | 04

➔ PAIRING: Taehyung x Y/N (ballerina x stalker AU)

➔ MOODBOARD

➔ RATING: Mature, 18+, explicit themes and content.

➔ DATE POSTED: May 12, 2025.

➔ SUMMARY: Altars crumble faster in shallow water. But he still knelt like it was sacred. No one ever warned you that worship could look like love. Or that love could look like drowning.

➔ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, ballerina!Y/N, stalker!taehyung, obsessive devotion, psychological tension, fixation, worship dynamics, Paris setting, religious imagery, voyeurism, sacred/profane dichotomy, slow burn, touch starvation, ritualistic behavior, gradual corruption, power dynamics, mirror imagery, water symbolism, sensory details, clean/unclean fixation, contamination OCD, professional dancer, self-destructive patterns, compulsive behavior, unhealthy coping mechanisms, possessive tendencies, praise addiction, spiritual yearning, toxic attraction, dangerous adoration, self-loathing, body discipline, mental health issues, self-harm, mental deterioration, unresolved sexual tension (for now).

➔ CONTENT in this chapter: female rivalry/competition, eating disorders(eating cotton pads), ballet classes, self-demands, perfectionism, ribbon discarding (or not), convenience store reencounters and small discoveries.

➔ AUTHOR’S INTRO AND TRIGGER WARNINGS

➔ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 3,2k

➔ A/N: Okay. Okay. Everyone breathe. Especially me. (I’m the one hyperventilating into a protein bar wrapper at 3AM because I cannot believe this chapter EXISTS.) Welcome back to Altars in Shallow Waters, where we do not chase plot—we let it simmer on low heat while the characters emotionally spiral into the void like aesthetically pleasing depressive ballerinas and bleach-stained ghosts of men!!! ✨🩰🧼 So, this chapter. Let’s talk about her. The real action here is perceptual rupture. The moment you realize someone is watching you, but not in the “flirty eye contact in an indie café” way. No. In the “someone found your discarded legwarmer ribbon and folded it like scripture into their jacket pocket” way. Delicious. Horrifying. Both. Psychologically, this chapter is playing with reciprocal hyperfixation. How the act of being seen can unravel just as much as seeing. She doesn't name it, but she feels it—the way she catalogs his reactions, the way her interest grows when he avoids her eyes, like a cat with a wounded bird. She's measuring his discomfort like a dancer mapping mirror angles. Efficient. But curious. And curiosity? Is the gateway drug to ruin. Also let's talk about that ribbon. Because symbolically, she discards it—functionally useless, easy to forget. But he keeps it. Stores it like evidence of contact. That's how obsession works. You think it’s nothing. You think it’s gone. But it's in someone’s pocket. It's their proof that you touched the world they live in. On a more serious note: mental health themes remain central. He is not quirky. He is unwell. She is not "coolly aloof." She is also unwell. And the way those fractures collide? That’s what this fic is. Not fluff. Not romance. A slow collision of two very broken people who think they’re control freaks, but are actually being dragged by subconscious forces stronger than either of them.

And no, I will not give you relief. Not yet. We’re still descending.

➔ SERIES : PREVIOUS | NEXT

KIKI NATION’S DISCUSSION THREAD FOR THIS CHAPTER

PLAYLIST

Cotton dissolves like sin on your tongue.

You've perfected this ritual. The pad breaks down slowly against the roof of your mouth, becoming pulp, becoming nothing. The texture no longer bothers you. 

Nothing bothers you before 5 AM.

Your reflection watches with clinical interest. 

Dark circles beneath your eyes. Acceptable. Not ideal, but within parameters. You've calculated the exact amount of concealer needed to erase them—three dots, blended outward in concentric circles. 

Precision matters, even in camouflage.

The cotton expands slightly as you work it around your mouth. Your stomach will feel full for approximately forty-seven minutes. Long enough to get through morning barre without distraction. Long enough to maintain focus when others are already thinking about breakfast.

This is discipline. This is necessary.

Your tongue presses the dissolving fibers against your teeth. No calories. No guilt. 

Just the illusion of consumption that tricks your body into compliance.

The bathroom is eerily silent—except for the sound of your breathing. 

Four counts in, four counts out. The same rhythm you maintain during adagio. The same rhythm your heart should follow during rest periods.

You reach for your hairbrush. The bristles scrape against your scalp, just shy of painful. 

Good. 

Pain means progress. Pain means you're paying attention.

Camille took your hairpins. All of them. The evidence was clear: her side of the room littered with them this morning, carelessly scattered like she couldn't be bothered to hide her sabotage. 

How desperate. How transparent.

You pull your hair back until it hurts. The ponytail is tight enough to create tension at your temples. 

Not your preference—a bun offers cleaner lines, better balance—but you adapt. 

Adaptation is part of excellence.

The last of the cotton dissolves. You rinse your mouth, watching the water swirl down the drain. 

Clean. Empty. Ready.

Your leotard fits precisely as it should. Dark blue, high-necked, modest in cut but not in purpose. The fabric compresses your ribcage just enough to remind you of your boundaries. Your physical limits. The container you must perfect.

White tights. No runs, no snags. 

Navy leg warmers, positioned exactly three inches above the ankle bone. The little ribbons on the front—blue to match—catch your eye. Tacky. Childish. But the color coordinates perfectly with the leotard, and aesthetic cohesion supersedes your opinion on childishness. 

Function over feeling. Always.

The cropped sweater—also white—settles just below your sternum. The ensemble is well thought out. Coordinated. It communicates seriousness, dedication, attention to detail.

These are not clothes. They are statements of intent.

Your reflection assesses you with the same merciless scrutiny you apply to everything. 

Arms: acceptable. Neck: could be longer. Posture: correct. Weight: maintained within 0.4 kilograms of target.

You turn slightly. Check your profile. The curve of your spine, the placement of your shoulders. 

No room for error. No allowance for imperfection.

The cotton has left a slight residue in your mouth—texture that reminds you of your choice. 

Your control. Your discipline.

You think, briefly, of the convenience store. Of the cotton pads in their perfect packaging. Of the man who wouldn't look at you.

Kim.

The name surfaces without permission. An unexpected ripple in the still pond of your morning routine.

You dismiss it. Irrelevant. A random encounter that means nothing.

(But you remember the tremor in his gloved hands. The way he backed away. The way he watched when he thought you wouldn't notice.)

Your dance bag waits by the door, packed according to your usual system. Pointe shoes in their separate compartment. Towel folded precisely in thirds. Water bottle filled exactly to the line you've marked with clear nail polish. Kinesiology tape. Scissors. Antiseptic wipes. Bandages. Everything you need. Nothing you don't.

The dormitory is silent as you move through it. Your footsteps make no sound. You've learned to walk like a ghost. To exist without disturbing the air around you.

The kitchen light is on. Unexpected. Unwelcome.

Elodie stands at the counter, spreading something on toast. Butter, probably. Or worse—jam. Sugar and fat combined in a useless, indulgent paste. 

You grimace. Her lack of will is evident in every bite she takes. 

Every gram of unnecessary calories. 

Every moment wasted on pleasure rather than preparation.

She'll be replaced soon. They all will. The company has no room for weakness.

"Morning," she says, her voice still rough with sleep. "You're up early."

The observation is pointless. You're always up early. 

She knows this. Everyone knows this.

"Yes," you say, because a response is expected, not because the conversation has value.

Her eyes flick to your ponytail. Notice the deviation from your usual style. Her mouth opens slightly—about to comment, to ask, to pry.

You don't give her the chance. "Excuse me."

Two words. Polite but final. 

You move past her, not waiting for a response.

The dormitory door closes behind you as the hallway stretches ahead, empty and dim. 

Perfect. This is how mornings should be. Quiet. Solitary. Undistracted.

You begin the walk to the studio at your usual pace. 

The route never changes. Left from the dormitory. Right at the café that won't open for another two hours. Straight past the bakery where the smell of fresh bread will soon fill the air.

Your stomach tightens. The cotton is doing its job, but barely. 

You focus on your breathing instead. Four counts in. Four counts out.

The streets are empty except for delivery trucks and the occasional cleaner hosing down the sidewalk. 

Paris pretends to sleep, but it never truly does. It just shifts its rhythms, like a dancer moving from allegro to adagio.

Your mind drifts, just slightly, to the convenience store again. To the fluorescent lights that made everything look sickly and unreal. To the man with the gloves who wouldn't meet your eyes.

Kim.

What a curious specimen. 

Most men stare. They always have. 

They look with hunger or appreciation or professional assessment. 

They look because looking is taking, and you are something to be taken.

But he refused to look at all. Refused even to be seen himself.

It was... interesting.

The memory of his downturned face surfaces again. The curtain of washed-out hair. The blue latex gloves worn thin at the fingertips.

You wonder what his hands look like beneath those gloves. If they're as elegant as their shape suggests. If they're damaged somehow. 

Scarred. Diseased.

You wonder why he was afraid.

(You wonder if he's still afraid.)

The thought brings an unexpected sensation. 

A slight warmth in your chest.

A tightening that isn't hunger or discipline or determination.

Then, the studio appears ahead, windows still dark. 

You'll be the first to arrive, as always. The first to warm up. The first to claim your spot at the barre.

You reach for your key card, already positioned in the outer pocket of your bag for efficiency. 

The cotton in your stomach has begun to expand, creating the illusion of fullness. Of satisfaction.

This is discipline. This is necessary.

This is what separates you from Elodie with her toast and jam. 

From Camille with her petty sabotage. 

From all of them with their weaknesses and wants and human frailties.

You are not weak. You are not wanting. You are not frail.

You are becoming perfect.

The studio door beeps as your card registers. For a moment, you think you see movement in your peripheral vision—a shadow shifting, a presence retreating.

You turn your head, just slightly. Just enough to check.

Nothing. Just the empty street. The dim morning light. The faint drizzle that has begun to fall.

You step inside, leaving the outside world behind. 

Here, in the studio, everything makes sense. Everything has purpose. Everything can be controlled, measured, perfected.

The lights flicker on automatically. The empty room waits for you, patient and demanding all at once.

You set down your bag. Remove your sweater. Take your position at the barre.

As you begin your first plié, you notice one of the blue ribbons on your leg warmers has come loose. It dangles precariously, threatening to fall. 

Distracting. Imperfect.

You untie it completely. The ribbon comes away in your hand, a small strip of navy satin. You place it deliberately by the door, next to your things. You'll dispose of it properly later. 

For now, it's been removed. The imperfection excised.

Your gaze returns to the mirrors, reflection multiplying—four versions of yourself executing the same movement precisely. 

Arms: acceptable. Turnout: could be deeper. Neck: elongate further.

You move through your warm-up.

Pliés. Tendus. Dégagés. 

Each movement builds upon the last, preparing your body for what you'll demand of it today. Preparing your mind for the scrutiny that will come.

The door opens at 6:15 and Madame Villon enters first, as always. Her eyes sweep the studio, landing on you without surprise. 

She expects your presence. Your dedication is not remarkable to her. 

It is baseline.

"Good morning," she says, her voice crisp in the quiet room.

You incline your head slightly. "Madame."

She moves to the piano, arranging her notes for the day's class. Her movements are economical. You recognize the discipline in her posture, the control in her hands. 

She was exceptional once. Now she creates exceptionalism in others.

The other dancers begin to arrive. First Mathilde, then Sophie, then Clara. They move to their usual spots, begin their own warm-ups. Their reflections join yours in the mirrors, creating a forest of limbs and torsos and necks all striving toward the same impossible standard.

Camille arrives at 6:27. Three minutes before class officially begins. 

Her hair is already in a perfect bun—the style you couldn't achieve today. 

Her eyes meet yours in the mirror. She smiles. The expression doesn't reach her eyes.

"Morning," she says, her voice pitched to carry. To be heard by others. To create the illusion of friendship.

You nod once. Acknowledge the performance without participating in it.

Her gaze drops to your ponytail. Registers the deviation from routine. Her smile widens slightly—satisfaction poorly disguised as concern.

"No bun today?" she asks, knowing exactly why.

"No," you say, final.

She moves to the barre, taking her position behind Mathilde. 

Her spot in the hierarchy is clear—not quite at the back with the weakest dancers, not quite at the front with you and Elodie. 

Middle tier. Hungry for advancement.

Madame Villon claps once. "Places."

The pianist begins. Your body responds automatically. 

First position. Demi-plié. Rise. Second position. The sequence is as familiar as breathing. 

More familiar, perhaps, since you've never had to think about how to breathe.

Class progresses with its usual intensity. Madame moves among the dancers, making corrections. Her hand on Sophie's waist, adjusting alignment. Her voice sharp as she instructs Léa to extend further, reach higher.

She passes you without comment. Not approval. Not yet. 

Just the absence of correction, which is its own kind of evaluation.

Center work begins. The barre no longer there to support you, to steady you. Just your body in space, responsible for its own balance, its own lines.

You execute each combination flawlessly. 

Not perfect—perfect doesn't exist yet—but flawless in the sense that no one else in the room could identify your mistakes. Only you know the millisecond delay in your spotting during the final pirouette. Only you feel the slight tremor in your supporting leg during the adagio.

These are errors you will correct. 

Weaknesses you will eliminate. 

Imperfections you will excise, like the ribbon from your leg warmer.

Madame calls your name. "Demonstrate the grand allegro, please."

It's not a request. It's not even really a command. 

It's an expectation.

You take your place in the center. Feel the weight of every gaze in the room. The cotton in your stomach has long since dissolved.

The music begins. Your body launches into motion. Jump, turn, land, extend. The combination is complex—designed to test not just technique but musicality, stamina, presence.

You move through it flawlessly again. Each beat accounted for. Each position achieved exactly as choreographed. 

Your breathing remains controlled. 

Your face betrays no effort.

When you finish, landing in fifth position with arms curved perfectly in low fifth, there is a moment of silence. 

Then Madame nods once. Not praise. Acknowledgment.

"Again," she says to the class. "Four at a time."

By the time Madame signals the end of class, your leotard is damp with sweat. Your muscles vibrate with exertion. Your ponytail has loosened slightly—another imperfection to address.

"Thank you, ladies," Madame says. "Rehearsals begin at ten. Do not be late."

The dancers disperse, moving toward their bags, toward the changing rooms. 

Conversations bloom in their wake—discussions of the day's schedule, complaints about sore muscles, plans for the brief break before rehearsal.

You remain at the barre, extending your cool-down. 

There is no benefit to rushing. No advantage to socializing. 

Your body requires proper care if it's to serve your ambition.

Camille passes behind you, her reflection catching yours in the mirror. 

“Lunch later?" she asks, loud enough for others to hear. 

A performance that continues.

"Perhaps," you say, noncommittal. 

You both know you won't join her. 

You both know she doesn't want you to.

The studio empties gradually. Dancers leave in twos and threes, their voices fading as they move down the hallway. 

Soon it's just you and your reflection, multiplied across the mirrored walls.

You finish your cool-down. Move to collect your things. 

The sweater goes back on—your body temperature will drop quickly now that you're no longer working. The water bottle is half-empty. The towel damp with sweat.

You look for the navy ribbon, left by the door where you placed it.

It's gone.

You scan the floor. 

Perhaps it fell. Perhaps it was kicked aside accidentally. 

But there's nothing. The ribbon has vanished.

Your eyes narrow slightly. 

Camille. It must be Camille. 

First the hairpins, now this. 

But why would she take a discarded ribbon? What possible advantage could it give her?

Perhaps it's simply spite. Perhaps it's just another way to demonstrate that your space, your belongings, your boundaries are not truly your own. That nothing here belongs exclusively to you—not even your trash.

Or perhaps it's something else. Something you haven't calculated yet. Some new form of sabotage you'll need to anticipate and counter.

You straighten your ponytail. Adjust your sweater. Shoulder your bag.

The ribbon doesn't matter. It was defective. Discarded. Its loss is irrelevant.

But you remember exactly where you left it. 

Remember that it was there, and now it's not. 

Remember that someone took something of yours, even something you no longer wanted.

You don't know why you're here. 

This purgatory with its flickering lights and linoleum floors that never quite look clean no matter how recently they've been mopped. 

L'heure bleue. 

The convenience store that exists in that strange space between your world and... 

Perhaps it's curiosity. 

Perhaps it's boredom. 

Perhaps it's the man with the ashy blonde hair who seems to vibrate with anxiety whenever you enter his orbit.

Kim.

The protein bars are arranged in descending order of caloric content. You scan the nutritional information with practiced efficiency. This one: 15g protein, 160 calories, 2g sugar. 

Acceptable. Not ideal, but functional. 

Your body requires fuel. Not pleasure, not indulgence—just the bare minimum to maintain performance.

The store is empty except for you and him. The pink-haired girl is absent tonight. No buffer between you and his strange, trembling avoidance.

You approach the counter, place the protein bar down slowly, almost teasing. 

The sound it makes against the surface is soft but there is no mistaking it. 

A statement of presence.

No response.

You wait. Ten seconds. Twenty. Your time is valuable. Each wasted moment is a micro-failure.

You tap one long manicured nail against the counter. Sharp. Demanding. A single finger communicating what your voice shouldn't have to.

Still nothing.

Finally, you clear your throat. 

There's a sudden scattering noise from the back room—something falling, something being knocked over in haste. Then footsteps, quick and uneven.

He emerges from somewhere behind rows of shelves, eyes are fixed on the floor, that curtain of hair hiding his features just as it did before. His shoulders curve inward, making his tall frame seem smaller, less substantial.

He doesn't look at you. 

Doesn't acknowledge your presence beyond the most basic recognition that someone is standing at his counter. His focus fixes on the protein bar as if it's the customer, not you.

"Is the pink-haired girl not working tonight?" Your voice is cool. A simple question requiring a simple answer.

He doesn't respond. His fingers—still encased in those blue latex gloves—hover over the protein bar without touching it. His breathing has quickened, just slightly. Just enough for you to notice.

"Do you work here every night?" Another question. Direct. Uncomplicated.

Nothing. Just that same frozen posture. That same careful avoidance.

How curious. 

How peculiar, this man who seems physically incapable of meeting your gaze. 

As if eye contact might burn him. As if your attention is a weight he cannot bear.

Is he afraid of you? 

The thought brings that same strange warmth to your chest. That same unquantifiable feeling you haven't yet categorized.

"You paid for my cotton pads last time," you say. Not a question this time. A statement of fact. "Why?"

His fingers finally move, picking up the protein bar with such care you might think it was made of glass. He scans it, the beep unnaturally loud in the silent store. 

When he speaks, his voice is so soft you almost miss it.

"Three euros forty."

Just that. Just the price. Nothing more.

You extend your hand with exact change, coins arranged in your palm for maximum efficiency of transfer. 

He doesn't take them from your hand. 

Instead, he places a small plastic tray on the counter, sliding it toward you without making contact.

For coins. So he doesn't have to touch you.

The realization makes something in your chest tighten, and it’s not offense. Not exactly. Something more... interesting.

You place the coins in the tray. He takes it, careful not to brush against your fingers. Counts the money methodically. Places your change in the same tray, slides it back to you.

All without once lifting his eyes to your face.

"Thank you," you say, though you're not sure why. 

The transaction doesn't require gratitude. It's a simple exchange of currency for goods. Nothing more.

He nods once, that same sharp downward jerk of his chin you noticed last time. His hands retreat to his sides, then behind his back, as if he doesn't trust them to behave appropriately in your presence.

You collect your change. Take the protein bar. Turn to leave.

That's when you see it.

A flash of navy blue, peeking from his pocket. Small. Satin. Unmistakable.

The ribbon from your leg warmer. The one you left by the studio door. The one that disappeared.

Not Camille. 

Him.

But how? How did he get it? How did it travel from the dance studio to this convenience store? To his pocket?

You pause, your back to him, processing this new information.

He must have been there. At the studio. 

Must have seen you. Must have taken what you discarded.

The realization should disturb you. 

Should trigger alarm, concern, perhaps even fear.

It doesn't.

Instead, that same strange warmth spreads through your chest—that same unnamed feeling that isn't hunger or discipline or determination.

goal: 250 notes

taglist: @cannotalwaysbenight @taevescence @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @mikrokookiex @minniejim @curse-of-art @mellyyyyyyx @rpwprpwprpwprw @billy-jeans23 @calmyourtitts7 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @dltyum

© jungkoode 2025.

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[ohwolfling]

this is such a rich thing to explore for Lae'zel & I am going to put thoughts under the cut so as not to ruin your beautiful art with my ramblings!

In Cyberpunk 2077, we constantly see corporations trying to partner with/destroy/buy out Nomad groups. We see outsider groups, Raffen Shiv, and even in the disgrace of their trafficking and scavenging, the Wraith are considered worst of all, even by other Raffens. Gith were formerly enslaved by ilithid and under Vlaakith have approached this with, "now it's OUR turn to destroy and colonize."

A young group of nomads secretly owned and experimented on by BioTechnica. Nomads trained in brutality, similar to Wraiths, finding out they all have one cyber chip installed at birth to be activated if ever Arasaka has use of a violent nomad militia. Just... so much you could do. Oh my god, I love this!

Continuing on the thing that no one asked for but I’m obsessed with (since it got nerfed last time I posted)

WIP of Lae’zel the Nomad

Lae would be a nomad and no one can convince me otherwise.

- way too blindly loyal to her clan

-outsider to the city

-has no idea her beloved leaders are selling her out

[valeisaslut]

i love collide so much. i'm completely drawn to the dynamic between ellie and the reader. it's become a full-blown hyperfixation LMAO. i keep rereading it and it still hits just as deeply every time.

i've been listening to both ellie's and the reader's albums, and what really gets me is how they're speaking to each other through their lyrics. and the wildest part? they "wrote" those songs without ever hearing each other's. completely unintentional. and still.... some of the lyrics align.

and yes, i know it was planned by you!! but still i think it's so beautiful for both of them. even across distance, their souls were already reaching for each other, like some part of them knew without ever being told, that they were always meant to be in conversation. singing the same story just from different ends of the night. stop it feels soooo cosmic. love how you tell the story btw <33

oh my godddd baby this is exactly it. exactly it. the idea that they were writing toward each other without knowing. like two lighthouses trying to guide each other home across different oceans. it’s what makes the music so devastating — not because they heard the other’s voice, but because they didn’t have to. it was already inside them.

i think the most romantic thing in the entire universe is unintentional alignment. ellie writing about “i will love you until the day i die” in some torn-up page in jackson, while reader is halfway across the world singing about how “i didn’t really lose you, i just lost it for a while.” like. shut up. souls in sync even when everything else is broken.

thank you for seeing the story that way — like a conversation. it is a cosmic love story, and i’m so happy it found you. <3

[diabolicallittledemi]

“Where the anger of the skies and hells collide, the doom of fate is a human's demise.

The maw of a beast opened wide, uncontrolled rage darkens the sky,

When lightning befalls, death screams its call.

For this is the end as we know it, the bond that will kill us all.”

.

.

.

So OUABKDK (Once Upon A BakuDeku, a joke name that stuck because it's fucking funny and neither of us have brought it up since the doc was titled) was originally made as a self-insert crack fic that @yippaydippay made about us for shits and gigs but it VERY quickly became a shared hyperfixation for us and now it has nearly 200k words and more finished art pieces behind it than any other hyperfixations of mine have combined. Low-key insane.

The basic premise is this: Skipp Babin and Remi Suazo are two high schoolers from the US who are one day isekai-ed into the world of MHA right as class 1-A begins their first year at UA. Literally they are dropped onto UA ground and found by Aizawa and his students, promptly taken into custody, and interrogated. How did you get in? Why are you here? Who do you work for? And to this, they don't have any answers.

They're investigated behind their backs. Turns out as they were transported into this world, so were legal docs? They own a house (the American dream), have some money, are both 15 on paper (hell on earth to suddenly be 15 again after surviving a year like that, and almost at the finish line of childhood at the ripe of 17) have no legal or recorded guardians, and no citizenship in ANY country to their name. Essentially, there's nothing, not even knowledge if they have quirks or not.

They are kept under watch until they eventually are released to their house... and the story begins!

They have dormant quirks, as it turns out, which are both awoken in drugged up fever dreams by quirk specialists at a doctor; Skipp can turn into a dragon (fucking awesome) and Remi can turn electricity into weapons (or whatever they can think of, but a sword is sick, so really, they'll stick with that).

The two don't initially take all of this seriously and, well, that causes issues. Because how much can you fuck around before you REALLY find out? The timeline is changed, you draw the attention of people you shouldn't, and suddenly you've got a mess the size of an angry dragon on your hands. Oops.

I love OUABKDK so much and I'm currently waiting for yippay to type up the next update so I can read it and then pass out while daydreaming about it. (No joke. I'm typing this out because I'm bored while waiting.)

[ophanim-wrestler]

FIGHT CLUB X HANNIBAL FANFIC ‼‼

because the narrator and will would be a grand duo.

one desperate night a vision came to me (and my boufriend !) in a multiplayer dream and so we decided to write this fanfic together

there's only two chapters for now, but there WILL be more! and we'd be SO SO HAPPY if someone would check it out and give us their thoughts <3

here's the summary:

A certain bar, even though it looks like an absolute shithole from the outside, for the past few months has been the only refugee Will could hold from the ever so appropriative claws of Hannibal Lecter. A nice break from the world of silk so delicate it could make you go mad and unbearable luxury, during which piss-tasting beer might as well be nectar. It is a place for him and himself only, finding comfort in old puke-stained sofas, as thanks to them and the general filth of the place, he knew that it is the last setting Lecter’s elegant, custom-made leather shoe would step in. His hand and, more importantly, his power could not reach him here. Every moment spent there is one just for himself, away from annoyance and discomfort of the outside. That is, until one day a very talkative stranger with a bruised face decides to disrupt his peace and engage poor Will into unwanted conversation. -- or what happens when two hyperfixations collide

enjoy pretty please

[poele-sexuel]

NEW HYPERFIXATION BABY !!!

Today, it's the owl house !

Wanna know about my fucked up unhinged Eldritch Horror hc/au/world building/lore bullshit ??? (I kind of got inspired by Danny Phantom, just a tiny bit ?)

Yes ? Fantastic ! :D

Spiritual Unifying (it's not connected to the "day of unity", Philip just read about Spiritual Unifying and believed it was the best way to fool the demon realm's citizens) (it was-)

But it doesn't explain what it is...

Simple really ! It's when two (2) different Souls mix together to become a completely new one ! (You see what the batard man did here ?)

How does it happen ? Well... When the Souls collide against eachother one way or an other of course ! Either the Souls are from the Dead, or the Living !

But if they are from separate state of existence (Alive and Dead), they cannot mix together. It would just be a possession of some sort.

*looks at Eda/owl beast + lilith/raven beast + hunter/flapjack (because yes he was still alive when he gave his Soul save hunter, sue me !), and smiles*

... Anyway !

It's easier for the Soul of the Dead to unifie, since they're "unaware" and "unconscious". Plus they leave the memory of whom they once were upon death (those are the oracle's spirits, sealing away a soul is... horrifying, but possible), so they technically became new souls. They're recycling themselves (?) Naturally

The "recycled" Souls do Wander a bit before their rebirth. That's when the Unifying process could possibly happen, and it can happen multiple time during the Wandering too !

Now, for Living Souls... The process is quite... Uncomfortable to say the least.

Specially when, technically, only Dead Souls can Unify. But don't worry ! It's only on first contact when they die, and they come back to life really quickly too ! (But healers and oracles who check on them will know that they died at one point, even if they're alive right now)

Unless it happens during the womb, the souls are still "unaware" at that stage. They're alive but not yet living, the mixing process isn't painful here.

Because yes, it is painful.

Either because of two completely different body fusing together to make a singular one, like their Soul. (And also their memories)

Or because the body has to change to adapt to the second Soul as they merge together. (Again, memories too) The body may have been owned by only one Soul before, but now the other one is as much of the owner as the first. It does... Strange things. In particular, the shape shifting.

Strange enough for anyone else other than an oracle would believe that it's a curse. :)

It's physically, mentally, emotially and spiritually painful and exhausting.

So much stress being in ones bodies...

But it's fine ! Once the process is finished, the new Soul (and merged person) will be okay ! Even if they didn't wanted to happen in the first place. :)

But only one thing,

something that you really shouldn't do...

Separating two Souls that are merging.

If they started the process, they're already one.

It will only destroy them. Kill them.

Their Soul will be gone.

[corviiidaee]

generation loss generation 2 playlist analysis !!

hello !! this is my first actual post so sorry if there's any weird formatting ! i have not seen anyone analyze ranboo's playlist for generation 2 yet so i figured i'd fill the gap !!

now some history, i am a ghost fan and have been a ranboo fan since 2020 so it's really cool to see two things collide !! i re-hyperfixated on ghost at the start of their current tour and it lined up perfectly with the release of generation 1 to get me back into watching ranboo too !! to see him add these songs to the generation 2 playlist set my brain on fire, so this is exactly what that fire looks like

i am primarily a ghost fan out of the songs chosen on this playlist so i am going to have a lot more to say about the ghost songs and if i say something wrong about the other songs or anyone has anything to add please feel free !!!

*NOTE: ghost is an inheritly satanic band, it's their whole theme. if that or religious themes in general make you uncomfortable, please do not read this analysis !!!!

here is the link to ranboo's playlist if anyone wants to follow along :D https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1XubFgT0bpuQDSwlLrZGTP?si=134b2fff3ba24375

kaisarion by ghost: kaisarion is about an old mathmatician and astronomer named hypatia. she got stoned to death by the christian church because they thought she was a witch for being an intelligent woman. basically the destruction of things you don't understand and don't bother to. also tobias forge, lead singer of the band, has stated that the song is like a violent start to a new empire, a call to arms of sorts. the burning away the past to build something new.

spillways by ghost: spillways is about how if the darkness in you is put behind a dam, it will always find a way to come out, through the spillways of your own soul. the darkness will never go away but through accepting it exists you can be greater than it.

faith by ghost: faith is a song from the perspective of satan watching the world fall to the black plague. this song can also be viewed as the people dying because they thought that god would save them so they did nothing to prevent their infection. i will get back more to this theme in the later songs, especially to misery fell.

he is by ghost: he is is basically just a satan worship song disguised as a regular worship song. take that as you will !

kiss the go-goat by ghost: linking this song coherently to the rest by far stumped me the most because of the vibe of the song (iykyk). but i have produced two links: the creation of the anti-christ and something not being what it seems to be. the chorus says, "it ain't always what it seems when you cling onto a dream, it ain't always there to please you". so something that the protagonist is connected to, which i will discuss later in the other songs, is not what it looks like. there is an evil inside it.

square hammer by ghost: the song's title can be interpreted as "truth hammer" because of being "square" with someone. the album it's connected to, meliora, is the third record produced by ghost. all three albums to that point had an overarching theme between them, meliora being the reign of the anti-christ on earth. square hammer is encourging the people to look to satan instead of god and to swear to the devil and the anti-christ. the devil and the anti-christ in genloss gen 2 will be likely not directly the devil because that is way too on the nose, but i have a feeling this overseeing entity referenced by the devil/the anti-christ will act similar to hetch.

crucified by ghost: this song is actually originally by another swedish band army of lovers and ranboo has sent their version of the song before in the genloss ranmail !! this is just the version he put in and i know better, but both songs obviously have the same lyrics. the name of the song pretty much says all the song needs to say, so that's all i have to say about it !!

another believer by rufus wainwright: this song is originally from meet the robinsons but i'm gonna be honest i know nothing about this song and genius has nothing to say but from the title you can pretty much assume the meaning !

everybody wants to rule the world by tears for fears: everyone has heard this song but this is also one that i think the meaning ranboo went for is already stated in the title of the song !!

homage by mild high club: homage is also pretty self-explanatory !! the connection i can see is "someone wrote this song before and i can tell you where it's from" meaning an event happening in generation 2 is probably not the first time it has happened.

jesus he knows me by ghost: this song is originally by genesis but the ghost cover was added to the playlist again so that is what i will be covering !! the song is a satire on tv preachers who will try to sell you the idea of religion and god for profit, which means they do not follow what they preach.

you're at the party by lemon demon: this song is about a supernatural entity inviting you to the part of the afterlife and i'm gonna be honest i don't think that's the meaning ranboo wanted us to get so i'm going to look at some of the specific lyrics instead ! in the refrain the song says "(wake up, wake up) and it's a place you've seen before ... a place you've seen before you were born". so this relates back to my interpretation of homage, the place and story we will see in gen 2 has happened before. the bridge also says "you're at the party, you're not alone" so this again refers to the overseeing entity.

he needs me by shelly duvall: the song basically says exactly what the title means again, but you can interpret this using the other songs i have already explained. the protagonist of gen 2 is likely being manipulated by the overseeing entity.

misery fell by tally hall: misery fell tells a story about a town who was unhappy with their lives so they gave up their knowledge and experience to get the things they dreamed of and experience bliss. they had turned to a religious entity for any happiness. the chorus says, "town without love too much faith in above?" so the people in this town have devoted their lives entirely to their new religious entity.

cannibal by tally hall: this song is again exactly what it says but this one scares me a lot !! we can look at the metaphoric meaning rather than the literal meaning of the word though. the chorus is "i am the willing victim of a cannibal, she rips out my bones like i'm an animal. and right when i'm feeling like my blood is drained, she calls it a game, but the wound she leaves is unmistakable". again, the manipulation of the protagonist theme comes back. they have been subjected to this pain by this entity and they think it is normal but it is definitely taking a major toll on them. the entity thinks nothing of it however.

that's all i have to say for now !! and like i said before, if you have any additions please feel free to add :D and do not take this as concrete evidence of anything that will happen in generation 2 !!!! this is just my ramblings !! take it as you wish !!

and if you like the vibe of 80s rock go listen to ghost !!!!

[koskela-knights]

Ao3 Ask Game

Thanks @autisticwriterblog for the tag :D

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

542 but that's going to change to 543 soon I hope ;)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,498,254 words 😳😱

3. What fandoms do you write for?

At the moment I'm still obsessed with Alan Wake 2. Gonna hit 111 works for it soon 😏 Which is why I'll try to focus on those works and becos this is my Koskela blog after all :D

4. Top five fics by kudos

Lmao, it's all DBH xD Used to be very active in that fandomD but my Top 5 AW fics would be:

Jacket (Ilmo/Alan)

Minds Collide (Zaneling, my only Zaneling fic lol)

Curious Case(y) (Scratch/Casey)

Off trail (Ilmo/reader)

Bleeding Hearts (Ilmo/Alan)

Honestly, I'm mainly proud of the first and last piece here.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to reply to every comment! Honestly, it's cool when a little convo ensues from that ;) I also save all comments in my jar (a word file) to reread whenever I'm suffering from imposter syndrome/feel down about my writing 😅

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Pheew... That's a tough question. I've written a whole bunch of angsty Hanahaki fics and general angsty shit in multiple fandoms.

Many early AW2 fics center on the aftermath of Jaakko's death ;_; Maybe Kaleidoscope is one of the angstiest endings but certainly not the only one

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

In the romance category that might gonna be the Slow Roasting Love ending. But the Koskelas at Pride was very happy too. Again, it's not easy to choose becos of how many different situations I've written about :P

For a Koskela or Huotari/Reader fic, I'd like to say the historical Ilmari x transmasc Reader where they're in an arranged marriage but Ilmari's a closeted gay man and reader is a closeted gay transmasc person so in the end it works out perfectly for them 🥺😏 It has a smut tag but smut only happens in the last chapter. It's a slowburn fic.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I think only once. I'm surprised and glad it hasn't happened much :P

9. Do you write smut?

Lol, my very first fic on there was smut. Once a smut writer, always a smut writer 😏

10. Craziest crossover?

I have a few post-apocalyptic series with a big mashup of seemingly unrelated fandoms together.

One being about Libraries where characters from Resident Evil meet PoTF characters, OCs and even Rose from Alan Wake so 😂

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Thankfully not.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Two of which one is published on ao3 too and the other on a Russian fan site :D Love when that happened 🙌🥰

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope. However, the Echoverse has come to life thanks to many discussions and conversations with @zephyrone01 and @copiasmic who have helped flesh out that world and given me prompt fuels for some of the fics

14. All time favourite ship?

Tough one, for the AW world it would be CultCase.

Be it in the echo-verse or extended from there in other AUs 😏 And its 'variations' in Ilmari x Kesä. I love their tragedy across several AUs. Same reason I also love Jaakoppi x Kesä

And the third OTP would now be Tim/Jaakko which, again, was born from the Echoverse

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I once started writing a fic about the Koskelas and the Huotaris and the importance of stars and them trying to escape their tragic fate by astral projection.

16. What are your writing strengths?

🤔Maybe that I write multiple oneshots and make it a series. So you have this idea of a bigger world, without having to write one big overarching story or plot :P

Also, if i'm rly into a fandom and am hyperfixated, that creativity just flows abundant lol

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Fight scenes. And believe it or not, sometimes I feel the smut isn't always as spicy as I want it to be xD especially if it's more than 2 people, that shit is tough to write. U don't want anybody neglected unless it's something a character is into 😂

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I love it, but it's definitely a challenge! I usually resort to/limit myself to some translated words.

So far I've written stuff with Spanish, Finnish or Dutch in it.

19. First fandom you wrote in?

It all started with The Evil Within back in 2014. I think you could see an improvement in my English as the years go on in fic writing :P

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Sticking to AW works.... I like multiple works lmao 😂 All for different reasons. I'd say the two series: YY but Different and the CultCase series. (I can't choose 1 fic 😭)

Some of those stories contained, are standalone oneshots, but all combined give you a vast look into these worlds.

One being about bisexual Kesä and his complicated relation with closeted Ilmari. And the relationships between him and Ahti and between the Huotari brothers and Ahti (WIP)

And then you have CultCase which also explores many interesting dynamics between characters 🥺

And both series have a lot of angst, but also some tenderness and softness in them. And smut 😏 Something for everyone can be found there

I tag @copiasmic @entropicquilibriumofchaos @changethecircumstances @juhospemmifer & others who might wanna join but no one's obliged to do these ofc

[ixioxp]

Decided to write something maybe a bit unusual (what happens when your two hyperfixations collide)

Mystia Magica - Protectors of the threshold to our world (2552 words) by Ixiox Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Cultist Simulator (Video Game), Book of Hours (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Original Female Character(s), The Horned Axe (Cultist Simulator) Additional Tags: Magical Girls, before you go it actually works, Yuri, Trauma, Occult, Self-Harm Summary: Aoi Ichiko is someone you would consider to be your average high schooler, if the average high schooler had problems forming basic human connections while struggling with self-esteem, along with the few friends she has, she becomes pulled into the invisible world by a promise of a wish. What they don't know is that the house of the sun isn't a place where one finds happiness.

[cranberrymoons]

20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged by @steventhusiast a billion years ago and more recently by @thefreakandthehair and @just-my-latest-hyperfixation🥰

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 49 under my current account, there are some fics for other fandoms buried deep within the depths of the archive which we WILL NOT DISCUSS at this time

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 128,515

3. What fandoms do you write for? currently just stranger things! I wrote one fic for Crazyhead this summer, a single-season Netflix show from 2016 (?) and that fic has 6 hits 😎 I'm also considering writing a top gun fic (entirely your fault @urmomsonfire) (affectionate) but no promises yet

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

get it off your chest

can't start a fire

so fondly today

something so pretty

i carry this feeling

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? yes!! I always respond to comments, even though it sometimes takes me a week or two. comments are genuinely so special to me and my FAVORITE thing is when someone reads a bunch of my fics in a row and I can follow their comment trail 🥹 I love comments

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I'm a happy endings girlie all the way, I genuinely don't have an answer for this 😅

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? so many of my fics are fluff-fest so I'm not really sure. maybe i carry this feeling because it's (currently) the end to a long future fic series and feels like a good buttoning-up of that story which is still being added to

8. Do you get hate on fics? someone once called me transphobic for having steve paint his nails in a fic (??) but that turned out to be a random anon from that twitter meltdown that was happening over the summer (i am not on twitter and didn't know it was even happening until after the fact)

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? LMAO (yes, i write lots of fluffy goofy smut with feelings. if they're not talking and/or laughing a lot during sex, it's not a sage fic)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? no, I really struggle with the concept of crossovers in general. I don't read them usually and wouldn't really know how to begin to write one! but fics set IN the universe of something else (not a crossover where two different universe's characters interact) – I like those.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? not that I know of in this fandom

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? yes! but not in this fandom

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? no, but I would definitely be interested if it was with the right person!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? I can't answer this 🫣 I will say steddie is the ship I've written the most words for

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I'm not sure I really have one that's out there right now. there are a few things in my google docs that might not see the light of day

16. What are your writing strengths? dialogue! good communication is so important to meeee and I have so much fun writing it

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I always feel like I struggle with scene-setting/imagery because I focus so much on character interaction

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I've written French dialogue in fics before (not in this fandom) which made sense situationally. I think it works as long as you make sure to translate in end notes and/or through context clues, so the reader doesn't have to keep jumping back and forth between google translate

19. First fandom you wrote for? early 00s, the wizards who must not be named

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? this changes depending on my mood tbh. my usual answer is either so fondly today because I love the energy of that fic or back in the new york groove which has so much pulled from my own life. I also had a lot of fun writing wanna help my worlds collide

no pressure 😇 @urmomsonfire @wynnyfryd @thisapplepielife @shares-a-vest

[therosefrontier]

20 Questions for Writers

Got tagged by @pencilofawesomeness!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Ah, 66 of them! And if I count that Whumptober 2021 collection that I put in one work but is really 31 different oneshots, then 96, I suppose...?

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

That would be 999226, from the looks of it! (oh wow I didn't realize I was so close to one million, dang...)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Genshin Impact, Tower of God, and now Twisted Wonderland have been the biggest hyperfixations over the past few years, I'd say! And also Fairy Tail! Got a few for FT due to an event...still need to continue those... And yeah, going a little older, I got My Hero Academia, Voltron, Attack on Titan, Sonic the Hedgehog, etc... Also unpublished RWBY. But then I have a lot of unpublished WIPs soooo...

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Hmm, looks like that would be...

Every Day We Face the World: Whumptober 2021 | Genshin Impact | 383

We Promised We Would Be Together | Genshin Impact | 342

A Day in the Life of Why Did I Take This Job | Genshin Impact | 242

And You Think, "No Escape" | Twisted Wonderland | 227

Angeli Quaeritus | My Hero Academia | 206

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! Or at least, I like to! Now I do. So, with Whumptober last year, I did drop the ball on this one, I remember. I was going through the process of responding for a while and taking a long time getting back to people...and eventually, after multiple months have passed, I just went "marked read" to everything that remained. In retrospect, I kind of wish I had not overthought it so much and just made a response. I can overthink a lot of things like this. But of course, I do really really enjoy reading comments! And I like the interaction of responding. But because of my awkwardness, sometimes it's difficult knowing what to say to a compliment... I think I'm better now than I once was, though, even just compared to a year or two ago...

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmm, so, my first thought is Tower to Celestia on account of being my one and only "real" major character death fic, but it's more bittersweet, maybe? Since I end with the epilogue, with grown-up Klee telling the story of her friends who died and kind of sharing the legend... I think angstiest might have to go to Together We Face the Darkness, actually. Which is, uh, also character death, but canonical? It's a Whumptober piece, and for the most part, those still get happy endings, but not so much for the backstory ones...

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Huh, good question! And You Think "No Escape" when I finish it, maybe but yeah, I usually end "happy" in some way, though generally following much angst, but I think I might have to go with A Day in the Life of Why Did I Take This Job for this? Ends with lightheartedly intense snowball fights, found family vibes, and Razor calling his friends "lupical" so, like, looking back on it, I think it might be up there! At least in my opinion :)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, I have not! At least, nothing of significance I remember. The community's been very nice.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope, I do not! I don't really write romance much at all? My aroace self does not have this material in my purview in any way XD

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I do! Although it's mainly in the realm of "AU of characters from fandom X now in the world of fandom Y" rather than truly making the characters collide, but on that note, I agree with @pencilofawesomeness that the The A.I.D. Universe project we were doing is probably the craziest, for sure! That concept really was just "what if all of the fandoms existed as their own world in the multiverse, and what if there was some super special interdimensional task force that deals with multiverse problems and which recruited all of these characters as members?" We never posted all that much for it, but it was a cool thought experiment back in the day, and we had a lot of ideas for the middle of the broad story and all the adventures they may have. May or may not ever really get back to this, but great memories, all the same.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope, I have not!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Again with the A.I.D. project with @pencilofawesomeness, and more than that, some things we did in the past before the AO3 days...

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

I'm not really a shipper? So, hard to say, but if I were to pick one, it might be Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye from Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, actually? That said, it completely flew over my head actually watching the show; the fondness comes from fandom content, honestly, as is the case with many such things XD

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Oof, that is the question. I would like to think that I'll get back to everything in time (what I've published, at least), although there are a few old ones that I think I'll end up making much shorter than originally planned, Angeli Quaeritus included (that one haunts me hard...). Sonic Reloaded, however, is probably not going to happen at all, unfortunately. Same with the A.I.D. Files.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Huh...good question. Weaving introspection into the prose, maybe? Interweaving complicated plot elements and making stuff connect? Making multiple POVs work? I'm not really sure. I feel like a lot of this just goes into the way I like to write, as a matter of style. But the latter point is something I've actually been called out for fairly recently in comments by others, so...thank you? It was encouraging to hear, anyways!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Fight scenes have always been tough. I think I'm better now than I used to be, but choreography is tough, and I applaud those who can make it work! Besides that I can struggle with being longwinded and not knowing where to put the worldbuilding in when there is some. Also character descriptions. As in, physical descriptions. How do I describe?? Fanfics spoil me in that I can get away with not really having to do that most of the time, since the main characters are usually known to the reader, but it still comes up.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I don't think I really have...? I can see where it can add to the immersion, but also, don't want readers to just...not understand what's going or have to use a translate app. Sometimes I will sprinkle in words in another language when I think that is the word that best describes the thing or it's a very specific cultural thing. I also will use Japanese honorifics for Japanese media sometimes, though not strictly. I'm not using it nearly as often as an actual speaker (or the canon media) would, but it feels right to throw it in at places, because that's what I hear in my head? And also, it's just far more specific than anything English has to translate it to? Although I'm not always consistent (and I've probably also been inaccurate at places too, admittedly). Like for instance with Twisted Wonderland, Cater will call Lilia "Lilia-chan", but the English localization just uses "Lils" to indicate a nickname, so I've also used "Lils" in writing Cater's speech, but on the other hand, I'll write Sebek as referring to Lilia as "sama" or "senpai" because that is just way more precise to what he means.

Also, speaking of Twisted Wonderland, it's canonical that Rook randomly peppers French into his speech, so...yeah. Things like that XD

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Sonic the Hedgehog! Way, way long ago into yesteryear and long buried... Warrior Cat RPs came around at near the same time for me, though, I think...

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Honestly? I think that would have to be my current big project, And You Think, "No Escape". I'm just really, really glad with the way it's been turning out, and I'm almost done, too! Just a couple more chapters to go. Feels like a breakthrough for me as a writer... I've been at this for a long time, but it feels like it hasn't been until recently that I truly grasped my own style and how to make an executable idea, if that makes sense? But anyways, I like to call myself a found-family-loving whump writer who also likes a feel of action and adventure, and this fic is pretty much exactly that. The fandom inspired me by a lot, for sure. These characters grabbed hold of my heart and now I have a vested interest in seeing these boys talk about their feelings (not an easy task XD). It's been a wild ride, but yeah, I've had a blast!

+++

So...yeah! That! Now let's see... going to tag @resident-normal-person, @wintersphoenix, and @comfort-questing! No pressure, of course! Just if you want to! And also to anyone else who sees this and wants to, you may feel free to take it on!

[dehydrated-bananachip]

i love when my two worlds (hyperfixating on both greek mythology and musical theater) collide

Odysseus, while slaughtering the suitors: You must think that I'm crazy, you wanna replace me? Baby, there's n-n-n-n-n-n-no way

[verbo-s-e]

june 5, 2023 9:38 pm (pst)

i had so much more i wanted to add, but now i don’t know what to say or do. i’m second guessing. everything. if i were to zoom out as a third party spectator, i’d see a girl — mentally ill and too much love to give because she’s never had it herself. that makes me sad. embarrassed. sad again.

i’m afraid to fall asleep. i don’t say this to be dramatic. simply just a truth. because in sleep, i go far beyond any earthly or human realm/plane. there, we exist as two people who don’t have the weight of the world on our shoulders. we’re just us and not a square peg, round hole. we actually fit. we just exist peacefully within each others company. no labels of anything. just ourselves. it’s a recognition, a knowing i’ve felt since the moment we met.

i’ve always been sensitive to everything. a symptom/side effect of the life i was born into. but i’ve also, more importantly, been sensitive to the elusive. the strange forces that bind us as a human race. energy. vibes. whatever you wanna call it. i remember being so small and feeling things i had no business feeling. knowing things i had no business knowing, but did anyway. it’s a muscle i’ve grown my entire life and i trust it explicitly.

or, at least i used to. these days? i don’t know. it’s been a long time since i have. when everything fell apart the first time, i felt like i didn’t just lose you, but my intuition. my religion.

when our worlds collided, i felt and knew things i shouldn’t have known. trusted the universe with every molecule and atom in my body. can’t say it’s been exactly great, but even in the ‘losses’ i’ve gained profound abundance. those moments when we’re synced together hold so much magic for me. i know you know what i mean. for so long i begged you to see me. just once. to really see me. i feel like i should be used to not getting what i want but it doesn’t get easier. i think you did/have/do. but it scares you because maybe you see what i see too. i don’t say that out of projection, yet a deep deep knowing. i use that word a lot, knowing. but it’s true. my truth.

so sleeping: my favorite activity. used to be anyway. now, i dread it. i dread the dreams. the roller coaster rides i go on. i wake up more exhausted than when i went to sleep. this is the worst part of all of this. that in these moments, i want to say fuck it. i don’t need to break things off. if i can just get some sleep, and keep you close, i’ll make it work. i can make it work.

this is what we call the ‘bartering’ stage of grief, ladies and gentlemen.

i can’t make it work anymore. i’m so tired that my bones hurt. it’s dysfunctional.

during this last semester we explored a lot in abnormal psych. to the point where i got so wound up and triggered i almost dropped out again. it was a painful reminder of my own illnesses and hyperfixations and quirks and traumas and everything else. bpd? check. love addiction? check. depression? check. anxiety? check. ptsd? check. autism? check. check check check check check.

i really had to look at myself in the mirror and ask, ‘is my love - my experience- with and for this person, just a symptom of my fucking mental illness?’ let me tell you: that’s not a fun fucking feeling to sit in. and oh my god did i sit in it. so much mental laundry to sort that i’m STILL sorting. i’m still bartering. i’m still trying to fit a square peg in a round fucking hole. how do you separate the clinical and logical from the cosmic and spiritual? pro tip: you can’t.

and honestly, i’m too broken to try anymore. for any of it. i don’t want to hurt you. it hurts me knowing this might/will.

so which is it? am i right and an almighty powerful bad bitch who is psychic and connected to it all? or….. am i a severely mentally ill child trapped inside a 30 year old woman who suffers from grandiose delusions inside her fucked up head? my glib answer: both. i shrug tiredly. self awareness is a bitch and a half.

what we ‘are’ to each other will forever be unexplainable. maybe you agree, maybe you don’t. for me, this entire time has been me chasing that feeling — that fantasy — of what i felt/knew right at the start. that one day we could exist as just two people who just see lmk and know each other. without ever even speaking a word. am i giving this too much weight?

you’re overthinking again.

don’t worry, i can hear you say it too. to that i say you’re both right and wrong.

[milkway]

got fucking jumpscared by the conan refs in the new ep. help