#and like. if I was someone else I might be able to write it in a different medium in a satisfactory way

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 09

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending, but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind, and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

NOAH

If that punching bag could speak, it would beg for mercy. Sweat heated my skin, and with every punch against the rubbery surface, an overstrained grunt sliced through the air.

"I think that's enough for today, Noah," someone said from a distance, but my focus was locked on the back-and-forth motion of my clenched fists, ignoring how they throbbed painfully with each strike.

This was the only way to unload everything consuming me without smashing my head into some random passerby while walking down the street.

The past few days couldn’t have been more hellish. I couldn’t write, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, and all I was left with was being forced to see that woman at every rehearsal and act like she didn’t exist.

Impossible when she was everywhere.

"I just said it seems like enough for today, Noah!" The same voice broke the short space between me and the punching bag as it pulled me away from it. "What the hell is wrong with you today? You seem like you're on another planet!"

The trainer stood in front of me, arms crossed, while I slid down the wall until I sat on the floor. My chest heaved uncontrollably as I stared at his calves through the strands of sweat-soaked hair hanging over my face.

Training at night was good; I liked the empty gym, especially when I used it as an escape.

"My head's full of crap, that's all," I spat, removing the wraps around my fists.

"Anything I can help with?"

"Only if you can hit me hard enough to induce permanent amnesia," I tried to joke, but my voice came out more morbid than anything else.

"Actually... I might be able to do that!" The tall, bald man with bulging veins on his temples shrugged. "But forgetting, even temporarily, won't make your crap disappear."

"And who said I want anything resolved? The sooner everything goes to hell, the better."

I definitely didn’t mean to be so harsh, but it came out automatically, and he should ignore it. My good moods were so rare that, to him, this probably felt like just another normal day.

"It might be a relief for a while, but the body reacts differently than your mind. Even if your mind didn’t remember anything, you'd live with the feeling that something’s missing every time it relives memories, habits, interests, and tastes," he added. "Like when you touch an object and your body reacts instantly, or when you visit a place and your insides speak for themselves."

What utter nonsense, for God’s sake.

"Got it," I said, giving him a thumbs-up with a straight smile, as if that load of crap actually made sense.

"Fine, fine, call me crazy, Mr. Know-It-All!" He rolled his eyes, turning his back. My gaze swept the room, watching as he picked up gloves and bags scattered on the floor, placing them on the shelves.

Leaving the gym, I regretted not grabbing a jacket earlier as the wind hit me on the street. Walking to the parking lot, I unlocked the car with a click, and before getting in, I heard a brief cluster of voices in the distance. Turning around, I saw a group of four girls bundled up in band hoodies, phones in hand.

I couldn’t explain why, but a discomfort seemed to envelop me as they approached, realizing I wasn’t about to flee.

“Noah, would you mind taking a picture with us?” asked the tallest girl, her short hair tucked behind her ears.

Well, maybe there was no harm in that.

“Of course! Let’s do it!” I forced a brief smile as they gathered around me.

A guy passing through the parking lot helped take the photo, and I held the smile until he finished.

“Thank you so much, Noah. I hope you’re doing okay!” said another girl with colorful streaks in her hair, stepping aside.

“I am, thanks for asking.”

I just wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

It wasn’t that I hated my fans or anything. In fact, I’d always been able to separate those who genuinely appreciated the band’s work respectfully from those who felt entitled to my personal life, as if it didn’t belong to me or as if I wasn’t an adult capable of handling my own decisions.

But I couldn’t deny that most of the time, I wished to be a voice without a face. I loved writing music, I loved singing, and I never doubted it was for me since the first time I did it. I just wasn’t so sure that back then, I’d also wanted everything that came with it.

The way I felt uneasy in most recent social interactions made it clear how I felt.

“We just wanted to let you know that no matter what happened, we’re on your side. Always!” she emphasized, and my brows furrowed as my expression darkened.

“What are you talking about?”

“It was on a news channel—speculations that the Bad Omens vocalist’s overdose was her ex-boyfriend’s fault.” The information came with a phone placed in my hand. “They dug up videos of you two arguing at the festival, and now they’re blaming you.”

“They’re piecing together moments from shows where things seemed tense and comparing how she’s been since your breakup,” added a redheaded girl, taking the phone from my hand. “But we’re rallying in your defense. We know she was always the problem, and we won’t let her fans drag your name like that.”

Every misfortune seemed to fall short of what I deserved.

“Look, I’m sure you all have better things to do than worry about this,” I assured them, stepping back closer to the car. “I don’t need lawyers for the internet court. Take care.”

With a final fake smile, my eyes narrowed as I turned my back on them and got in the car. Before starting the engine, I still caught one last complaint.

“It’s incredible how he defends that girl even in the middle of this circus. I don’t understand what the hell she has!” she fumed, stomping her feet and crossing her arms.

That was an excellent question.

I was far too focused on the traffic, humming Sicko Mode by Travis Scott, tapping my fingers to the beat on the steering wheel. I couldn’t help swaying in a little dance as if nothing was wrong. The sunlight was strong, so I pulled my sunglasses from my hair to better see the road.

For a fleeting moment of distraction, I glanced in the rearview mirror, and a chilling sensation washed over me for no reason. Behind my car, a dark-windowed SUV waited at the same red light. There was no reason for concern—I knew cars like that were common around here.

But the unease grew, gnawing at me, as I decided to test my suspicion when the light turned green. Casually, I turned the first corner to shake it off, but it didn’t take long for the driver of the SUV to appear on the narrow street, blatantly trailing me.

I pressed the gas pedal moderately, and the bastard matched my pace. He didn’t seem intent on cutting me off, maintaining a safe distance—just enough to let me know he was there, aiming to unsettle me.

I tried to keep control, ignoring my sweaty hands gripping the steering wheel, my gaze fixed on the mirror. Accelerating down the second avenue, I ran a red light, weaving through the crossing traffic to shake the pursuer, my pulse racing in rhythm with the car’s speed.

No time to think. I veered sharply into the opposite lane, narrowly avoiding a collision with another vehicle that slammed on its brakes. The blaring horn couldn’t even dampen the sinister adrenaline coursing through my veins, heating my blood alongside my labored breathing.

I yanked the wheel, swerving into the first open alley I spotted, slowing just enough to notice the SUV caught in the chaos I’d caused at the intersection, freezing the traffic behind it.

But what the hell was that?

After another meeting in the office, everyone was ready to leave. I was really determined to keep my promise when I said she had died to me yesterday.

Today, I only thought about her three thousand times.

When I passed through the door, I saw that she was right behind me, and it was incredible how every time things were tense between us, she somehow managed to look six times more stunning, as if just to provoke me.

The funniest part was that she didn’t have to try very hard to do it.

“Are you okay?” My steps instinctively halted when I heard her voice. “You seemed agitated when you got to the meeting, and…”

If I were speaking to her, I would’ve surely said that a big part of my irritation came from people spreading lies about us online again and some lunatic racing me on the road just a few minutes earlier.

“I really wanted to talk to you about something,” she insisted, gently touching my back, which I quickly pulled away from. Her fingers carried electricity, and just the slightest contact with my skin was enough to turn my brain into useless mush.

But I wasn’t about to break the silence game.

“Noah?” Gerard poked his head out of the room, interrupting the moment. “Can I talk to you?”

“Sure.”

Relieved, I exhaled deeply, keeping my back turned to her as I walked into the room. I hated the smell of cigars and strong alcohol that filled the place, and I couldn’t stop glaring disgustedly at the leather furniture, worried the scent would stick to me.

“Just seeing the number of attendees in today’s meeting told me your conversation didn’t go well, did it?”

“Did you call me here to talk about work, or are you looking to catch up on gossip? I’m sure any website could keep you more updated than I could,” I retorted as I slouched in the chair, legs spread, letting my head fall to the side.

Fortunately, I wasn’t very expressive.

“I called you because I care about you two, and of course, this news shook me—not just because it’s a sad decision coming from someone young like her…” Gerard paused dramatically, and I raised a single eyebrow. “But because I’m worried about you in all of this.”

Fascinating.

“It happened exactly as I imagined. There’s no way she could’ve handled another wave of hate after all these months being labeled as problematic. Noah, I knew she’d eventually find a way to drag you into it, to share the blame!”

“I don’t follow the news, so I’m out of the loop,” I lied shamelessly.

“So you haven’t noticed she hasn’t defended you or denied anything being said about you? Noah…” He took a deep breath, clasping his hands with a thick gold ring on his ring finger over the messy desk. “I’ve been your age, and I know what love does to people, especially when it’s one-sided.”

Nothing annoyed me more than people circling endlessly around a topic instead of just saying it outright. We weren’t at a lecture or a sermon, and outside this place, dragging things out made no sense.

It was impossible not to stare at him with more disinterest as I rested my hand on my chin.

“I know you probably think this is all nonsense, but I can’t let you forget what happened the last time an issue between you two crossed personal boundaries and hurt the band,” he stressed, drawing a line on the desk. “I took the hit, and you… well, no need to comment—just search your name online.”

“Every day revisiting the same topic. Don’t you have a new, important agenda to make my visit worthwhile?”

“This will remain the topic until you stop behaving like you’re ready to throw it all away for that disturbed girl again!” He finally bared his claws. “Are you going to tell me you didn’t, even for a second, think it was betrayal for her to throw you to the wolves and save her own skin?”

I’d reached my limit for the day, clearing my throat into my fist before standing and stretching my back. Slowly, I leaned over the desk, bringing my face close to his while locking eyes and moistening my lips with my tongue.

“Gerard, dear…” I whispered so softly it almost sounded like a song. “You can take my band, my money, my rights, my songs, even the damn socks I sell. But my personal life? That’s still none of your damn business!”

“It becomes my business when she manipulates every thought in your head and keeps you from doing your job!”

“As you’ve noticed, we’re no longer together. She made her choice yesterday, and now our relationship is purely professional. I couldn’t care less about what she does from now on, as long as it means she sings properly and does her job!” I declared. “Now, please stop bothering me with things that aren’t my responsibility or interest. I’ll keep ensuring my part is done.”

A strangely triumphant smile formed on his lips, and I watched as Gerard nodded slowly.

“Perfect!” he exclaimed, giving two light pats to my cheek. “I knew I could count on you!”

Breathing outside that room again felt like being reborn, if such a thing was possible. The entire way out of the office, I tried to push his words out of my head, though they carried a shred of truth.

I couldn’t forget that when everything fell on her shoulders, I had the same reaction, if not worse, staying silent, waiting for the chaos to subside. But it never did, and now it made sense for her to use a winning hand against me.

She knew I couldn’t do anything on my own, and that gave her free rein to do whatever she wanted. But it was undeniable how bitter it tasted to feel like a stepping stone for her unstable ego.

Outside, I paused at the entrance as rain washed over the dry, empty streets of the city. It wasn’t heavy, but the few drops that hit my face were cold and powerful enough to conjure a mirage before my eyes.

Ahead on the road, there was nothing but trees past the shoulder. In the middle of the asphalt, two people—a couple—smiled as they ran, chasing each other like there was no fear of tomorrow. They danced even without music, and it seemed like the first time the boy had ever felt truly happy about something. He looked free.

Shaking my head to push away the revisited memory, I headed toward the studio, which wasn’t far. Outside, amid the laughter and the sound of guitar riffs, there she was, her voice like a spell capable of putting me in an automatic trance every time I heard it.

Passing through the gate slowly, I walked toward the back of the vast yard. She and my friends were gathered, Jolly and she doing a duet—more precisely, a cover of Decode. Even as they seemed to be having fun, she didn’t go off-key once.

The raspiness of her voice, the beginnings of delirium watching her sit there smiling between verses on a bench with the microphone in hand—it took me back to the bar’s back room, watching her sing in absolute silence. There was no technique, no production, no effect—nothing could compete with the absurd talent I desperately wished the world would know.

The same place where I first saw her and swore I’d never seen anything like it, the same place where I fell hopelessly in love with the insane woman who had a desperation for life, for proving how free she was, enough to infect me with the same poison.

I hated her.

I hated her so much.

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lma1986 ; @chey-h ;

[elainemg97]

🦋Elain x Azriel as Erika and Dominick from Barbie as Princess and the Pauper🦋

“Could I be the one you’re seeking?

Will I be the one you choose?

Can you tell my heart is speaking?

My eyes will give you clues.

What you see may be deceiving.

Truth lies underneath the skin.

Hope will blossom by believing,

The heart that lies within.”

🦋

LOL this is such a long-overdue Halloween art piece, but I finally finished it! I feel like Elriel parallel Erika and Dominick so well. Dominick first met Erika while she was disguised as Annelise, yet he still saw her true self beneath the facade. Similarly, Elain often hides behind a “disguise,” rarely revealing her true self to others. But when she feels safe and comfortable, her real personality shines—like how she was able to open up and talk to Az all night about her hobbies and passions. She was also bold enough to initiate their almost-kiss in the bonus chapter. Their ability to communicate through a simple gaze also speaks volumes about the deep understanding they share. ❤️

.

Crack theory: Another reason I wanted to show Elriel as this couple is because when Az met Elain, she was someone else’s fiancée—or someone else’s mate. Yet, deep down, Az might sense that Elain could be his true mate. This could explain why he feels such a fierce, almost instinctive protectiveness toward her. He also exhibits many of the classic “mate-like” behaviors that Sarah J. Maas writes, which are hard to overlook. Could Elain truly be his soul mate? Aka, could Az see the truth beneath the facade of the fake bond?

[respectthepetty]

Do you think people can change colors with time? Like entirely?

Do I think characters can change colors?

I've written about this before and my thoughts were that a character's color may evolve, but I'm hesitate to write that a character's color changes.

My take is that a character can hide his color or the color will emerge as the story progresses, but I don't think a character can simply change his color. For example, Elyes in my Wattpad BL, Bad Guy My Boss, started the series so dark that he was black.

But he has lightened up throughout the series.

He didn't go from a Black Brooder to a Blue Boy because he is still dark. He is just lighter than before even though his face might not always show it.

This was the same evolution Jane from The Trainee went through since he started the show such a dark blue that it came across as black.

But by the end, he lightened up.

But for Jack from Jack & Joker, it's been the opposite.

He got darker.

But the blue is still there.

In 7 Days Before Valentine, Sun finally realized he was a horrible person and changed for the better while Q came to terms with what was haunting him.

So they didn't flip colors, but helped each other evolve by learning to balance the good with the bad.

And the lesson of balance is something Black Brooder Haoran learned in Happy of the End. He wasn't going to change everything about himself because his traumatic past happened to him, but he was able to realize he could add color and happiness to his life moving forward.

In the first post when I wrote about the evolution of a color, I used Aoki from the Japanese version of My Love Mix-Up as an example of a color emerging over time since he moved from cream to yellow to orange

But even in the Thai version of My Love Mix-Up, Kongthap and Atom were a Blue Boy and Orange Oddity.

They combined their colors.

Then turned them into green when Atom was still trying to figure out his color since he went through the same evolution as his Japanese counterpart (yellow -> orange).

And they ended the series in brown.

Their color is still part of their couple colors, but they have blended them together because a character's true color will always be present like Johan from Fourever You.

He comes across as a Brown Boy.

But it's just because he doesn't want to show his Red Rascal-ness.

Even in The Loyal Pin where I think Blue Beauty Anin wears green when sad or life gets rough,

She is still blue.

And always has been.

So even though I have never watched nor played Pokemon and understand absolutely nothing about it, I think of a character's color like a Pokemon evolution. Things might change, but at their core, they are the same.

And that's part of the reason I like colors so much because they are philosophical in a sense. We can transform ourselves, but our core remains the same. We shouldn't want to change everything about ourselves, but we should want to be lighter. We shouldn't completely give up who we are for someone else, but should instead blend our lives with someone else's. We should strive for balance not extremism. We should be like Pokemon.

We should evolve.

[sophsicle]

it is not merely a question of whether or not we have learned to analyze in particular kinds of ways, or whether people are able to intellectualize about a variety of experiences. It is also about coming to believe in the possibility of a variety of experiences, a variety of ways of understanding the world, a variety of frameworks of operation, without imposing consciously or unconsciously a notion of norm - Elsa Barkley Brown

[thevalkyriewarrior]

I hate the feeling of not being broken enough.

Of feeling like there's always going to be someone else who needs attention and comfort more than you

That you're less important because you're holding yourself together better

[jonathanbyersphd]

I need all 3 of u that are invested to know I've spent the rest of the day thinking about that Jancy Emma AU and how I would formulate it

[greedbent]

Maybe this was proof, then: that the pair of them weren’t entirely proper with their means of handling what the great majority of humanity feared most. (Not that Kaz could blame them; he often wondered if it was so much death itself that was so unsavory, or simply the idea of running out of time—of not being able to do the things you’d set out to do.) Though he’d been the one to crack a smile as if they discussed little more than this morning’s weather, it was Baizhu who went a step further . . . and when a sudden laugh burst from his chest, Kaz regretted that he actually jumped.

His hands tightened on his cane before it managed to slip, and some juvenile part of him was pleased that the fit (a laughing kind, as opposed to the usual coughing) likely kept his company distracted in the meantime. Both against that sorry little fright, and the way Kaz found himself staring, because . . . well, damn it all. As if it wasn’t already clear as day that the doctor had a way of catching Kaz off-guard, here was another example for the ledger. And he might as well be writing this all in his own blood, for pity’s sake.

It took him longer than it should have. Again, Baizhu’s chiming giggles plucked at a strange string within him—a stitch somewhere Kaz had forgotten existed—and before he might’ve had the opportunity to piece together just what was so outstandingly hilarious about their conversation . . . Baizhu beat him to the chase.

Something—or someone—came back, then, for the barest of moments. He knew what it was. He knew who it was. And he knew, with those convictions in mind, why his face heated just slightly, why he felt a lump in his throat and had to forcibly swallow, why a restlessness reawakened in the fidgeting of his fingers. And he knew why he had to bury it back down as efficiently as possible.

“I just prefer not having to perform a summoning ritual on your lost soul next time I need you,” Kaz supplied, and though he shrugged as if uncaring toward this all, that little smirk came back. “I find ghosts difficult to work with.” He, too, turned his gaze to meet Baizhu’s—and likely another nail in his own coffin, ironically; the man was looking at him with a new and unbridled earnestness that threatened to bring back what Kaz had just pushed down.

Though, distantly, he had to question whether pushing it down just meant holing it up in that part of himself where Baizhu had already burrowed.

Kaz himself couldn’t help a quiet chuckle as he looked away. “I wouldn’t expect you to. It doesn’t fit your nature to give up on anything,” he said, pausing only briefly before adding, “or anyone.” It was clear exactly who “anyone” meant here. Kaz didn’t waste his breath elaborating. It was becoming more and more evident he never needed to with Baizhu.

When that final playful remark hit him, it had a surprisingly opposite effect to most everything else, sobering the humor on Kaz’s face right up. He cocked his head to peer back. “We’d manage, but have a much more difficult time of it,” Kaz admitted. “There’s no one else quite like you.”

Of all the times for Kaz to crack a smile, it would be during such depressing talk of death, wouldn't it?

Baizhu loathed these conversations with his patients. He hated admitting defeat to such cruel realities: acknowledging the mortality of mankind to someone who was suffering the most for it; acknowledging that he couldn't save everyone no matter how deeply he wanted to.

Death was the ultimate insult. Merely speaking of it sickened him worse than the "disease" that would bring his own death to pass.

But in this moment? Perhaps it was that rare, would-be out-of-place curve upon the other's lips that helped Baizhu stomach it. An even rarer sentiment straight from Kaz's heart certainly did a number on the doctor's own, and Baizhu soon found himself mirroring the expression. He had the good grace not to dwell on the admission, however, merely listening to the other's stance on such a hopeless situation.

It was relieving to hear that his assumptions had been correct. But in an extraordinary turn, his jest about his own "value" actually seemed to strike a nerve. Baizhu's countenance sobered as he caught the signs, his brows raising expectantly (or, dare he say, hopefully) at the halting beginnings of a rebuttal. And it was a rebuttal—but in a manner so absurd that he would never have expected it from Kaz of all people.

Your time won't come soon. Oh? Is that so?

Baizhu had no control over the shocked laughter that burst from his chest. "Is that what it means to be one of Kaz Brekker's investments? I'm not even allowed to die without your permission?" Wasn't that a delightful notion? For someone so rational to state such a thing as if it were a decision Kaz himself could make...

Though it was much too late to hide it now, he did make a futile attempt to stifle his giggles behind a hand over his mouth. Still, there was no hiding the mirth crinkling around golden eyes. All at once the heavy weight of this conversation eased from his shoulders. He was far too amused and flattered to leave room for anything else.

"I'll take it as a compliment," he assured before his laughter could be misconstrued. Taking a moment to compose himself, Baizhu's smile softened. "You've already done a great deal to help; I couldn't possibly ask more of you. Besides, what happened to 'only playing the game when you know the outcome,' hm?"

He shook his head, but there was a distinct warmth in his voice, "I appreciate your eagerness—truly, I do." And he lingered on that sentiment for a moment, earnestness passing in the lock of their eyes. "But I'm sure I don't need to tell you that an illness like mine isn't an opponent that can be predicted, much less controlled. Even I can't say for certain when it will finally run its course." Not even Changsheng knew that answer, as infuriating as it was.

"But don't worry; I don't intend to go quietly." Baizhu had long ago resolved that death would have to drag him away kicking and screaming. "I don't care for leaving things unfinished, either; I have plenty of my own reasons to fight for every moment I can get." Soon enough, that glint of cheekiness returned to his gaze. "Not to mention that I shudder to think of what you and your Crows would do without me."

[cornelianlute]

.

[umanta]

i am possibly selling out by attempting to write things on linkedin for money

[vaguely-annoyed]

sometimes i remember i purposefully wrote "you've come to be / the plums outside / my window in the summer," for a friend i was in love with. the relationship didn't last much longer after that, and he doesn't know my plum tree hasn't given fruit in years

[hopetune]

She finds a pen somewhere on the piano and begins transcribing Furina's hums, eyes occasionally shifting upward to the starless sky. Robin had anticipated another surrender of another heart, but this turn of events was something she'd happily accept. A small smile begins to stretch across her face. "It's a great start. I do like what Mr. Kaveh mentioned about the stars—if we arpeggiate the notes it could sound like soft twinkling... perhaps it could comfort her."

The composition is finished after a few more moments, and Robin gently slides the sheets onto the piano's music shelf. The girl startles at this, looking around for who might have given it to her. Then, she sets her fingers down onto the piano and begins plucking away at the keys. Her technique is solid—each measure is played with precision, though it's just that. Precise, technical. There is none of the emotional nuance of the composition. When the performance finishes, the girl is quiet for a moment before speaking up:

“Is someone there? Did you write this? It’s very good, I… hope I played it well for you.”

Robin doesn't know if this girl will hear her but she speaks anyway. "We did. We wrote it just for you. You played wonderfully, but... there's a lot of tension in your fingers"

The girl evidently does not hear her, as the girls before her were unable to hear. 

Furina speaks up. "It appears we cannot cure her of her affliction. Her playing..." she shakes her head. "There's none of the emotion we were hoping for in this piece."

Of course two seasoned performers would take notice. Robin frowns. "Indeed. Maybe Alor was right. Perhaps there's nothing else we can do aside from offer our heart."

But she still wants to try. At least the girl seems to be able to read what they write. So she picks up the pen and quickly writes on the music sheet: 'Good technique. But can you try playing this piece while looking back on a memory you have? It can be sad or happy.'

The girl blinks at the writing that appears. “A memory… ” she repeats, before closing her eyes and playing a few measures. After a while, she stops, shaking her head. “If i distract myself with a memory, I miss notes… my teacher always tells me that the notes are more important than what they mean. ”

Robin writes again: 'Perfection isn't everything. A song is always meant to carry the emotions of whoever is performing it. Please, try letting go of that notion, even for a few measures, and see what difference that makes.'

Beside her, she hears Furina comment. "Goodness, well that's the heart of the problem then."

Robin looks at Furina with a sad but agreeing nod. "Some teachers are no good at all…" she looks back at the sheet music, "Ah, is there anything else we can tell her?"

"Tell her that her teacher isn't here anyway." Furina says, "Who's it going to hurt?"

Robin smiles slightly at this. She's right: who's it going to hurt? "That's a good point." Then she writes another line in the sheet music. 'Your teacher isn't here right now. It wouldn't hurt to try, would it?'

The girl is hesitant at first. "But…” eventually, she plays once more. The feeling is more apparent, though not in the explosive, raw, visceral way that it usually is. This seemed more like a whisper of that emotion, the effort to reach for the stars as opposed to the stars itself. Still, Robin finds it to be a good improvement.

The girl stops after a few more measures, face tight and doubtful. "Was that… did I..?"

"Just like that," she hears Furina say. "Technique can be learned, but feeling can't. And that's what separates art from mere replicative craft. Any meka can plunk out notes on a piano. but only a feeling heart can play."

Robin claps her hands together, smiling. "You've put it aptly, Miss Furina. This is the beauty of art... It's human." she says, before remembering again that they can't be heard. She writes: 'That was much better. How did that make you feel?'

The girls shakes her head slightly, "Like nobody would wish to hear it, if I did play that way more often. The mistakes, they… they’re all I hear. ”

The songstress feels something tug in her chest. She recalls feeling similar when she was younger, when her teachers were harsh and she had little skill. It was only through the encouragement of her brother that she was able to rise to the stage. A moon is only ever the reflection of whatever light the sun gives it. So she writes:  'I loved hearing it. So did my companions. Sometimes the mistakes are what make a song beautiful. Maybe you don't believe me now, but you'll realize this is true eventually.'

"Maybe…" the girl doesn't sound too convinced. Robin wonders if there's more she can tell her to make her feel otherwise, but it is here that she realized the upsetting truth of the matter: the girl is unable to feel anything at all, and a song is sometimes, most times, never enough to save someone. The songstress' throat feels tight, as though the jagged pieces of lilac-stained glass in her fist had lodged itself in her mouth.

Alor was right.

˚ʚ [ THREAD END ] ɞ˚

give little anguish

˚ʚ [ #GHSecondSky — week 2 ] ɞ˚

[keeps-ache]

urgh the creative block's caught me

[theirloveisgross]

.

[acorviart]

everyone should attempt an artisan craft at some point in their life because it would cut down the number of comments questioning why handmade goods like ceramics or textile craft or woodworking are so expensive

and this is an unrealistic expectation, but I think the attempt should include seeing through to the end at least one "finished" item, no matter how clumsy or lumpy your first attempts might be. like to me, there's a huge difference in perspective between attempting to learn how to crochet or throw a pot for a few days, acknowledging that it's harder than it looks and giving up, versus committing to finishing that scarf or clay pot you started and working on it for weeks while you painstakingly learn from your mistakes and grow attached to your project while also simultaneously hating it.

once you finish the latter, your perspective changes from "why does this crocheted blanket cost $200" to "holy shit I can't believe they're charging $200 for this crocheted blanket instead of $2000" because you may have known crocheting is hard, you may have easily agreed with the idea that "handmade goods take time and effort" even before attempting a craft, but now you know firsthand the absolute time sink it takes to make things. like yeah dude, that one item took you 2 months to make and probably wasn't even an ultra complex item if it was the first thing you made, now imagine attaching an hourly wage to that time to calculate the cost (and this is ignoring every nuance of the artistic element and master crafters being able to work faster/charge higher because of their years and years of experience)

anyway this rant has been motivated by a comment I saw on someone else's ceramic post asking why a mug was $60 and they understand it's handmade but $60 just seems overpriced, and bro do you know how long ceramics take to make. that mug probably took at minimum 3 weeks between how long it takes to throw the mug, dry partially, trim the mug, dry fully, bisque fire, wait a day for the kiln to cool, sand and paint and glaze, glaze fire, wait a day for the kiln to cool, take product photography of the mug, write description and list the mug online for sale, im not even including the skill needed to complete all these steps without the mug literally exploding or collapsing while also making it an appealing piece of art, aaaaaaaaaaaaa

[kirexa]

‎

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available. 

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community. 

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company? 

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists. 

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom 

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

-

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits. 

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people. 

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it. 

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.