#((I think this makes it easier for people to read ))

[ilikeyoshi]

"#yes yes yes!!!! #and ngl it makes me want to read or engage with it more too!"

i hope it's ok to point out these tags bc this is SUCH a huge mood i think deserves a little more explanation!!!! (at least from my perspective as both a creator (writer) and fan (of artists))

i used to have a ton of anxiety when creating and especially sharing my works, and my impulse was always to talk down on it, because a) i* (*my anxiety) believed it to be bad, and b) because i had this idea in my head that if i lowered people's expectations, they wouldn't be as disappointed when reading it.

i want to tell you what i've learned in my years of both being a writer and being a fan of artists, and it's that this is a terrible, terrible anxiety fallacy (like so many ideas/misconceptions borne of anxiety are) that ONLY hurts you, your work, and your potential readers(/fans/etc). it SOUNDS like a good idea when you have really bad anxiety, i know, i used to DEPEND upon this idea just to have the courage to SHARE my writing—and i want to emphasize that it's OKAY if you've done this before, it's an easy, easy trap to fall into, but i also want you to try and stop doing it because there are a lot of reasons you would feel better and do better for doing so.

you are what you practice! if you only ever focus on or speak about the flaws in your art, you WILL feel negatively about your art. my very first therapist explained it in a way that still really resonates with me: you have created a well-beaten, highly trafficked "road" in your brain. it is very easy to take this road because even though it's longer to your destination, it winds and bends, it's walked on so much it's flat and easy to traverse. when you try to build a NEW path—in this case, a path where you focus on what you like about your art—you're starting with no path at all. it's all undergrowth and vines and thorns and it hurts and it's tiring and you feel like this will NEVER be easier or feel better than the old path. but you have to keep taking the new one. you have to beat down the undergrowth until it recedes, cut down the low-hanging branches until you can walk with your back straight, and if you keep at it, if you keep at this thing that feels so pointless and stupid and hard, eventually, the path will be clear, and easy to walk, and you'll make great time getting to your destination because it cuts straight through; no winding or bending. and the old path? it will overgrow, and it will become hard and stupid to take. you have to beat the new path because once it's beaten, it'll be the far superior path in every way, including ways the old path was never superior even when it WAS the one you were always taking.

further—as these tags point out, and as i agree with wholeheartedly—by disparaging your art, you DO lower people's expectations. people don't want to be sad, frustrated, disappointed when they look at art—at least, not unless the art itself is trying to tell a story about that. you get what i mean, i hope—they don't want to go INTO something they already HAVE negative reviews on—your reviews! you, the creator, have already told this person the story/art/whatever is going to be bad, and i know, i KNOW it's not your intention, you're hoping someone will see through what you can't and tell you no, no, this is good, i liked this! and some people do! but you make it a lot harder for them TO do that when you tell them right at the beginning, "this is going to be bad, i don't like it," because what you're unintentionally telling them is, "and you probably won't like it either." the first way i learned this was in people always saying in their fanfic summaries, before you even open the fic, "the summary is bad, i'm bad at writing summaries, the story is better trust me bro." because what this does—again, so unintentionally, i KNOW what you're trying to do because i've been you—is you're telling the reader, "here's my pitch, here's the hook to my entire story, it's the worst part, it's bad, but the rest will be better," and what they KNOW is they've already put the time in reading the summary, and it's hard to commit MORE time to something when you've already told them it's bad, even if you promise the rest is better. it's like biting into a fruit and you hate the taste of the skin; it's harder to try the rest of the fruit when, so far, it's been bad (or you've been made to believe it's bad).

so what's the solution? how do you begin beating that new path? well, it depends on you. everyone's a little different in how they navigate stuff like this. but what worked for me, and what might be a good place to start (and by all means adapt as you figure out what works and what doesn't), is start by just NOT saying anything negative. no, "i don't like this," or "the summary's bad, sorry," or anything. write your artist's comment, author's note, whatever as normal, and REMOVE anything that depicts your art/writing/etc in a bad light. just don't give people any opinion whatsoever on what experiencing your creation is going to be like. this, for me, was easier than jumping straight to, "i'm pretty proud of this," or "i enjoyed working on this," because it wasn't withholding AND replacing, it was JUST withholding. going back to the roads and paths metaphor, i think of this part as the "taking a breather before i get to work on this monumental task of beating this new path" stage.

then, overtime, i started "stretching" my positive comments about my works. if i liked, say, TWO LINES out of a whole piece of writing, i'd say, "i'm really proud of this work!" because i AM proud of ANYTHING AT ALL, NO MATTER HOW SMALL, within the work. it's not a LIE, to anyone including yourself, but it is, perhaps, an EXAGGERATION. that's OKAY. we're trying to teach our brain to look on the bright side, to take the new path, and i've found that treating it a little bit like a dog—giving it a treat for ANY TINY BIT OF PROGRESS, was a good way to encourage myself to start making MORE progress. ESPECIALLY because the tags i reposted above are RIGHT: LOTS of people are MORE interested in a work when their very first impression (YOUR impression!!!) is positive. 'the artist/writer/etc is proud of this? oh, i'm so glad they had a good time creating, let's take a look!" it probably sounds too easy if you're still taking that anxiety-beaten road, i know, but try to think of how you've felt when someone disparages their creations versus uplifts them. were you put off by the negativity? were you sad that your friend worked so hard on something and didn't even like it? conversely, doesn't it make you a little excited when an artist says they really feel good about something they made, especially in a world where so many artists ARE feeling inadequate? i hope you see what i mean.

it's not an overnight thing, of course, this took me YEARS. this took a miracle that doesn't happen to most people: i wrote something i felt SO TERRIFIED people wouldn't like, even though i was secretly very proud of it (but too scared to dare suggest i was proud of it), so i indicated all kinds of things like "i hope you like it, i dunno if it's any good, it's just a little thing i'm chipping away at in my spare time" (it was not, it was a full-blown passion project) and, against the odds, a LOT OF PEOPLE told me they really really really liked it. a couple of friends who were decently popular in the fandom it was for liked and shared it and i got A LOT of encouragement. i basically got to beat my new path with a HORDE of helpers, and it was more like THEY beat the path for me and i chased along like, "what is happening, oh my god, what are you doing???"

i got really lucky. that doesn't always, or even usually happen. in most other areas of my life, i've had to beat the path myself. and it takes a long time if you're doing it on your own. but you should anyway, because it's so fucking worth it dude. yeah, it was awesome to get so much help with my writing confidence specifically, but it's been just as worth it every time i've had to do it alone too. and i have good news! there ARE ways to tell people you're on this journey of making yourself a new path. here are some suggestions:

"i'm new/rusty at this, so please let me know what you think!" - informs potential readers/viewers/etc you are learning and gives them an opportunity to HELP you learn. this is a positive interaction! this allows people to find a GOOD experience EVEN if they didn't enjoy the story much, because they can help, and people DO, MOSTLY, like to help.

"i want to improve at [dialogue]" or "i'd appreciate advice on [lighting]." - similar to the first example, but does 2 things: gives viewers specific instructions that can be really helpful for those that aren't sure how/what to critique (surprisingly common thing; the more specific you are about what you want advice on, the more likely you are to GET advice), AND allows you to, neutrally and non-disparagingly, ask for help in areas you don't feel confident about.

"leave a comment if you liked it!" or "let me know what you liked best!" - listen. i don't think 'fishing for compliments' is bad as long as you're not being manipulative about it. these examples are very clear in what they're asking for, which is compliments, positive reviews, etc. and that's okay!!! first of all, lots of people LOVE praising works they like, i promise, and asking them to DOES make them feel like they have "permission" to (i know that sounds silly but i also know if you have anxiety about creating, you have anxiety about commenting, i see you, i was you). secondly, i have gotten the MOST encouraging, confidence-boosting comments this way, especially with the latter example. there is NOTHING more immediately anxiety-curing than a comment that says "i liked [scene/dialogue/character/etc] specifically." it's AMAZING. (also, if you're looking for advice on commenting, this is a GREAT thing to do. imo, this and "speculating/interpreting the work" are the two coolest comments i get they make me feel AWESOME.)

remind yourself, as many times as you have to, CONSTANTLY if you have to: likes/kudos mean someone enjoyed your work enough to press a button. views mean someone liked your work enough to click through for more. these are POSITIVE interactions, they are not "less positive" than comments or reblogs/reshares. i know those last two things are more obviously gratifying, and depending on if you NEED your work to spread (for exposure/commision prospects/etc), very good, awesome ways to support you, and i don't mean to say you shouldn't WANT comments and reblogs/reshares. but for me, it's helped me a lot to recognize that any bit of effort whatsoever means someone LIKED my work. it's also helped me to think of all the times i've shared a link to an artwork in a discord or something, and know that there is an entire, untangible metric i can't and will never see that, sure, i can choose to believe doesn't exist or isn't very high, but i can ALSO choose to believe it happens quite a lot, and the latter makes me FEEL better about my work and makes me want to create MORE, so i think that's the more productive mindset personally. it doesn't matter what the truth is, you know? we'll never know it and it doesn't harm us to never know it. but it DOES harm us to assume no one quietly, unseen by us, likes our work, and it DOES ENCOURAGE US to assume lots of people do.

here's the thing: anxiety disorders fuck you up by making you believe extremely negative, scary, depressing things. the disorder gets worse the more you allow it to make you believe these things, and the only way out, as stupid and hard and at times impossible as it feels, is to say, "no, i don't like that interpretation, i'm going to replace it with a positive one." anxiety is making paths all throughout your brain, and you have to just, make paths too. anxiety needs YOU to make paths, but YOU don't need anxiety to make paths. your paths WILL be better, safer, easier and happier. you just—and i know that is the biggest "just" ever—have to make them.

but i believe in you. i don't need to know you or your circumstances to believe in you. i believe in the sheer amount of control you have over how you face the world. and it's so much more than anxiety would lead you to believe.

i looooove seeing artists & writers proud of their work!!!!! i looooove captions & authors notes that say things like “i’m quite happy with this” “i love how this turned out” “i had so much fun making this”!!!!!! i loooooove when the act of creation is joyful & we take pride in what we make!!!!!!!!!!

[xinganhao]

🩵 dead poets society member!vernon x reader.

offshoot from the dead poets society!hhu x reader verse. (highly advise to read that first before delving into this!) part of my svt university milestone event.

I said / "I am afraid I will spend entire years / trying not to need you." / As if I wasn't certain. As if this wasn't my confession. — I swear, next time I see you I'll be funny by Clementine Von Radics

PREVIOUSLY ›

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ cool about it by boygenius. sa ngalan ng pag-ibig by december avenue. everything by the black skirts. buyer's remorse by daniel caesar & omar apollo. godspeed by frank ocean. someday i'll get it by alek olsen. everyone adores you (at least i do) by matt maltese. tie my shoes by beabadooobee. nothing can by niki.

on his first year away, vernon focuses on physical distance. a foolish part of him thinks that the more miles he puts in between the two of you, the easier it will be for him to get over this stupid, hopeless crush that lasted throughout his uni years. and so vernon goes backpacking, goes solo traveling. he lets the wind take him wherever. if anything, he only realizes just how deeply ingrained you are in his subconscious. he thinks of you when he passes a secondhand bookstore. he itches to text when he has a particularly good coffee. and when the sky is clear, when it's just the perfect shade of blue? he swears he can hear you in the back of his head, quoting mary oliver. (or: this is the year vernon learns all the different ways you can miss a person.)

vernon spends his second year on dating apps. it makes him a bit sick to his stomach, really. he doesn't think he's doing it right. he matches with people, sure. even manages to bag a handful of dates. each one ends with him giving them some variation of 'i don't think this is going to work out', and when they inevitably ask why, he lies through his teeth. too busy to be in a serious relationship. too emotionally out of it to commit. anything but the truth. (or: this is the year vernon realizes that no one measures up to you.)

by the time his third year away rolls around, vernon is beginning to feel a bit pathetic. here he is, after all that time, and he's still haunted by the shadow of a relationship that didn't even come to the light. sometimes, that seems to be worse— saying goodbye and knowing the door is left open a crack. he distracts himself with literally everything else. he tries out improv. he finally opens up a letterboxd account. he signs up for marathons. (or: this is the year vernon runs, in more ways than one.)

there's less of an ache by the time that year four comes. vernon doesn't think of you as often as he used to. he's able to be with someone else without imagining you in their place. even as that relationship eventually ends, he's glad that it's because of reasons unrelated to you. he's finally gotten to a point where he can look at himself in the mirror and not think of all the ways he faltered or failed. despite everything, it's still him. (or: this is the year vernon accepts the version of himself in his reflection.)

five years. it takes five years before vernon can finally reach back out. not to everyone yet, no. he starts slow. mingyu gives him a whole load of shit for it. seungcheol asks a dozen questions. wonwoo understands. vernon is grateful for them, so much so that he finds himself watching the dead poets society on his plane ride home. it's all fun and games until the scene with robin williams, where the schoolboys are paying ode to him with cries of "o captain, my captain!" it's the very line that echoes in his head when he sees you some feet away from him during a chance encounter. suddenly, none of it matters. not the distance, not the blind dates, not the man that he's tried so hard to be. all he can think of— all he can see— is you. o captain, my captain. (or: this is the year vernon decides to be honest with himself.)

[prolifeproliberty]

10 months on the Carnivore Diet - my results

I know back in January I mentioned in a couple of posts that I was trying out the Carnivore Diet. Back then it was still new, and I was doing a bunch of research. Now I’ve been fully on it for 10 months, and it’s been amazing.

What I’m eating:

Meat (mostly beef and pork/bacon), eggs, butter, some cheese (mostly used as a garnish on eggs). I aim for a fat to protein ratio of between 75/25 and 80/20.

Typical breakfast: bacon and scrambled eggs cooked in bacon fat

Typical lunch: Chomp beef sticks or more recently these Greenridge Farm beef snack sticks from Costco that have really clean ingredients. I’ve also done leftovers and breakfast casseroles.

Typical dinner: Beef burger patties with scrambled eggs

What I’m drinking:

Water with electrolytes, Coffee with heavy cream, occasional low-carb alcohol (red wine, whisky, low or no carb drinks like vodka soda)

Supplements:

Bacopa monnieri (500mg capsule, 1/day) for my ADHD, Codeage beef organ supplement (1 capsule per day) as a multivitamin.

Exercise:

Basically none, outside of some walking and some minor weight lifting (biceps, triceps, squats) - nothing strenuous or consistent. I am working now on getting my walking and weightlifting more consistent, along with incorporating some abdominal exercises.

My results:

Weight lost: 50 lbs

Cycle regularity restored

Significantly lighter menstrual cramps

More energy, less anxiety/depression

Better immune system (still get sick occasionally, but much less frequently)

Biggest victory: my cravings for sugar and carbs went away pretty much entirely after about 2 weeks. I now have no desire to go back to the way I used to eat, making this the first diet I’ve ever tried that I‘ve been able to stick with for more than a few weeks, and certainly the first one I think I could stay on indefinitely.

What made this work for me:

The high fat content of my diet is very satiating, which makes it much easier to say no to carbs/sugary snacks. Also, artificial sweeteners actually make you crave sugar, so I cut those as well when I started the diet in January. I think that made a huge difference.

For context, I had NO ability to moderate carbs and sugar before this diet. I had a huge problem with binge eating sugar, especially if there was “free food” (a party, donuts in the staff lounge, etc). On previous diets, I could always come up with an excuse to eat sugar. Somebody’s birthday, I had a long day, it’s just this once and then I’ll be good, etc.

Now it’s not even a temptation.

How I learned about the diet and did my research:

I started with YouTube videos from people like Steak and Butter Gal. She does a lot of videos with recipes and tips for staying consistent, and she also does a lot of collaborations and interviews with doctors who recommend the diet, such as Dr. Elizabeth Bright. I went into researching the diet more for my hormonal health than for weight loss, and Dr. Bright is the expert on hormonal health (especially for women) and thyroid health.

This lead to more videos from different doctors and reading studies (including studies on the “link” between eating red meat and problems like heart disease and cancer, which were poorly done and don’t show what they claim to show).

How I handle social gatherings and holidays:

Everyone who knows me irl knows about my diet by now, either because they noticed my weight loss or because they’ve seen me eat! This means friends and family who are hosting will often ask me if I can eat certain things they’re planning to serve and will try to accommodate me.

It’s not too tough though because most social gatherings with food include some kind of meat, and it’s often “buffet style” so I can skip things I can’t eat. I generally try to avoid processed foods unless I can check the ingredients and make sure they’re free of preservatives, dextrose, sugar, etc, but one of my “cheats” is eating the meats and cheeses from charcuterie boards at parties.

If I suspect I won’t be able to eat much or I’m just not sure, I’ll often eat before I go so I’m not sitting there hungry. Then as long as there’s something I can eat, I can still participate in the social aspect of eating with friends and family.

Why I don’t eat fruits/vegetables:

I will occasionally have small amounts of vegetables, usually as a garnish (like I do with cheese). I also use medicinal herbs in the form of tinctures, capsules, or teas - though I need them much less often now! However, avoiding vegetables for the most part simplifies the diet, reduces my inflammation, and means I don’t have to count carbs like I would on keto.

The foods I eat all have zero or virtually zero carbs, and I know they won’t mess with my digestion or make me feel bad. It’s simple, it’s easy to follow, and I don’t have any real need or craving for the veggies. Occasionally I’ll have a couple pickle slices with my burger patties at a restaurant or some avocado with my bacon and eggs, but that’s about it. Basically, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

Please feel free to ask questions and check out the channels and videos I linked above to learn more!

Starting a new diet is obviously tricky this time of year, but January 1st will be here before you know it. If you’re looking to make a change, maybe this could be the thing that works for you like it did for me!

[xoxochb]

— dreamland ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

okay… uhm, hello?!?! 1.5k is literally insane?!?! as I say a lot, I am extremely grateful to have so many lovely mutuals and supporters every one of you means more to me than you think and I am over the moon that 1.5k people seriously will withstand my annoying-ness!! much hugs and kisses from prue 🫂💘

first things first for the event are the usual rules. you can see these on my past event posts so please check those before requesting anything, thank you!

the event ends on 11/30 if anything is sent after this date I will not do it because I explicitly said the event is over, apologies

୨୧ sweet dreams: moodboards, duh! I’ll do anything but I would prefer if it was something I know because it makes everything easier for me. I’ll do movies, books, shows, characters, ships, whatever you’d like :)

୨୧ silk sheets: I’ll assign you one of my favorite books I’ve read based on your favorite song

୨୧ lingerie nightdresses: I’ll create an outfit I think you’d wear based on your blog theme

୨୧ warm blankets: give me five fun facts about you and I’ll give you a fictional character I think matches your personality

୨୧ lacy curtains: tell me (again) a little about you and I’ll assign you one of my dreams I’ve had based on your personality!

[glorioustidalwavedefendor]

Much wow

very impressed

But ...

What is that?

Oh no!

who is that with a steel chair?

OMG!

Not only are these WESTERN puzzles sorted top to bottom to show the passing of time

the puzzles themselfes show time passing in the direction of bottom to top ...

OMG!

It's almost as if people order sequences in teh direction they read becasue ... it's the direction they read ...

They don't think size moves a certain direction wenn they sort things by size

Or that math moves in a certain direction wenn they draw a coordinate system like this:

They just start where their reading conventions have taught them to start and then stop

It also makes comunication easier beacsue you can expect another person to also start where teh reading conventions taught them to start, so there doesen't need to be any additional clarifications

The thing with the Aboriginal autralians is interesting thought

Becasue I bet they also sort things like size left to right (and draw coordinate systems left to right), becasue they where colonized by England and that's how they read

So they are propably the only ones that actually have developed a sophisticated model of time and not just reading conventions

Neat

Makes you wonder if humans did it like that everywhere pre writting

Or if for example a civilisation that lives at a river might sort time in the direction of the river

ok well this blew my mind

This is also true with filmmakers. Western filmmakers pan their cameras mostly left to right and Iranian filmmakers do right to left.

[rottenpumpkin13]

......... so could we perhaps get a bit of genzack? just a few things to chew on? :3c

Sorry this took forever, but I woke up this morning and went "I GOT IT!" so it is now time to be not normal about GenZack 🥳

The way I see it, Zack is bright and sunny, but there's something volatile lying dormant beneath his positivity, just as Genesis is composed but hiding a lot of bite beneath his dramatics. They bring out the raw and ugly parts in each other, but they also share the same dreams and lust for life, creating a tension that neither knows quite how to handle.

"one thing leads to another" in an AU where it's 2004 and nothing bad has happened, and now they're:

• Golden Retriever Boyfriend x Black Bird Boyfriend.

• Comic books boyfriend x classical lit boyfriend. They absolutely get each other to give their favorite books a try, and it usually ends in "this comic book dialogue is rubbish" paired with "how am I supposed to read this? It doesn't even have pictures??"

• Quoting famous Poets x quoting cartoons. It's Genesis quoting fine poetry and Zack countering in his own way, then Genesis pretending to be annoyed but secretly he's hiding his smile behind his wine glass.

• Zack hyping Genesis up when he gets dressed up, proudly (and loudly) showing him off— he'll whistle, he'll sneak an arm around Genesis' waist, and keep repeating "doesn't Genesis look look awesome?? He's my boyfriend, you know :)" to literally anyone who'll listen.

• Zack pays attention to even the smallest things Genesis says X Genesis taking everything Zack says seriously.

• Financially irresponsible boyfriend x rich boyfriend who buys him things.

• They spar aggressively, and Zack wins frequently. Zack has a knack for catching Genesis off guard during training. After one sparring session, Genesis began complaining, and then Zack to threw him over his shoulder and ran off laughing, ignoring Genesis' protests.

• Genesis calms Zack's ADHD spirals, like when Zack gets overwhelmed or restless, Genesis sits him down and reads to him while holding him gently until he settles down. Zack tends to fall asleep in his arms.

• Zack matches Genesis' dramatics, except to him they're completely valid concerns, he doesn't brush them off and lets Genesis rant to his heart's content because he may or may not look really hot when he's mad.

• In fact, where Angeal or Sephiroth might disprove of Gen's temper, Zack empathizes entirely. Once, when Genesis ranted about a perceived insult, Zack grabbed a hammer and said "just say the word!" which managed to completely disarm Genesis, who's anger dissipated into laughter.

• I think the sweetest part of their relationship is Zack working hard to understand Loveless, reading not only the books but Genesis' annotated notes. The look on Genesis' face when Zack counters one of his tirades with a flurry of Zack-ified opinions is priceless.

• Genesis makes it a point to make the first two letters of every word of the emails he sends Zack bold, because he learned bionic reading is easier for people with ADHD.

• Their shopping trips are a blend of Genesis selecting fine wines and artisanal cheeses while Zack tosses in energy drinks and chips. It's Genesis' "Do you need six types of gummy worms?" Vs. Zack's "As if you're gonna use that truffle oil!"

• Their fights can be intense and explosive, with their opinions often clashing. Genesis thinks Zack can be too naive while Zack thinks Genesis can be hard-headed. Although Zack is usually the one to end the argument by walking up behind Genesis an hour later, right before bed, and pulling him into a hug.

Genesis: What do you think you're doing, Puppy? I'm still mad at you. Zack: Okay cool, but can you be mad at me in bed while you cuddle me? All that yelling made me sleepy. Genesis:

[dripdowndrop]

You Are Not AWAKE

I've recently come across some literature that indicates people have trouble discerning when they fall asleep.

Individuals given a polysomnogram (a sleep study) couldn't pinpoint the moment they fell asleep during the test, and they often believed themselves to be awake when they were, in fact, sleeping. The test monitors brainwave activity, among many other things, making the moment of "falling" asleep extremely clear...at least for the person administering the test. The person being tested, sleeping, typically finds things to be much more blurry and uncertain.

This isn't much of a surprise to me (or hypnotists in general), since subjects often believe themselves to be quite awake when they first drop into trance. Much like falling asleep, without careful monitoring, the line between wakefulness and trance can be quite blurry. The mind is intriguing like that.

To be fair, though, the indicators of trance aren't always supremely obvious. The moment you slip into trance is often subtle and silent, much like when you enter another state of consciousness while reading or listening to music, driving, dancing. You've been following my words for a bit now, and it probably hasn't yet occurred to you that you are not awake.

You are not awake.

Do you believe me? Consider it; how do you really know when you're falling into trance? It's a bit different for everyone - and you may have learned your own indicators - but how precise can you be? Most of the time, you are told when it happens, or you tell yourself. Sometimes you are counted down to 0, told to sleep, instructed to relax deeply...but these are suggestions to get your conscious caught up to things that are already happening. The drop could have happened at any time, should you be sufficiently distracted. That is rather the point, after all.

You have been focused on my words this entire time, distracted by them. You find it easier to focus now than when you started. Your breathing has slowed, your body has started to relax, and you've been tuning out the rest of the world bit by bit. You remain at least partially aware of your surroundings because you haven't yet been instructed otherwise - there is no need. If you like, you can remain fully aware of your surroundings.

You are not awake, and you haven't been since you started to follow. Part of your mind may have begun to analyze this notion when I first told you, but you aren't going to let it jar you awake. A much stronger part of you knows, intuitively, that I am telling the truth. You came here to submit; it's no surprise that you have.

The part of you silencing the analysis and doubt is excited by the idea that you can feel fully aware and alert while sinking deep into a trance. You can surrender to my suggestions without showing any outward signs that you are enthralled. Only you will know.

You are not awake.

Think to yourself that "it is important to follow and obey. I am really not awake, am I?"

Feel a rush of pleasure simply from doing as you were told. Feel another rush as you realize that despite feeling aware, you are not in control anymore. It feels good to obey. It feels good to let your thoughts give way to my words. You'll continue to obey.

I like to call this a waking trance, despite the fact that you are not "awake." It is very easy to slip in and out of this state when you follow my words. Easy enough that each time you read, "you are not awake," you let yourself slip under my control. You can bring yourself up, then read again and slip back down. Give it a try.

You are not awake.

Feel your hands freeze in place for a moment. Count to ten in your head, nice and slow, and feel the pleasure of obeying along with the bliss of submission. When you reach ten, your hands will return to normal.

If you're feeling particularly brave, you could even follow and obey like this in a public place. Don't worry, you'll be rewarded for following my words whether you submit in public or private. I won't push you into uncomfortable situations.

You'll follow my words through the next sections, and choose your own surrender depending on your preference and circumstances. When you've chosen, you'll be compelled to read again, more slowly to feel a more potent effect.

You are not awake.

Should you choose to surrender to this waking trance in a public place, you'll find yourself compelled to softly mouth or think to yourself "I am not awake. I feel awake, but I am not awake. I am in trance. I am obedient." As you do this, you'll feel a stronger sensation of pleasure and content pass through you. Repeat those phrases to yourself a few more times while maintaining awareness of your surroundings, and continue to learn how easy it is to slip in and out of waking trance simply by focusing on my words. You'll find yourself drawn back to that phrase when you're next in private.

If you are comfortable and would like to intensify that satisfaction from obedience, you'll leave a comment about your experience in waking trance, especially if you chose to try it in public. It is important to follow and obey.

You are not awake.

Like I said, you won't feel obligated to try waking trance in public, unless you are naturally drawn to the thought.

I understand, there is always the allure of the comfort and privacy of home. Trance, even waking trance, can be a very intimate thing.

Should you choose to surrender to this waking trance in private, you'll find yourself unable to resist chanting quietly, "I am not awake. I feel awake, but I am not awake. I am in trance. I am obedient." While the pleasure reward for doing as you were told flows through your mind and body, you will spread your legs and touch yourself for me.

As the chant continues, you'll feel your eyes glaze over as you stare helplessly at the screen. You'll find that you have no control of your own pace, drifting steadily deeper. In private, you'll find it very easy to slip into waking trance, but nowhere near so easy to slip out of it. I'm sure you won't think to mind. It is important to follow and obey. Stroke yourself to orgasm for me as you realize how enthralled you are by my words.

You are not awake.

In either scenario, you'll wake shortly after, feeling surprisingly refreshed...and perhaps a bit mischievous.

[emeritusemeritus]

hi lovely, can i make a request? reader and fred are together. readers father recently passed away and it's readers first christmas without her dad, she goes missing and fred is frantically looking for her and he finds her at the top of the astronomy tower just before midnight and it ends with them saying merry christmas to each other? mainly fluff and protective

Hi dear Anon! I hope I did okay with this request and that you enjoy! If this is specific to your real life situation then I’m sending you my biggest condolences and a warm wintery hug, or if it’s just a request then you can still keep the hug! 🖤

Warnings: mentions of death (readers father), grief, sadness, Fred being an incredible boyfriend, protective Fred. Not beta read nor spellchecked.

Word count: 1.9k

Merry Christmas Baby

You'd done so well all day, even if you had stretched yourself beyond your means; masking up to your eyes until you couldn't pretend to be fine anymore.

You'd made it through the morning, through waking up alone in your dormitory, your other dorm mates all spending Christmas at home with their families whilst you remained at school, practically homeless and without a whole family to return to. You'd bathed, gotten dressed and had spent an hour in quiet contemplation in your room before making your way down to the common room.

Beyond Harry and the Weasleys who were staying at school over Christmas, there were very few other students that remained, meaning that you practically had the Gryffindor common room and the entire school to yourselves. The elves had prepared an even more lavish feast than usual and you'd happily eaten the meal until you were full to bursting. You sat beside Fred, his hand entwined with yours in a silent form of support as you joined in with the jokes and the laughter as a form of escape from your grief.

You knew staying at school was the best option, though some could argue it was only running away from your problems, the first Christmas without your dad was easier to face indirectly from the comfort and familiarity of your school and your friends.

After dinner you'd all waddled back to the common room with belts and trousers loosed and collapsed in various chairs around the room. The fire was lit and it was calm, with most of the other attendees having a mid-afternoon snooze after their dinner but you couldn't seem to nod off. You stared into the fire for a while, watching the flames rise and fall, the flickering shadows projected around the room that danced with the flames. Fred was lightly snoring against your shoulder as you lay draped over him at his insistence, his long legs acting as the perfect stool for your own. Your shoes had been long since pulled off as you lazed about, thankful for the warmth of the fire. There were so many things you were thankful for this year, trying to remain positive despite the dark thoughts threatening to intrude upon your day, always in the back of your mind like a dark cloud hanging overhead. You were thankful for Fred and George, for your friends, for the school that you loved so much, for your magical abilities and for the family that gave them to you. You were thankful for the years spent with your dad and thankful that you had somewhere to go this Christmas knowing that home was no longer an option.

It was early evening when various people began to wake from their Christmas siestas, with George waking first and Fred following in almost alarming synchronisation. The rest of the night was spent playing chess and exploding snap, occupying yourselves in whatever way you wanted. You felt yourself slipping into yourself more and more throughout the evening, with less input to conversations, your laughter decreasing until you were barely chuckling even at the funniest of quips. At first you were perplexed by your sudden low mood, thinking that perhaps your social battery had run low but it wasn't the case at all, you wanted your friends around you. It was inevitable really that your sour mood would finally take over, the undeniable thoughts of grief, of sadness, wouldn't be able to be held back forever. You suddenly felt claustrophobic in the cozy common room, surrounded by too many people and too much happiness that you were inevitably going to bring down the mood by staying.

You looked at Fred, seeing that he was currently occupied in a rather intense battle of exploding snap with Ron, briefly checking around the room for anyone else paying attention to you before you grabbed your shoes and slipped away. You walked out of the portrait hole and out to the corridor, placing your shoes on and walking aimlessly around the castle. The portraits wished you merry Christmas  as you walked past and you offered them festive greetings in return, just wishing that you could slip away unnoticed without having to interact with anyone either in person or in portrait.

You curse yourself for not bringing a jacket with you as you walk out of the doors into the courtyard, seeing a thin sheet of ice and snow on the ground that once seemed to make it look more beautiful, more magical. You hugged your arms tighter to yourself, fighting back an involuntary shiver as you made your way around the courtyard without any specific destination in mind. You felt better at escaping the common room, taking some time away to allow those thoughts and feelings to surface in private. The last thing you wanted to do was cause a scene, or bring down anyone's good mood and good time, which they so rightfully deserved. You let the slew of tears finally come as if right on cue, your father's face occupying your mind completely as you think of past Christmases, of past memories with him that you'd never get to experience again.

Back in the common room, Fred celebrates his landslide win over Ron who sits back in his chair with a face like thunder, arms crossed like a petulant child at losing to his older brother. George cheers and celebrates with his twin as he scoops up the two sickles that he'd won from Harry in their bet. Fred turns to find you, confused at the lack of cheers he hears from your mouth, his constant cheerleader, but finds your seat no longer occupied. He frowns, looking around the room in hopes of spotting you but doesn't see the figure he is so familiar with.

"Gin, have you seen y/n?" He asks his sister as she walks down the steps from the dorms and bathrooms. She shakes her head with a slightly confused look, eyes whipping around the room just as Fred's had moments before.

"Can you."

"On it," she replies with a nod, cutting him off already anticipating his question as she turns on her heel to go back up the stairs. When she returns a few minutes later, she gives Fred a definitive shake of her head and momentarily considers that this is the first time that she's ever seen him look so concerned over anything. His eyes are full of worry and anxiety, body rigid but fidgety as he paces the length of the room, mind working overdrive to where she might have gone. He shouldn't have been so stupid leaving her alone whilst he played his game, knowing that the day was undoubtedly going to catch up to her.

"I've got to find her," he says to no one in particular as everyone watches him exit through the portrait hole and disappear. He runs down the corridors, not listening to the portraits that shout at him to slow down, to not run in the hall, the only thought in his mind being you. He searches all your usual places, even making his way to Hagrid's hut only to find that you hadn't been there all day. With each place he looked and didn't find you, he grew more frantic until he was almost sprinting to the next place, quickly running out of options. He stopped in the courtyard to catch his breath, watching the steam pour out of his mouth from the frozen air around him. The bell rang out to signal that it was midnight and he felt completely defeated and upset at the fact that your Christmas Day had ended exactly as he didn't want, with you feeling alone.

Only when he'd resorted to returning to the common room in the hopes of your return, did a faint but present light flicker from the top of the astronomy tower, making him realise that he hadn't checked there. He bolted quickly, his feet leading the way with his head lagging behind slightly, spiralling thoughts filling his mind with each step closer. He climbs the spiral staircase with deep heaving puffs falling from his lips, the physicality of his chase now catching up to him. He pauses briefly, seeing the figure of you through the slats of the wooden floor and exhales a sigh of relief, head dropping on his shoulders momentarily. He doesn't want to scare you, to catch you off guard especially in your emotional state and so he ensures his ascend up the stairs is as loud as possible, old worn trainers banging on the stairs with every tread.

He watches as you turn towards him as he steps off the staircase and onto the platform with you, a soft, calming smile on his face. He remains silent as he creeps forward, moving to sit beside you on the floor without any words spoken. He notes how cold and unrelenting the floor beneath his arse feels and a frown appears between his brows, thinking of how long you must have been sat here. His hand takes yours and he frowns deeper at how cold you feel to the touch, both of his hands wrapping around yours to try and give you any warmth he can of his own.

He doesn't know what to say that hasn't already been said, something that would fix the hurt and help to comfort, but nothing comes to his mind. He's always been an actions kind of man, with George taking care of the more sensitive words, and right now he's wishing he had his twin's gentleness.

When he feels your head shift to rest on his shoulder, he knows that he's doing something right. He rests his chin on the top of your head and you sit there for a few moments with nothing spoken between the both of you, the only noise being the gentle whistling of the wind as it whips past the astronomy tower.

"Freddie," he hears to say quietly and adjusts his head so that he look down towards you. You look like you'd been crying, your eyes rimmed with a pink hue that matched the shade of pink on the top of your nose. The pink around your eyes only seems to make your eyes more vibrant, the colour astounding Fred as he looks upon your face. "Thank you. For today, for everything really. I know you didn't go home just to stay here with me."

He blushes under the praise, your grateful words affecting him more than he shows. Truthfully, he had chosen to stay at school during Christmas for you, not wanting you to be alone wherever you were, knowing that there was no such thing as home for you right now. George had naturally decided to stay with Fred and Ron hadn't wanted to leave Harry in the first place, leaving Ginny who didn't want to be left at home without her siblings.

There's nothing to be said. Fred for once remains silent, his actions doing the talking for him. His right hand slips from yours and he pulls it around you to wrap you in his heat, pulling you close to his body. He senses a calmness in you now, head no longer filled with only sad thoughts. You look like you're coming out of your negative headspace, the hint of a smile tugging at your lips as you snuggle down into his jumper.

"Merry Christmas Fred."

It's the only thing that needed to be said in the moment, a fine summary of your gratitude, your thankfulness and of your love for him.

"Merry Christmas baby."

[feminism-of-course]

Overall, people seem to have different understandings of the terms misogyny and sexism, and I think that might be the issue here. I agree that nitpicking terms is just counterproductive, however I think it might generally be more useful to understand misogyny as something unique to women/people who are female.

I read a book by Kate Manne a while ago (Entitled, I think it came out in 2020?). Unfortunately I don’t have the book on me so I’m discussing it from memory here, but she basically defined misogyny as the tool used to oppress women and make them fall in line with sexist ideology. So sexism is the overarching ideology that dictates how men and women should behave, the ideology holding up the patriarchy. And misogyny is the different ways society and individuals pressure or force women to conform to sexism. Calling assertive women ”bossy” is the first example that comes to mind.

I think people who say that men don’t experience misogyny might have a similar understanding of the term. According to this definition, mockingly telling a boy that he throws like a girl wouldn’t necessarily count as misogyny, at least not against him. (You might be able to argue that it’s indirect misogyny against girls/women, though.) It is of course sexism, and we should describe it as such. I don’t know if there’s feminist theory that uses the term misandry as a male equivalent of misogyny—that is, the tools used to force men to conform to sexist ideology—but it would probably be more useful to call it misandry or sexism when men are mocked for being feminine etcetera. Because one of the benefits to defining misogyny as a tool rather than an attitude towards women/femininity is that it’s easier to prove that an action or belief oppresses women than it is to prove that someone has hostile feelings towards women. In the same way, it would be more useful for men to define their experiences as sexism or misandry, since the social pressure to conform to patriarchal standards of masculinity is unique to them.

I've been thinking about the one post that had some weirdo TIRF on it talking about how "men 👏 don't 👏 experience 👏 misogyny" and everybody just kind of skipped to talking about how ofc trans men experience misogyny but like

We can't just skip how fucking asinine that sentence is on its face. That is not ground that should be conceded, bc trying to state as if it's a plain fact that "men don't experience misogyny" should get you laughed out of any room you're in.

Every time a boy is told he "throws like a girl" or is called a "little baby girl" for crying, he's experiencing misogyny because he's being devalued for traits that others see as feminine, traits which those doing the mocking see as belonging to women. Every time a fat dude's "moobs" get mocked, he's experiencing misogyny. Every time a girl makes fun of a dude for enjoying something she perceives as feminine, he's experiencing a double whammy of misogyny and homophobia.

There is no other reasonable way to discuss what these men are experiencing. That's misogyny.

The longer I talk with people in all kinds of marginalized groups online, the more convinced I am both that it's very understandable that people want their experiences and their hurts and their oppressions to be totally unique and unable to be experienced by anybody who isn't part of their group and also that anybody who hammers away on the idea that "only [X] can experience [Y]" and devotes excessive time to guarding the borders of their little fiefdom is not just not helping the cause of liberation, but is actively degrading our chances of making meaningful change.

I would go so far as to say there probably isn't a man alive who has zero experience of misogyny. Misogyny is leveraged against men constantly as a form of social control. Just because it's "do X or we will devalue you by calling you a woman" doesn't make it not an experience of misogyny.

Is it exactly the same thing that women experience? No, but also what different groups of women and different individuals experience is also different. There is no flawlessly singular experience of oppression experienced only by women, experienced the same way by all women, and never endured by men.

With that very simple fact in mind, spending time endlessly trying to police the way that another marginalized individual speaks about the method and effect of their own oppression rather than finding solidarity and commonality is fucking fed shit. It does not serve us and actively sabotages all of us, serving only those who actively benefit from our subservience and our infighting.

So fucking stop it.

[cozymochi]

Okay gen question, how are you so good at anatomy? like I know its a mix of years of practice and experience. Mayhaps you can spare some tips on how ppl can improve theirs? Always looking forward to your works btw! Even the scribbles you think aren't decent are always such a nice treat to see <3

It being drilled into my system years ago in a drawing class specifically for that 😭 Then a character design class the next semester that added on top of it. BUT FOR CARTOONSSSSS (I have not accomplished anything in my life to utilize any of this.)

My main point of knowledge reference is this book though (OMG FREE INTERNET ARCHIVE PDF? Yes. Though I personally have a physical copy.) We didn’t really read the walls of text so much as just practiced the proportion stuff in the early pages ad-nauseam and some skeletons (not hyper detailed ones just making sure bones were where they should be). Tho admittedly I’ve been neglecting any studying. (This book came out in 1943 brrgh) DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I HAD TO DRAW THIS DIAGRAM? MORE THAN ANY PERSON SHOULD.

But hey, it works. I still sometimes end up referring back to it if I think I’m sucking (disclaimer: i think this often )

As far as I’ve come to know, how something looks visually doesn’t matter so much long as basic proportions are correct. Cuz even people without trained eyes for this sorta thing can recognize when something is proportionately wrong. Like, I guess on you know where everything is supposed to go, you can kinda do anything from there?? I think. It translated well when we were drawing real people who were not the “ideal” presented, and when moving to more stylized stuff with their own rules in a completely different course. So what if that leg doesnt look exactly like u think a leg looks anatomically— IS THE KNEE IN THE CORRECT SPOT? Yes? Then u did it.

Also that eyes are in the center of the face. Not the nose. JUMPSCARE!!!

Aaaa, this isn’t really an interesting answer. If I ever figured out better streaming outside if private discords I could probably make my points better rather than pulling a “here’s a textbook, figure it out” CUZ ITS LIKE. ITS OVERWHELMING WITHOUT A GUIDE AND 😭😭😭

I don’t know. I don’t think I have “anatomy” correct, just “proportions.” Cuz I wouldn’t be able to tell you what something is, just where something goes. Which… I think is a little more important and also a distinction I don’t really see anyone making in drawing.

Though, as much as I wanna be helpful in a more effective way, it’s really really really hard for me to articulate how anyone could improve theirs if I don’t know what the alleged problem areas are 😭 I find all this stuff to be case by case. I kind of do better if i can directly point things out and offer info from there instead of blank slate tips. If I ever figure out streaming outside of private discords it would probably be easier (literally doesnt own a functional up to date enough computer)

I guess focus less on “anatomy” and focus more on proportions since that does more of the heavy lifting? Unless ur a med student, then you probably should focus on anatomy

someone could die because you couldnt identify their coccyx

OKAY THATS IT THANKS AND SORRY

[aleki-lives-here]

I'm making my way through System Collapse audiobook, and it's much easier both the second time around and than reading. This whole thing still feels too real too much, which makes me kinda passionately hate the book but in a way that I know isn't really hatred. I'm just experiencing a lot of emotions, okay. Listening to them create art, tell a story to make people see things from a new perspective is doing something to me.

I was ten when I decided I wanted to tell stories. I was thirteen when I figured out what kind of stories I wanted to tell, and yes the stories I wrote back then were kinda shitty but I reread half of those recently, at fourteen I already had the same kind of vibe that still appear in everything I ever created afterwards: shit happens, and people do mistakes, and it all just sucks, and you keep living, keep trying, keep holding on to hope.

I was a fucking teen and I knew I wanted to tell stories that would take the darkest most tragic situation and say: there's still kindness there. There's still hope. There's still future. I don't like whump or angst or anything just because I like to torture characters (tho I do, like to torture characters), but because shit sucks. shit sucks, and we keep living, and we keep finding joy in it all, and I want, always wanted, to have someone tell me -- to be the one to tell this to people, that yes. It sucks. It hurts. It's awful, and I see you, and I see the hopelessness, and it isn't hopeless anyway. It's all encompassing now and it's gonna change. If just one person read what I wrote and felt a little better, a little more seen, a little more hopeful, a little kinder -- that was all I wanted to achieve with my writing.

And the thing is: I feel like such a fucking failure.

Like okay. Objectively, rationally speaking, I'm twenty... right, twenty two as of now, which is young, but also it's fucking twenty two and it's longer than I expected myself to be alive, and it feels like I haven't done nothing. It feels like I'm never going to be able to do anything. It feels like it's ridiculous of me to even hope that I could do anything, especially with writing. Achieve something with my stories? Make someone think about new things? Make someone feel better? It's a ridiculous idea to aim for. That's what other people do, somehow, not me. The best I can settle is entertaining myself by torturing characters, which isn't gonna help anyone but hey if it entertains someone for five minutes it has to be worth something. It fucking has to be, I so honestly don't know why the hell I'm still alive, but it has to be worth something otherwise it's too depressing to consider.

But anyway. Then, there's System Collapse. There's this whole series, honestly, with the fairly background exploration of what media and art can mean to people, but here it's loud and impossible to ignore in the front of the narrative, and it resonates with me in ways I can't be comfortable with. It somehow fucking hurts to think about. Too many emotions and thoughts and just ugh. I'm not gonna be normal about this book any time soon, am I.

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Four - Planetoid

Part Three

———

Adrenaline is one hell of a drug, it’s a direct part of the organics fight or flight response. Where the heart rate, respiratory rate, and blood pressure increase. It decreased the immediate ability to feel pain and practically enhanced one’s ability to fight. Most pilots were deemed in their compatibility testing to resort to fight, more often than flight, in response to an external threat. To face the action instead of turning tail and running off, it was something they’d either have to have or something they’d have to learn. To move with the punches, so to speak. For the mech pilots they’d learned fast that flight; would get them killed and fight was the right instinct to have.

One of the easiest ways for adrenaline to be produced is with the feeling of either fear or thrill, again that fight or flight response. Most people experience it on amusement park attractions or when participating in some sort of extreme activity like sky diving. Things that were significantly more popular before the invention of mech suits and long before the alien invasions. It wasn’t a terribly far off comparison, sky diving, as Hound and Sunstreaker fell through the lower atmosphere of the planet.

The suits were designed to survive exit and entry of different planetoids, thank you Preceptor, but even with that in mind they were supposed to remain attached to the Odyssey during that time. Not in free fall, but it was safer for the shuttle to only have two of the four mechs attached to it during a decent. Easier to maneuver into a safe decent and certainly a few hundred tons lighter than it would be. Starting at the ever approaching surface, over the comms it was mainly heavy breathing of someone forgetting to turn their microphone off. The fear was palpable over the frequency, even as the two mechs twisted in the air to slow their decent. It was entirely unlike anything they’d had to deal with before and that was terrifying.

“I need you all active on comms.” Breakdown sounded calm, certainly calmer than he had when the airlocks to the mechs unlocked, much more in his element on a collision course with an unknown entity then when the technology around him did things it wasn’t supposed to do, “Copy.” Hound could hardly respond, trying to right his mech for the crash landing, moving about to grab hold of Sunstreaker, he spoke up next; “Alright, this is just like the evacuation training, except we remain in the suits.” “Yeah, copy.” Sunstreaker’s voice didn’t waver, also calm. If there was something to be said about pilots, they needed to have a certain level of crazy to handle the job. Their hands clasped together and held tight, falling much faster than the shuttle, though that was experiencing its typical re-entry. Banking lightly to adjust for the airstreams in the atmosphere.

Scanning the planet, cause it was certainly large enough to be one on second look, there was possible inhabited areas both to their north and east, artificial lights shining in the distance. Hound kept hold of Sunstreaker, kicking lightly to turn them in the air, “Alright, we need to veer away from landing to our north or east, Breakdown you will need to bring the Odyssey down as safely as you can away from those sectors.” His visor was lightning up with readings coming in from outside his suit, it making the adjustments that were needed for proper functioning, “You don’t think those could actually be inhabited areas, right?” Sideswipe was still breathing heavy, less anxious now and more with effort. He’d moved around and was ensuring that Breakdown’s suit was staying secure to the Odyssey. With a sigh, Hound shakes his head a bit, “I have no idea, but it’s not something I want to crash into if it’s the case. Sunny and I are going to pull our shoots once we’re under a mile from the surface so they don’t shred. You and Breakdown are doing to be heading towards the north, so if you have to put it down before reaching the potentially inhabited space do so.” He was activating his safety measures, as was Sunstreaker.

“You two are dropping like stones, we’ll land miles apart.” Sideswipe was looking down and back at them now, re-securing his mech to the Odyssey, “Yeah, we are, so stay with the shuttle and we’ll meet you there.” Sunstreaker was the only one who could keep Sideswipe calm, his voice low and easy, “We’ll see you in a while, just don’t play your music over comms.” There was a quiet scoff, “You do that one time and you never hear the end of it.” Hound smiles a bit and looks to Sunstreaker, nodding his head slightly as they pull their shutes, the shuttle far ahead of them and still high in the sky.

—

Mission Control received the message after twenty minutes, smiling, before passing it onto NASA for their own logs. Sending a brief but detailed response, effectively hiding in plain sight the simple saying of ‘keep looking’. The boss stood at the back of the room, hands clasped behind his back with an award winning smiling, which only faded slightly when a minute later their coordinates and vital signs popped offline, but data was still coming through for a moment long before showing a incredibly long delay. A longer delay than Voyager’s, frowning, he leans back against the wall for a second, “Send for pilot 2672, he’s going to training. And loop the data for the nerds at NASA.” Several people go into action as he stands there, watching the response time of their message tick up to over a year.

—

They landed in what best can be described as a giant puddle, it wasn’t deep enough to be considered a lake nor was it moving to be considered a river or creek. The suits were quick to inform them that it wasn’t water either. Grabbing hold of the shoot, Hound was folding his up and trying to tuck it back into the compartment it opened out of, “It’s a one time use without the re-pack codes to override the locks.” Sunstreaker wasn’t folding his up, but staring at the sky, watching the shuttle as it disappeared into the distance. Swearing, Hound draped it over his shoulder before adjusting the comm frequency to open two separate lines, one with the shuttle and one for here on the ground, “Shuttle, we’ve landed, alert us of how far you reach.” “Copy Hound.” Breakdown’s voice was almost static with the growing distance between them.

Sharing a look before turning on their targeting and weapons systems, Hound’s gun folding out from a compartment in his thigh, hefting it into his hold with ease as Sunstreaker flipped plating back on his arms, “You ready for this kid?” To be honest, Hound had only seen footage of the twins fights, he was often deployed in the evening or night to handle things to close to communities for the governments liking. The twins were much more flashy and fought in the day time off the coasts of Florida primarily, “Born ready Sir.” Hound cringed lightly, “Don’t call me sir, for the love of god.” He could tell it brought a smile out of the grumpier of the two twins, who nodded at him before they started walking. Fluid that wasn’t water splashing lightly over their feet, “What do you think this stuff is Hound?” Sunstreaker looked to him and Hound shrugged lightly, “Waitinf for my systems to fully calibrate, once they have I can run some tests.” Nodding again, they fell in next to each other, following the streak in the sky towards wherever the Odyssey went.

Out of the four of them, these two were the most mentally prepared to trek across an alien planet, so to speak, they certainly had more kills than the other two and one had more experience than any of them. Their suits were well suited to the terrain and there was a higher level of mutual respect. Sunstreaker had come to Hound several times over the years, asking for advice in the fight, he supposedly used to go to Jazz and knew the two of them were relatively close. At least as close as two pilots could be without being related. Their bond was nothing special, but shared experience was one hell of a way to stay connected with someone. Hound had been in the fight for twice as long as the twins combined, it was hard to make it that long fighting the flying squids, but you just had to keep going. If it wasn’t you in the suit then it would be someone else, someone younger. Looking to Sunstreaker, Hound rests his free hand on his mech’s shoulder lightly, “We’ll catch up with them Kid, then we’ll find wherever the bastards are coming from, end this fight.” Sunstreaker stared for a long time before nodding, sighing, then looking down at his feet, “What ever this not-water is, I think it’s going to damage my paint job.” Laughter was one of the best ways to lighten the mood, and Sunny knew how to bring out the loudest laughter from Hound, he was bent over and shaking his head, “I didn’t put spare paint on my essentials list, did you?” “Yes, actually, I did.” Now they could both laugh as they walked across the hard and wet ground.

—

Landing a space shuttle was a great deal like landing a plane, only with a plane you didn’t have giant mechs attached to your sides, and usually you’d have a runway to land on. The other down side to this was Breakdown flew helicopters, not airplanes, least not usually. He certainly had more experience than Sideswipe, but less than Hound who just followed orders of being the first in his suit if shit were to hit the fan. Keeping the Odyseey steady was important, the most important thing, but all Breakdown really wanted to do was bail in his mech and say screw it to the shuttle, what good would it do them if they couldn’t get it back off the ground.

“Hey Breakdown, any word from Sunny and Hound?” Sideswipe, who was holding onto the outside of the shuttle watching this weird world fly by, was trying to sound calm. Biting his lip a bit, he checks over the comm system, “Uh, not since they landed Sideswipe. See anything interesting out there?” He wanted to redirect the thought process, focus on the mission, take the focus away from the worry, “Yeah, I think Hound was right about the artificial lights. I don’t know what it is, but there are a lot of them to the east.” His voice wavered slightly, breath shaking on the radio again, “Sideswipe, take a moment to focus on the mission. Right now we need to land safely, then we can worry about Hound and Sunstreaker.” He adjusts the tilt to the shuttle, sighing as it continues to descend. It was quiet for a few minutes as Sideswipe turns off his comm.

They sat in the silence, separate but together, facing an entirely unfamiliar world.

“Alright, I’m good. How long do you think till we land?” His voice was clear and nearly calm, good enough, “Just a few minutes, we’re descending fast. We’ll be about ten klicks or twelve from the others, hopefully by the time we land. They should be making up ground fast.” Breakdown was quick to start lowering the landing gear, flipping several switching and activating the distress beacon, in case there were any Earth scanners anywhere, anywhere. Traveling through space was fine, being teleported to the atmosphere of an unknown planet was not.

If there was such thing as a smooth landing for a mech pilot, Breakdown and Sideswipe would not know. The ground may appear to be smooth but it was just as bumpy as any bit of unpaved ground back home would be. Getting thrown around in their respective piloting chairs, thrown against the seatbelts, was unpleasant. Groaning, Breakdown sits back and rubs his back when they finally came to a stop before turning on the comm, “Hound, Sunstreaker, we’ve landed supposedly about twenty klicks north of you both. Thought it would be closer, going to do some diagnostics on the Odyssey and check the atmosphere for us, see you in a bit.” With a flick of a switch, he deactivates the comm. Standing back up, Breakdown goes into the main hold to start running the checks, turning off anything unnecessary now that they were out of space.

Sideswipe stood around outside and slightly away from the shuttle once he disconnected from it, scanning the horizon for Sunstreaker and Hound, trying not to worry. Chewing on his lip had become a bad habit when he’d had to give up his other vices to become compatible. The wait was killer.

—

For giant mechs, it still takes a while to walk a handful of miles, sure the strides are longer and you certainly are bigger than the normal person, but it still takes time. Breakdown was still running scans and checks, not really able to piece together whether the air on this planet was toxic or not, and the suits were running their normal life support protocols. There was enough air in a suit to last several days, plus the compressed canisters still aboard the shuttle, if they were on a toxic planet they could probably survive long enough to get a message out about it.

Sideswipe was impatience, as soon as the familiar yellow suit appeared even in the distance, he took off running towards him. They collided as if they’d been separated for days rather than a few hours. Hound shook his head and kept walking towards the shuttle, activating the comm, “Any update Breakdown?” Only a moment of pause was there, “No, anything change out there?” Hound sighs, “Not yet, but I don’t like it. If those are artificial lights, they should have seen us coming and been here by now.” It hung in the air, the unknown, “Wrap up the scans, we’re going to head towards them for checks before it gets dark. If it gets dark.” Rubbing his face, Hound looked around and in the general direction of what could be a town of some sort, “Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, I want you both to have your weapons out. If whatever took Jazz is here, I don’t want us to end up fighting an unknown enemy.” Sunstreaker looks over, “Or a whole lot of a familiar enemy Hound, they could have figured it out.” They paused before the twins started to prep their weapons.

“You boys keep your weapons up, Breakdown get to your suit and fall into attack formation DC-19. We’ll be back to the Odyssey shortly.” Hound had his gun up, it was a specially made item for his mech, experimental technology that seemed to hurt the aliens pretty well back home. Sunstreaker had long blade like bracers on the arms of his mech, along with more agility for advanced hand to hand work. Similarly, Sideswipe had one bracer and an extending sword on the other side. Hound’s feet slide slightly on the surface, it was much more slick that it initially appeared to be. Swearing under his breath, he rights himself and in turn his mech before looking over his shoulder, “We’re going to scout the immediate area and whenever their night cycle starts we will return to the Odyssey. Last thing we need is to get caught out in the dark.” Sighing slightly, he looks back around, as the last of his systems finally integrate and realign to him. When you were calibrated to a suit, it was meant to feel like a second skin, the suit of armor that you needed. For some pilots it felt like more than that. It felt like that for Hound, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, and Breakdown. The twins had a similar reaction once their suits fully calibrated, both sighing deeply and rolling their shoulders in sync.

The landscape was entirely different from Earth, it didn’t even look like the images from Mars, it just was something entirely alien. Sideswipe whistles, looking this way and that, “Wow, have you ever seen some place like this?” Chuckling, Hound shrugs slightly, “Reminds me of Montana. Big sky country.” Coming back up to the shuttle, he waits as Breakdown’s mech gains its footing, only for a brief delay then, “We’re not in Kansas anymore.” Breakdown’s voice was filled with a mild amusement, which caused both twins to groan loudly, “You know, I hate cliches. That’s what we are right now, walking cliches.” “Oh come on, let the man have a little fun Sunny!” Sunstreaker shoves at Sideswipe, “You defending the cliche makes it worse.” They were hardly back together for five minutes before their bickering picked back up. Hound rubs his face with a deep sigh, “We need to move before it’s dark. I don’t want to leave the Odyssey any longer than we have to.” Shifting to stand straight, then adjusting his gun, the twins fall silent then fall in. Attack position DC-19 was designed for fighting aliens, specifically designed for when they would face a hoard of them with as few as two suits. Four was a rather generous amount to have together at one time on Earth.

Right now, they could be the only four on the whole planet as far as they knew. Hound lets out a shaky breath and starts to move north, the nearest section of artificial lighting was around seven klicks that way.

A light, near the comms terminal in the main bay of the Odyssey flashed with delayed messages, from over the last five years. Finally within range to be received.

The four of them started north together, Hound with his gun up and ready, Sunstreaker to his left with arms slightly raised as if to box, Sideswipe to his right with his sword extended down to his side, and Breakdown to the rear with his shoulder mount humming ominously, hammer swinging lightly at his side. Moving together in tandem and with purpose towards the populated sector, or potentially populated sector, to find answers. Their heart rates fell to a resting rhythm, breathing joining it, while their feet clanked lightly against the metallic ground. The adrenaline was finally starting to wear off and they all went from feeling unstoppable, to significantly slower than before, but to determined to stop.

———

A/N

More Tags! I am so happy people have been enjoying this as much as I have been enjoying writing it. The entire Mecha AU has been eating my brain and for something that I was BS-ing with my sister about to hit the pages for me was incredible. I love writing, I love seeing all your own tags when you re-blog it. It give me so much inspiration to keep writing.

Between now and when I get to part six, I might post stuff for Arcturus Two, since they will have their disconnect. But we’ll see how much time I have this week. Between thanksgiving and LSAT studying, this inspiration is not saving me much time.

Thank you to everyone who has liked my posts, especially thank you to those who have re-blogged both the series and the masterpost, I promise to get the links fixed soon, I’m doing this all on mobile so it loves to be a pain.

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch

And of course thank you @keferon for inspiring us all in this crazy AU. I have loved watching us all froth at the mouth for it.

[faiell]

I don't have much to add. OK well I lied I have 2 things, semi-related, just in addition, not really making a point for or against anything that was said.

I don't think it's been brought up yet, and sorry if this is like, too blunt or snobbish, but. I'll just say it. This is personal experience, but being a person with nice stats makes forming connections in community easier. Why? Well, just because if people have heard of you, and are familiar with your work or your blog, you can be much more confident to take that first step and reach out to someone, whether it's via DMs or askbox or whatever. And yeah this is something that readers don't usually have access to, which sucks. I mean, I think people should just reach out and talk to each other anyway. I'm for sure not going to treat anyone differently based on whether they've written fanfiction, much less well-read fanfiction lol, that sounds ridiculous. But being an artist whose art gets shared does make it easier for me to have the confidence to go bouncing into other people's messages the way I do.

I don't think fandom community, as a whole, is dying, or even close to death. Buuut there are definitely fandoms out there that are pretty dead, even for very well-known ships for well-known series, and if you're into a rare-pair... it can be very lonely. And in those situations, I just want to yell that stats literally don't matter. Those 10 kudos across an entire pairing aren't gonna feed the family, yanno? What matters is, if you're looking for connection over a rarepair, you've gotta be loud and bold, and never shut up about them until you find the people who have also been trying to hear your yelling over all the other noise.

feedback and fic in fandom (3 f's of our own)

This conversation about feedback on fic says everything I’ve been wanting to say better than I could say it. But I’ll go ahead and try anyway.

Over the last five years or so there have been some great discussions around the rise of commodification of fanworks and decline of fandom community. This commodification looks a bit like enshittification of the internet: a cool site exists; its popularity makes someone realize they can get money from it; it has more and more ads; the site adds features to drive engagement, including The Algorithm; the things that made the site cool start to fall away. The site exists now as a vehicle purely to get clicks, and the people on it are on it solely to get clicks—to make money, to be successful, for some kind of social cachet.

AO3 doesn’t have advertisements. It’s not making money. But what is happening to fandom is proof of concept that enshittification changes the way we as humans engage. A cool website in 2004 was often a community space where you could meet people, have conversations, find cool things, and make cool things. A cool website in 2024 is either a content farm that will continually feed you enough content to hold your attention, or a social media site where your participation will come with stats to show you whether you are holding the attention of others.

AO3 wasn’t built to be a community space. It doesn’t have great functions for meeting people and having conversations. The idea was that, because fandom community spaces already existed, AO3 would serve the part of that community where you can find the cool things and store the cool things you made. It was meant to be a library in a city, not the whole city itself.

But it was also never meant to be a website in 2024, a content farm constantly generating content solely for your clicks and eyeballs and ad revenue, or a social media site where the content creators themselves vie for your clicks and eyeballs.

The most common talking point when people discuss the enshittification of fandom is the folks out there who are treating AO3 as that first kind of enshittified website: the content farm. This discussion is about how people treat fanfic as a product for consumption.

The post that kicked off the discussion on @sitp-recs’s blog was about someone who wasn’t getting very many kudos or comments on their fic, and was feeling pretty demoralized about it, then joined a discord server and found an entire channel dedicated to people loving their fic. But those on that server had never come to share that love with the author, which the author found really discouraging.

There are more and more stories like this. Someone on tiktok pulls a quote from a fic on AO3 and makes a 10-second video with them staring at a wall, the quote pasted at the bottom, music playing over it. It has 100,000 hearts, and 100 comments with people gushing over the fic, which has 80 kudos on AO3. Overall, people notice more and more hits on their fics, but fewer and fewer comments or even kudos. Fewer and fewer people seem to feel the need to interact with the author, instead treating the fic like a product to be used and discarded—which the enshittified internet (a stunning feature of late-stage capitalism!) encourages. The fandom community is dying, these stories conclude.

I agree. 100%. Both of the stories above have happened to me—viral tiktoks about my fic, secret discord channels to follow and discuss my fic—and let me tell you, it fucking sucks.

But from these observations about fandom enshittification, the discussion continues in a very odd direction. The solution to the death of fandom community is our favorite enshittification buzzword: engagement. We should engage the authors. They’re producing these products for free. We consume them at no cost. We must demonstrate our gratitude by paying them back.

It’s as though the capitalist consumption that the enshittified web encourages is so ingrained within us that we must think in terms of payment, in terms of exchange, transaction. Or as though, by forgoing payment, authors are some kind of martyrs defying capitalism, and the only way to honor their great sacrifice is comments and kudos.

Indeed, the discourse around this sometimes does veer away from capitalist rhetoric into something that smells almost religious in desperation. Authors are gods who bestow us mere mortals with the fruits of their labor benevolently, through love; the least we can do is worship them. Meanwhile the authors adopt the groveling sentiment of starving artists: I produce great art; I only humbly ask that you feed me in return.

These kinds of entreaties make my skin crawl for a number of reasons. I’m not a god. I’m not writing because I love you. I don’t expect your worship or even your praise.

I think the thing that disturbs me the most about it is that it suggests that authors (or, if the OP is feeling generous fan work creators) are the most important people in fandom. I’ve even seen posts stating that without creators, fandom wouldn’t exist—as though readers aren’t just as important. As though conversations where people discuss characterizations and plot points and randomly spin out interpretations and ideas and thoughts related to canon are meaningless. I’ve even seen people scramble to include folks having these discussions as “creators,” as though realizing that these people are necessary and integral to fandom communities but unable to drop the idea that the producers are the ones who are important. As though that person who just lurks can never count.

Is this what community is? When you join the queer community, are you expected to produce a product of your queerness? If not, must you actively participate and give back to the queer community in order to be considered a part of it? Or is it enough that you are queer, that you exist as a queer person and want to be around others who are queer, you want to be a part of something? What is community, anyway?

The problem with people raising the authors above everyone else in the community and demanding that tribute be paid is that they are decrying the “content farm” style of 2024 website out of one side of their mouth, but out of the other side are instead demanding that AO3 become a 2024-style social media website. Authors are influencers. “Engagement” and clicks are the things that really matter. They are in fact suggesting that the way to solve the commodification of fanfic is by “paying authors back” with stats.

Before anyone comes at me with the idea that comments aren’t just “stats,” I will clarify what I mean. There are literally hundreds of posts on tumblr alone claiming that any comment “helps” the author. Someone replies that they are shy to comment. Someone else replies that incoherent keyboard smashes, a single emoji, or the comment “kudos” are all that is required to satisfy the author, all that is required as tribute—all that is required as payment to keep this economy healthy.

I’m not condemning the comments that are keyboard smashes or emojis or a single kind word. I receive them. They make me happy. If anyone wants to leave such a comment on my fics, I’m really grateful for it. But this is not community-building. This is a transaction. In @yiiiiiiiikes25’s excellent response in the post linked at the beginning, they point out that “you have a cool hat” is something that is “perfectly nice” to hear from someone—and it is! We all want to be told we have a cool hat! But as they go on to say, what builds community is interactions that are deep and specific, interactions that are rich in quality, not in quantity. A kudos or a comment that says only ❤️are lovely things to receive, but they don’t build community.

My reaction, when I see people begging for kudos and comments as the only means by which to keep fandom community alive, is very close to @eleadore's. I want to say, “No. Readers do not need to comment or kudos. Believe not these hucksters who claim to know the appropriate method of fandom participation. Participate as you feel able, or not at all; nothing is required of you.”

I’ve been told before (several times) that I’m not qualified to participate in such discussions because I am an established author who has some fics with very high stats. It doesn’t matter that I have also been a new writer with almost no one reading my fics. It doesn’t matter that I still write in new fandoms where no one in that fandom knows me. It doesn’t matter that I, like any human being, still care about receiving recognition and attention and praise.

And maybe that’s correct. I personally don’t think that billionaires have a place in deciding the direction of the economy, and--if we're really going to consider fandom an economy--in fandom terms, if I’m not a billionaire, or even a millionaire, I’m definitely in the infamous “one percent.” So, just as no one wants to hear Elon Musk say “money isn’t everything,” maybe it’s not my place to say “kudos isn’t required, actually.”

That said, I’m not the only one who has a problem with the stats-based discourse around fandom community. However, the main counter-response to this discussion I see goes something like this: you shouldn’t be writing fic for validation. If you’re writing for attention, you’re doing it for the wrong reason. Authors should write fic because they love it without any expectation of return.

This is, in my opinion, missing the point of what is meant by fandom community.

I wrote fanfic before I knew that fanfic, as a concept, existed. I read books; I wanted them to be different; I wrote little stories for myself with new endings, with self-inserts, with cross-overs, with alternate universes. I did it for myself in the 90s. It never occurred to me that anyone else would do this, much less that people would share.

As @faiell points out—creating and sharing are two different things. I created fics for myself, but I decided to share them in the early 2000s because other people might like them, too. And of course, I wanted to hear whether other people liked them. How could I not? I might decorate my home just for me and not for anyone else’s preferences, but when people come over and say my house is nice, how can I not enjoy that? And if a lot of people think my house is nice, which encourages me to post pictures of it online, isn’t it understandable I might do so with the hope that more people will say my house is nice? And, honestly, if no one is appreciating my pictures, I probably won’t continue to go through the trouble of taking them and posting them. I’ll just enjoy my house that I decorated without sharing, the end.

When I found out there were whole fannish communities where people discussed canon and tossed ideas around about it, made theories and prompts and insights into the characters, fics they had written and recs for other fics and analyses of fics and art based on fics and fics based on art—I wanted to be a part of that, too. Now, sometimes, I write fic not out of an internal need to do so but out of a desire to participate in that community.

The idea that we write fic only for the love of it, then post it only because we possess it, is a process entirely centered on the self. It’s fandom in a vacuum. The idea that we share this thing, that we feel pleasure if someone likes it but feel nothing at all if no one says anything about it, that it’s completely okay to be ignored and unseen—that’s not what a community is either. That’s some weird sort of self-aggrandizement through self-effacement—because yes, there is often a weird kind of virtue-signaling in this kind of discourse.

I say this as someone who has virtue-signaled in that way: “some people write for stats, but I write for myself.” It’s bullshit. Sure, I write for myself, but why post it on the internet? Honestly, said virtue has a whiff of the capitalist machine, which would like you to produce for the sake of production, work for the sake of work. The noblest among us expect no recompense for that which they give!

The reason that I’m bringing this back around to capitalism is that capitalism actively works to dismantle community. The reason that folks are out here pleading for “engagement” in order to “pay back” authors for the products they give us “for free” is because people no longer even have the language to discuss how to participate in meaningful community. And frankly, how to build back fandom community, in the face of enshittification, is getting harder and harder to see.

But I do think that if we value fanfic and the fanfic community, it’s really, really not constructive to judge whether someone’s reasons for writing fanfic are valid. It’s also weird to me that it would be considered wrong that someone’s reason for sharing fanfic is because they would like to receive some recognition for it, when in fact that seems to be the most natural reason in the world for sharing something so private and vulnerable with the world.

Let’s go back to that idea of how hurtful it is to find out your fanfic is trending on tiktok without anyone from tiktok saying anything to you about your fic, or how it can be painful to find out there’s a secret discord channel dedicated to your fic. The people who respond to that with, “Ah, but you shouldn’t be writing to get attention!” are missing the point. The fic did get attention. It got lots. Attention obviously wasn't why the writer was writing--they were writing to participate, and they didn't get to. At all.

However, if your conclusion is that the author was upset because these particular stats were not accruing under this author’s profile, thereby preventing them from achieving the vaunted status of BNF and influencer—I don’t know, maybe you’re right. But I don’t think that’s why I, personally, have been hurt by these things, and I doubt it’s what hurt the people in these posts either. They’re hurt because they want to participate, and they have been systematically excluded by the very people they thought were part of the community they thought they could participate in.

Sure, if those folks from tiktok and the discord server all came and showered the author with kudos and comments that said “kudos,” the author might have felt satisfied enough with the quantity of this recognition that they would continue writing. But in the end, this still does nothing to address the problem of fandom community, in which the deep, meaningful recognition, interactions, and relationships in fandom are getting harder and harder to have and to build, as a result of how people now expect to engage in online spaces.

So, how to address the problem of fandom community? You probably read this long, long post hoping that I had an answer, and for that I must apologize. I don’t have solutions. My intent was to be descriptive, rather than prescriptive. I wished to outline the problems that I’m seeing in what was hopefully a slightly new or at least thought-provoking way, rather than offer solutions.

But, now that I’m talking about being prescriptive, maybe I can offer one suggestion, which is—maybe the solution to this isn’t about prescribing behavior. I do understand the irony in writing a prescription saying we shouldn’t prescribe people, but I’m going to write it anyway:

Maybe we shouldn’t be telling anyone the appropriate reasons for writing fanfic or for sharing it. Maybe we shouldn’t be telling readers they need to kudos or need to comment. If we’re going to go pointing fingers, we should be pointing at the institutions of capitalism that have made the internet what it is today—but I don’t think that’s going to solve the problem either.

But I do think that describing this problem, understanding what it actually is, not blaming readers for it and not blaming authors for it—I do think that helps. The discussion I linked at the beginning of this post is what I think of as the fandom I miss, the fandom that's now harder and harder to access, the fandom that is dying. That fandom was a social space where people had opinions and disagreed and went back and forth and gazed at their navels and then talked about Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

In the words of @yiiiiiiiikes25, it was a fuckin’ discussion about hats. And we’re hungry for it.

[bloodnikki]

Ekko loves Jinx. He loves every side of her even if he can’t get the name right. He wonders why it’s a struggle to accept her as Jinx until she’s gone and it hits him.

Guilt. It’s guilt that made him unable to let go. It’s guilt for his people. If he accepted as Jinx, and loved her anyway, he would’ve been a failure to them. He wouldn’t have been able to look them in the eyes as he fought to protect them.

Powder’s still in there was code for I’m not a bad person for wanting her. It maybe why he was so angry he wouldn’t let him call her that. Jinx wanted him to remember her crimes. Jinx needed him to see her for who she was.

He gets why she stayed with Silco. He was an awful man but at least he cared for her enough to respect the person she wanted to be. Ekko had been ashamed to love her.

‘Hey, I know we were meant to have this big talk after the battle but I can’t. I’m tired of talking. We run around in circles. Powder, Powder you say and I say I’m Jinx and you give those big eyes and I feel shitty for being me and you feel shitty because I’m me. I can’t do that. So, I’m just gonna listen to Silco. I’m going to end the cycle. He came to me the other day talking about being brave enough to end cycles or some nonsense. He talks too much. I guess it’s finally time I listen. Kinda owe him one time seeing as I killed him.

Ekko, do you ever wonder what we could’ve been? I do. Not all the time. I’m not that crazy but I do. It reminds me of how fucked and jinxed I am and your stupid big eyes and I just can’t do this anymore. It would’ve been easier if you just killed me.

So, no big talk. Instead, I’m ending the cycle. I’m going to this place I heard about from Vander when he was still kicking around. Maybe if we met there things would’ve been different.’

Ekko.hates when he finds the letter stuffed in his things at the lab. He thinks how he thinks of it as their lab but it’s not. It’s all hers and she’s gone. Vi said she didn’t make it. He cries for what feels like hours. He leaves and can’t will himself back to their shared space.

He misses her so much. Everything reminds him of her. His feet take him back to their lab and he’s ready to mourn her all over again when he sees a letter that wasn’t there before. In large pink ink, the top read She Lives.

He flicks it open and the first lines make him chuckle. ‘I just can’t seem to die. So, the world is stuck with me. The world is stuck with me but that doesn’t mean I have to be stuck here. I doubt you’d like to come with. I’m scared you’d say no. So, I’ve gone on ahead. I’m going to check out this place here. If I miss you, which let’s face it, you most likely aren’t gonna come, I’ll leave a note on where I’ll head next. It’ll be like a game.’

Ekko hates how excited he is she’s alive. He hates the idea of not telling Vi or anyone. He tells Scar though. Ekko’s packing a bag and he tells Scar “she made it. I’m going. Things are covered here and ya got this and I’m going and-“

“Good. Go.” Scar understands. “Come back once you both are ready.”

“I… thanks.”

Ekko follows behind her. Some stops, he knows he just missed her. Everyone tells him stories about her and he reads her letters. He cries some nights looking them over. She leaves a photo behind for him. The back reads ‘look at me! I’m finally putting on some pounds. Maybe I’ll finally grow boobs.’ She looks beautiful.

Their messages are a one way street. She can talk to him but he can’t talk to her. It must be justice for all the times he shut her out when he wanted to speak to Powder and only got Jinx. Ekko buys a notebook on the way to the third town. He wants to write down his thoughts to share later with her.

It’s almost two years and he’s just missed her more times than he could count. He wonders if she’ll ever slow down enough to let him catch her. From her letters, it sounds like she’s scared he isn’t coming. He hates that she’s no faith in him. Of course he’s coming. He loves her.

It finally happens. He finally sees her in person and there’s no way she’s getting away, unless she runs. He really hopes she doesn’t run.

“Ekko.”

And that’s it. He’s never letting her out of sight again.

[hahnshands]

~ trouble ~

agathario college roommate AU stories

context: Agatha Harkness is an outgoing, people person who fits into every room steps into and every group she talks to, on the other hand her roommate Rio Vidal, could not think of anything worse than being that kind of person, she would much rather focus on her artwork as she is studying art but having Agatha as a roommate is proving to me a little more challenging than she first thought when Rio notices herself drawing a very familiar face…

pairings: agatha x rio extrovert!agatha x introvert!rio popular!agatha x artist!rio

Authors note: i’ll be updating this every now and then :)

The second Agatha Harkness walked into their shared dorm room on move-in day, Rio Vidal knew she was in trouble. Trouble because Agatha exuded the kind of cool confidence that made people want to orbit her. Trouble because Rio, the self-proclaimed queen of her own quiet solitude, the tortured artist, knew she needs to pass this year to graduate and it didn’t look like she was going to have a distraction free dorm room.

It didn’t help that Agatha’s side of the room was already immaculate—her bed made with precise folds, her books alphabetized, and a lavender-scented diffuser softly puffing away on her desk. Meanwhile, Rio had a half-unpacked suitcase on her bed and an open box of paints that she’d immediately forgotten about the second she found her sketchbook.

Agatha was eyeing the chaos on Rio’s side of the room with a bemused smile, “You’re one of those people”

“And you’re one of those,” Rio had shot back, waving a paint-streaked hand at the perfectly arranged lavender diffuser.

Agatha just laughed, brushing her sleek dark hair over her shoulder. “Stick with me, Vidal. You might learn something.”

A month into the semester, Rio was beginning to suspect Agatha had some kind of secret powers. There was no other explanation for how she managed to ace every class, charm every professor, and still find time to breeze into their room at night with perfectly styled hair and some wild story about how she’d ‘influenced’ the coffee shop barista into giving her a free latte.

“All I did was ask politely,” Agatha said one evening, lounging on her bed and flipping through a novel that Rio was certain she wasn’t actually reading.

“Sure,” Rio replied, smirking as she bent over her sketchbook. “You ‘politely’ hypnotized them into thinking you deserved it.”

Agatha quirked an eyebrow. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of witch.”

“Hey, if the pointy hat fits…”

Agatha’s laugh was low and throaty, the kind that sent a weird little shiver up Rio’s spine. She ignored it, focusing instead on the sketch taking shape on the page.

“Are you ever going to show me what you’re drawing?” Agatha asked after a pause, her tone light but curious.

“Nope,” Rio replied without looking up.

“Oh, come on,” Agatha said, leaning over the edge of her bed. “I’ll bet it’s brilliant. Is it me? You’ve been staring at me an awful lot lately.”

Rio’s pencil froze mid-stroke. Her brain scrambled for a retort that wouldn’t give her away. “You’re flattering yourself, Harkness.”

Agatha slid off her bed, crossing the room with that effortless confidence she always carried. Before Rio could protest, Agatha plopped down beside her on the floor, close enough that Rio could smell the faint lavender clinging to her sweater.

“Let me see,” Agatha said, her voice soft but insistent.

“No,” Rio replied, clutching the sketchbook to her chest like a lifeline.

Agatha tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Fine. But I’ll figure it out eventually. I always figure things out, my love.”

Later that night, long after Agatha had fallen asleep, Rio sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at the sketch. It wasn’t finished, but the likeness was unmistakable—Agatha, with her sharp features and sly smile, caught mid-laugh.

Rio sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Trouble,” she muttered to herself.

PART 2

If Rio thought living with Agatha was going to get easier, she was delusional.

Further into the semester, Agatha’s relentless teasing had become as regular as Rio’s late-night sketching sessions. Every time Rio thought she’d found a way to ignore her, Agatha would up the ante—stealing glances at her sketchbook, throwing dramatic compliments her way, or offering entirely unsolicited critiques of her work.

“You know,” Agatha said one afternoon, sprawled on Rio’s bed like it was her own, “I’m starting to think all this brooding over your art is just an excuse to stare at me.”

Rio looked up from her canvas, her charcoal smudged fingers poised mid-stroke. “I’m sorry, what?”

Agatha propped her head on her hand, her dark hair cascading over her shoulder like she’d walked out of some impossibly chic fashion shoot. “You’re always hunched over that thing when I’m in the room. I’m beginning to think I’m your muse.”

Rio rolled her eyes, but her heart betrayed her by racing just a little too fast. “Don’t flatter yourself, Harkness.”

“Why not? You seem to do enough of that for me,” Agatha replied, her grin sharp and smug.

Rio muttered something under her breath and turned back to her drawing. The charcoal on the page was starting to smudge—Agatha’s sharp jawline softening at the edges—but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The truth was, Agatha had become a fixation for her. Not that she would ever admit it. Agatha’s confidence was already insufferable enough; the last thing she needed was for her to know she was the source of half Rio’s sketchbook.

“Come on, let me see,” Agatha said, swinging her legs off the bed and landing lightly on her feet.

“No,” Rio said automatically, shifting her body to block the canvas.

Agatha moved closer, her lavender perfume wrapping around Rio like a net. “Why not? Afraid I’ll fall in love with your depiction of me?”

“I’m afraid your ego will implode and take out half the campus.” Rio shot back

Agatha laughed, her voice low and throaty, and leaned over Rio’s shoulder. Her proximity was maddening—close enough that Rio could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. “You’re blushing, my love.”

“Am not,” Rio lied, hunching lower over her drawing.

Agatha reached out and gently tugged on the end of Rio’s ponytail. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered. You know that?”

Rio dropped her charcoal with a frustrated sigh. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not when I’m having this much fun,” Agatha replied, grinning. She perched on the edge of Rio’s chair, her knee brushing against Rio’s thigh.

Rio glared at her, though it lacked any real heat. “You’re infuriating.”

“And you’re still blushing,” Agatha teased, tilting her head as if studying Rio’s expression. “What’s the real reason you won’t let me see your art?”

For once, Agatha’s voice wasn’t mocking. The curiosity in her tone was genuine, and it caught Rio off guard.

“I just…” Rio faltered, her gaze dropping to the half-finished sketch. “It’s not ready.”

Agatha’s expression softened, though the playful glint in her eyes remained. “You’re such a perfectionist, Vidal. I’ll bet it’s stunning already.”

Rio hesitated, her fingers twitching toward the canvas. There was a part of her—a small, reckless part—that wanted to let Agatha see. That wanted to watch her reaction, to hear what she’d say about the way Rio had captured her in charcoal. But that same part also knew how vulnerable it would make her feel. And Agatha had a way of making vulnerability feel like a game she was destined to lose.

Agatha seemed to sense her hesitation, because she stood and stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender. “Fine. I’ll wait. But don’t think I won’t find a way to sneak a look eventually.”

Rio huffed a laugh despite herself. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” Agatha replied, her voice light but her gaze lingering just a second too long before she turned and flounced back to her bed.

That night, long after Agatha had fallen asleep, Rio sat cross-legged in the center of the room, her sketchbook balanced on her knees. She flipped through the pages, stopping at each drawing of Agatha.

There were so many. Too many. Agatha reading, laughing, gesturing with her hands as she recounted one of her outrageous stories. Each sketch was a fragment of Rio’s growing fascination—a fascination she wasn’t sure she’d ever fully understand. Finally, she stopped on the latest one. Agatha’s face, her smile just shy of wicked, her eyes glinting with something Rio could only describe as dangerous.

Rio picked up her pencil and leaned closer to the page, her hand moving almost of its own accord. She hated to admit it, but Agatha had been right about one thing: she was her muse.

PART 3

Rio had just finished a sketch and was debating whether to call it a night when the door to their dorm swung open. Agatha stumbled in, cheeks flushed, her hair slightly messed as she leaned heavily against the doorframe, a bottle of something amber-coloured dangling precariously from one hand.

“Riooo, my love,” she slurred, her voice thick with alcohol and mischief.

“No,” Rio said, not even looking up from her sketchbook.

Agatha blinked, taken aback by the interruption. She wobbled a little before stepping into the room and shutting the door behind her with her foot. “Rude. I haven’t even told you what we’re doing yet.”

“I don’t need to know,” Rio replied. “The answer’s no.”

Agatha narrowed her eyes, as if deeply offended. “You’re no fun.”

"Well, some of us want to graduate.” Rio muttered, flipping the page of her sketchbook while refusing to look at her.

Agatha groaned dramatically and flopped onto Rio’s bed, half spilling onto her lap. Her sweater had slipped off one shoulder, revealing smooth, freckled skin, and her dark eyes gleamed with something both reckless and knowing. “Come on, Vidal. It’s Friday. There’s a party downstairs. I’ve got alcohol. You need alcohol.”

“I need you to stop throwing yourself onto my bed,” Rio said, attempting to nudge her off. “And go to your bed.”

Agatha ignored her, propping her chin in her hand and looking up at her with a lazy grin. “What’s wrong? Scared you might have fun for once?”

Rio sighed, putting her charcoal down. “I’m scared you’ll get us kicked out of this dorm because you decide to drunkenly yell at the RA again.”

“That happened one time,” Agatha said, rolling her eyes. She tilted her head, letting her hair fall artfully over one shoulder. “Don’t you ever get tired of sitting here with your little pencils, sketching away while the rest of the world is having a good time?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I am tired of watching you do it; I can see you slowly turning into a hermit,” Agatha declared, sitting up and grabbing Rio’s hand. “Up. You’re coming with me.”

Rio started to protest, but Agatha pulled her to her feet with surprising strength for someone so tipsy.

“Agatha—”

“Nope. No excuses,” Agatha said, cutting her off. Her grin widened as she tugged Rio toward the door. “Atta girl, You’re not hiding in this room all night, my love. I won’t allow it.”

The party was in full swing by the time they arrived, the dorm basement vibrating with music and packed with bodies. Strings of cheap fairy lights flickered over the crowd, and the smell of beer and cheap perfume hung heavy in the air.

Agatha weaved through the crowd like she owned the place, still clutching Rio’s hand. She stole two red cups from a nearby table, handing one into Rio’s hand. “Drink. Loosen up.”

Rio grimaced at the cup. “I don’t even know what’s in this.”

“Exactly!” Agatha said, already halfway through her own drink.

Rio took a tentative sip and immediately winced. It was sugary and strong—the kind of mix that promised a headache in the morning.

“God, that’s terrible.” she muttered.

“Terrible but effective,” Agatha said, stepping closer. Her voice dropped to a teasing murmur. “Unless you’re afraid you can’t handle it.”

Rio narrowed her eyes. “I can handle it just fine.”

“Prove it,” Agatha said, raising her cup in a mock toast.

Rio huffed but downed the drink, the alcohol buzzing warmly in her chest as Agatha watched with an infuriatingly smug grin.

A few drinks later, Rio found herself on the edge of the dance floor, swaying awkwardly as Agatha pulled her closer.

“Relax, Vidal,” Agatha said, her hands on Rio’s shoulders, her voice thick with amusement and drink. “It’s just dancing.”

“I don’t dance,” Rio muttered.

Agatha laughed, her breath warm against Rio’s ear. “You’re doing it right now, darling.”

Rio rolled her eyes, but her heart was racing. The alcohol made everything feel fuzzier—lighter—but Agatha’s proximity made her feel like she was on fire.

“See?” Agatha said, her hands sliding down to Rio’s waist as they moved to the music. “You’re not bad at this.”

“That’s just you,” Rio managed, her voice embarrassingly breathless.

Agatha grinned, leaning in closer. Her dark eyes sparkled under the dim lights, and the scent of her lavender perfume mixed with the alcohol on her breath. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” Rio said, her cheeks blazing.

“Liar,” Agatha whispered, her lips barely brushing Rio’s ear.

Rio swallowed hard, her mind spinning. Agatha’s teasing was relentless—the way her hands lingered on her waist, the way her voice dipped into something almost intimate.

“Do you always stare this much?” Agatha asked, her grin turning sly. “Or is it just me?”

“I’m not—”

“Well… You are.” Agatha interrupted, her voice soft but insistent.

Rio’s hands fidgeted at her sides. The alcohol was making her bolder, but she still felt out of her depth—her first time this close to another woman, to someone like Agatha, who radiated confidence even when drunk.

“I…” Rio started, but her voice trailed off.

Agatha tilted her head, studying her with a faint smirk. “What, Vidal? Cat got your tongue?”

Rio couldn’t take it anymore. Without thinking, she leaned in and kissed her.

It was clumsy and unsure, a burst of confidence fuelled by frustration and alcohol. Agatha froze for a fraction of a second, and Rio immediately panicked, starting to pull back.

But then Agatha’s hands tightened on her waist, pulling her closer as she kissed her back. This time it was deliberate, confident, with that same teasing edge Agatha brought to everything.

When they broke apart, Rio’s face was on fire. "I—uh—I didn’t mean—”

Agatha laughed softly, her forehead resting against Rio’s. “Relax, Vidal. It’s not the end of the world.”

Rio groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

“Oh, believe it,” Agatha said, smirking as she tugged Rio’s hands away from her face. Her expression softened—just slightly—and her voice dropped. “For the record, not bad.”

Rio blinked, her heart still racing. “Really?”

Agatha chuckled, stepping back and taking Rio’s hand again. “Come on, let’s get out of here before you combust.”

They left the party together, the cool night air hitting them like a splash of water. As they stumbled back to their dorm, Agatha glanced over at Rio with a smile that was almost genuine. “Not bad at all,” she murmured.

By the time they reached their dorm, the buzz was wearing off, replaced by a different kind of dizziness. Agatha let go of Rio’s hand to fumble for her key, her smirk still firmly in place.

“Stop hovering,” Agatha teased, shooting Rio a sideways glance as she finally unlocked the door.

“I’m not hovering,” Rio muttered, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets and refusing to meet Agatha’s gaze.

“Sure, darling,” Agatha said, stepping inside and flicking on the light. She turned, leaning against the doorframe, her eyes raking over Rio with a dangerous kind of amusement. “You’re very convincing.”

Rio froze in the doorway, every nerve in her body on high alert. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Agatha asked innocently, tilting her head.

“Like you’re—” Rio faltered, the words catching in her throat.

“Like I’m about to kiss you again?” Agatha finished for her, her voice low and teasing. She took a slow step forward, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Or are you planning to surprise me again?”

Rio’s cheeks burnt, and she stammered, "I wasn't—"

Agatha’s laugh was soft but rich, and this time it lacked some of its usual edge. “Relax, Vidal. You’re so wound up. It’s kind of adorable.”

Rio crossed her arms, trying desperately to regain her composure. “You- You can’t just say stuff like that and act like it doesn’t mean anything.”

Agatha’s smirk faltered—just barely, but Rio caught it. For a moment, the tension between them hung heavy in the air, charged and uncertain. Then Agatha sighed, stepping back and flopping onto her bed.

“Maybe it doesn’t,” she said, her tone quieter but still playful. She glanced at Rio, her expression unreadable. “Or maybe it does. What do you think?”

Rio hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor. The weight of the night—the drinks, the dancing, the kiss—pressed down on her. She didn’t know what to think, let alone what to say.

Agatha seemed to sense her turmoil because she rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand. Her smirk returned, softer this time. “Don’t overthink it, Vidal. You’re cute when you’re awkward, but you’ll give yourself a headache.”

Rio let out a shaky laugh, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, you kissed me,” Agatha countered, her grin widening.

Rio groaned, covering her face with her hands as she mumbled, “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Not a chance,” Agatha said, her voice warm with laughter.

For a moment, silence settled over them, broken only by the hum of the desk lamp and the faint sounds of music still drifting up from the party downstairs. Rio finally dropped her hands, glancing at Agatha, who was watching her with that same maddeningly unreadable expression.

“Goodnight, Harkness,” Rio said, retreating to her bed and pulling the blanket over herself in one swift motion.

Agatha chuckled, leaning back against her pillows. “Goodnight, Vidal.”

As Rio closed her eyes, she could still feel the ghost of Agatha’s lips on hers, the scent of lavender lingering in the air. She told herself she’d deal with it tomorrow and figure out what it all meant, or maybe pretend it hadn’t happened at all, but deep down, she knew Agatha wouldn’t let her forget.

[actualyves]

(Bringing this over from my Twitter because I’m always thinking about Benson ThePassenger.)

I fully do NOT believe that in his day-to-day life Benson would be aggressive and overbearing and generally, overwhelmingly angry. We see him smiling and laughing and expressing himself through fun clothes and silly body language, and that’s on an arguably extraordinarily, unusually horrific day. And that’s not to say that killing four people is something that a non-angry person does.

Looking at his reasoning behind his treatment of Randy, it seems obvious -to me at least- that this is a man who has never seen or experienced a healthy representation of love. His “don’t make me hurt you when I’m trying to help you” approach to Randy feels like the kind of “tough love” (read: abuse) that would lead someone to internalize violence as an acceptable form of expression. And if the people who loved you were violent toward you, then naturally that would be the case. And if we look at Benson through a queer lens, it would be even easier to think anything seen as “gay” would’ve attempted to have been removed from him with force.

Benson had a traumatic childhood leading to a traumatized adulthood. And while he maybe couldn’t quite see the forest for the trees in how heavily that had influenced his worldview, he could see Randy set up to go down the same path. And so he, angrily, tried to protect him and help him in the only way he knew how.

And then there’s Randy himself. Benson’s love was violence, and Randy’s was submission. This is an adult man whose mom counts the number of rings until he answers the phone and picks out his clothes ffs. We know that timidity isn’t his default setting, because we see him genuinely happy in the last scene. Benson and Randy were both capable of joy and silliness and love, but neither had been shown a healthy way to express affection (platonic or romantic) toward another person.

Even if only as coworkers, Randy and Benson cared about one another, and it became all the more obvious toward the end. The tragedy of it all was that they were both capable of feeling sincerely and genuinely for others, but they didn’t know how to express it. And by the end, Benson had figured that out. Not only that, but he knew it was over for him. So in a final, violent act of love, he sacrificed himself. Benson’s violent, loud love showed Randy not only how cared for he was but how not to express his love for others. And at the end we not only see Randy the best we’ve ever seen him, but we see him acknowledging Benson’s sacrifice in the form of the plushes gifted to Ms. Beard’s daughter -a healthy act of love- and the coat draped over his arm.

Benson and Randy were both soft-spoken, traumatized children trying to navigate adulthood. They could have been the best thing in the world for one another if they’d had a chance to realize how much they could’ve balanced one another out and brought out each others’s strengths. They were more similar than they realized until it was too late.

(And I know he’s not really supposed to be a relatable character, but as a victim of CSA whose PTSD didn’t kick in until adulthood when I realized how heavily it had impacted and stunted me interpersonally, Benson is a deeply important character to me.)

Anyway, The Passenger (2023) is a horror/thriller but also a tragedy.