#how related is too related is Literally a social construct

[flimsy-roost]

I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.

[manicpixieyandere]

The Genius Of Not Labeling Jinx

The Messiness Of Labels

Jinx from Arcane is known as the poster girl for borderline personality disorder, but today we wanted to talk about some of the other conditions she has symptoms of (but doesn't necessarily qualify for) and why it was smart to not label her.

Let's go over the different conditions Jinx could have:

Of course first we have BPD. Not gonna spend too much time on this one but she hits all nine of the diagnostic criteria!

Schizophrenia:

Jinx is seen to hallucinate many times in the show. She gets visual hallucinations of her family she has guilt over killing. She experiences overlays of child like drawings. She has auditory hallucinations and delusions as well.

BPD can come with hallucinations and delusions but it tends to more often be auditory hallucinations and delusions of grandeur than anything else. Schizophrenia and bipolar are the conditions more likely to cause the type of psychosis Jinx experiences.

DID/OSDD:

An argument could also be made for Jinx nearing a dissociative disorder. We haven't seen much of the show from the season two trailers, but they do seem to be hinting at Jinx embracing Powder a bit more.

It is common in BPD for the person to believe they are a completely different person than their past self. We think this is well represented in characters like Spinel from Steven Universe or Ashley Graves (Leyley) from The Coffin of Andy and Leyley. This is of course also shown in Jinx with Powder.

But Jinx and Powder's differences go a bit beyond the typical BPD self image issues. Their personalities while similar, are quite different. And instead of Powder staying purely in the past, Jinx switches between the two personalities. You can see her face change to be more soft like Powder in certain scenes. (They quite literally transform her face).

Some other differences are; Jinx is represented by pink, while Powder tends to be blue. Jinx is left handed while Powder is right handed (she uses her left to shoot, right for other stuff). Jinx is the daughter of Silco, Powder is the daughter of Vander. Both are the child of Zaun.

Jinx is of course also known to dissociate in many scenes. (As a side detail we just love how well animated the face acting is).

While Jinx fits BPD best it is also important to note that comorbidity is a real thing. While rare, all three of these conditions can be had at the same time. Personality disorders and dissociative disorders especially tend to be comorbid.

The most likely reason Jinx isn't diagnosed with anything is stigma. Giving a terrorist a mental illness may come off a demonizing. But Jinx is still loved by the neurodivergent community because her symptoms and trauma are treated with care. She's a fun relatable character. But we think another genius reason is because she's all encompassing. Saying she has BPD may make anyone who doesn't have BPD immediately think "oh, well then I won't find her relatable". But in an age where fandom likes relatability and kins the most, you cannot afford that. Instead really any neurodivergent can see themselves in her.

This is both a smart strategy but also just an accurate portrayal of how real life ends up looking. Medical conditions are technically social constructs. That's not to say they aren't real, but that they are labeled by humans. It's a list of behaviors the body or brain executes. But humans are messy! Who's to say one person is gonna nearly fit into that BPD box? Eventually you get to a point where you have someone diagnosed with 10 or so mental conditions! (Hi yes it's us, we have been diagnosed with 10). Humans were not made to fit into boxes. You see this pattern with queer identities all the time as well. The creation of microlabels has greatly helped people categorize and understand themselves, but at the end of the day the most accurate label is: you. You are you. Insert name here is Insert name here.

Thanks for listening to the ramblings of a mad Jinx kinnie. Here's to hoping season two is just as good as the first one! Still absolutely loving Jinx's new look!

[butterfly-ribbon]

something i like about mizuki and rui's interactions is that the first time he addresses her with the suffix "-kun" when he's asking about her name? but in every instance after this, he drops it even though he uses it to address /literally everyone/ (including the cis girls, he calls nene "nene-kun" for instance). makes me wonder if mizuki herself voiced her discomfort with it after explaining that she's trans to him or if he picked up on this on his own? either way, i like that he's considerate towards her even if he doesn't fully Get her...

i also love that mizuki here immediately assumes (perhaps a little unfairly towards rui even if it's understandable) that there's some narrativization on rui's end towards her which is rooted in a voyeuristic fascination in her as a person with a unique gendered experience that ties into how she's often treated as an object or an exhibit by everyone? it also makes sense in the context of her genre awareness and performativity bc mizuki is /very/ hypercognizant of tropes and the archetypes she's often forced to occupy?

it's this the expectation of herself as a source of entertainment to others. trans girls often exist in media to be ogled at and othered. she doesn't see reflections of herself in the world. she sees caricatures. so of course she'd assume tht this is what rui wants of her. of course that isn't the case, but trust is so difficult. commodification of transfemininity and transfemininity as performance being widely seen as a source of entertainment and comedy are things that are very normalized in pop culture and media… even when trans girls aren't treated as jokes, they merely exist to reinforce the femininity of cis girls as innately more authentic. this is something mizuki absolutely knows considering her genre awareness and how much she loves to engage with fiction, but i think it's also interesting that in the context of her relationship with the other girls in niigo there's this conflict taking place in terms of being the manic pixie dream girl who purposefully elevates the cis girls by setting the stage for them and helping them address their problems (she does this in carnation recollection, mirage of light, our escape for survival and many other instances) versus using them to affirm her own femininity … we see this the most with ena, but i think this is present with mafuyu too especially in the way she represents mizuki's hope.

mizuki's introduction to the other girls in person also establishes that she's very openly genre savvy and goes out of her way to point out narrative conventions of 'isekai stories' and other media tropes relating to her social situations in a way that feels very deliberate as a parallel to being cognizant of societal prejudices and gender constructs and the way they're sustained through pop culture so she has to co-opt them for her own benefit bc so much of mizu1 is about mizuki using fiction and horror stories as a medium through which she can engage with herself and the other girl but i think this is meaningful insofar as it tells us that mizuki always understood how abuse and misogyny work bc it's been her experience for her entire life… it's interesting that she's one of the few characters in the cast that's an active Anime Fan (ie, going out to try and get merch, tickets, the soundtracks, etc), but the expression around it is /very much/ like trans culture, like how a girl is engaged with things. it isn't about figures or being the ultimate oshi, she enjoys the characters, she enjoys what goes into the creation, she's engaged with how she relates to characters over them being "attractive." there's so much… about her and her genre awareness and also her social awareness… it feels very special bc very few stories go out of their way to acknowledge the fact that trans girls are usually the demographic with so much perspective on women's issues, both bc of their own lived experience and bc they feel like they /have/ to be knowledgeable to prove their own abuse and make up for the taking up so much space in women's spaces? it's motivated by internalized guilt but it's also out of a genuine desire to connect with women and womanhood … so many anime fandoms are often sustained by trans girls and that's something i always notice whenever i'm on twitter or tumblr? magical girl and idol series fan spaces are always occupied by trans girls and the same can be said for things like gundam? mizuki is the type of trans girl who's more into the former than latter but it's still important to note, and it makes me wonder how much of an overlap there is between how that works in english speaking fandoms and japanese ones? i imagine there's a big overlap, but it's still something i'm interested in seeing something more concrete about.

but yeah, the way mizuki is so invested in the process of creation and connecting with the characters very much parallels how she's the MV animator/editor for niigo and how her entire work process is predicated around having an intimate connection with ena's art, kanade's music and mafuyu's lyrics to display them in the best way possible? we know that she was creating edits for her favorite magical girls anime before she joined niigo (and she probably still does in her own time). trans girls often connecting and finding worth in things that cgirls have cast off as childish as well - "i don't need this" versus "this makes me feel like i can have the girlhood i was denied." the lesbian contingent in these spaces is also very strong. i feel that a lot of cgirls get disillusioned and have to come back and address the internalized misogyny around it. magical girls being co-opted by misogynistic otaku also makes it difficult, but it feels broadly meaningful to actually engage with magical girls and how they are genuinely made for young women and even more than that. also the editing … the AMVs and stuff and how it's about fixating on a piece and going through all the clips, closely editing … she's probably rewatched her favorite shows and episodes so often that it's easy for her to think about what she wants to go where. i imagine she would feel self conscious actually sharing her thoughts but also … we know how mizuki is so active in the nightcord chat and how much she fills the space with ena so i wouldn't be surprised. there's a side story where mizuki invites the others out to see a movie bc she doesn't want to watch it alone, she wants someone to exchange thoughts with … it feels so personally driven, this rare chance of hers to … try to show herself to others? she never wants to tell others directly, but through fiction and other things…

mizuki is also a fan of minori but not once does she identify as Anything More than that and of course idols are relevant to mizuki, bc her being Genre Aware extends to anime/manga (specifically magical girls and idols) and films (mainly horror). in the broad context of 'oshi' as a term this is important bc mizuki likes her and thinks she's cool and admires her, but she sees idols as ppl ... she sees girls as ppl.

i also think about mizuki and "loneliness" here in the context of transmisogyny as a system to isolate transfems, to deny them safety and community and solidarity in order to enable everyone else treating them like disposable sex dolls. many ppl will pretend that the idea of transfems being uniquely threatening or predatory is something that came from genuine concerns about sexual safety (especially terfs with their "concerns" about "males in women's spaces") when the truth is that it's a deliberate campaign to convince ppl that transfems don't deserve to be treated as human beings, never mind women, they're degendered objects (aka second class women). ppl aren't /born/ believing that transfems are more dangerous than cis men; nobody independently arrives at this train of thought as much as they're conditioned into it by the patriarchy in order to do their part in maintaining the exploitation of transfems as scapegoats for the sins of cis men even if they're not conscious of it. this just makes them gullible agents of the system.

a huge difference between how 'average' misogyny & transmisogyny operate is isolation. if you're a cis woman who's the subject of constant misogyny, it's still possible to find community within cis women. transmisogynistic oppression goes unnamed, isn't shared by any peers bc transfems rarely know other transfems growing up, and is never called out by anyone even adults. it's true that all systemic violence masquarades as personal violence, but i think this goes doubly so for transmisogyny especially bc the 'mainstream' understanding of transmisogyny even in queer spaces is that it doesn't exist as long as you use a trans woman's correct pronouns or recognize them as women (and even then ppl will always make excuses when they're called out for using they/them and it's not even called transmisogyny; it's just transphobia).

when trans women exist around others they're either reduced to sex objects/freaks or mothers/manic pixie dream girls who take on the brunt of emotional labor in social dynamics, and i think all of this informs mizuki's idea of loneliness here? rui may be well intentioned, but there's an inherent power imbalance between them as a cis guy and a trans girl (even though she's pretransition, it doesn't change this) that contextualizes their isolation and this is something mizuki is obviously bitter about… it's true that her family is supportive and gives her refuge in the form of her own room to retreat back to when the world is too cruel to her, but this is simply not enough when the goal of transmisogyny as an oppressive systemic force is to erase transfems like her from public spaces, which in some part also explains why mizuki feels so insecure about her coping mechanism being avoidance and running away bc it probably feels like she's letting transmisogyny 'win', so to speak? despite how much we see her being treated like an object and an exhibit in incredibly dehumanizing ways as well as all the microaggressions from so many ppl (even the ones who care about her like an and rui) we never see any teachers standing up for her? all they care about is getting her to attend enough so she doesn't have to repeat a year and such, which reads more like they're doing bc it's inconvenient for /themselves/ otherwise to have to deal with her more if she's held back a year. the fact that she tells rui that she hopes he can find friends that he has more in common with than just solitude in response to him trying to tell her that being lonely isn't all that bad is so loaded bc rui is a cis boy, so there's no way he understands the kind of isolation she's had to endure and the fact that he's able to speak positively about isolation understandably makes her bitter for these reasons.

mizuki joking about 'losing' to rui at making friends even though she has "better communication skills" when by that she means that due to her lived experience as a transfem she's had to become very hypercognizant of social norms and conventions in order to mold herself into a very palatable expression of femininity to be accepted by others but her hypersensitivity towards these things still isn't enough and rui can surpass her simply due to the fact that he's a cis guy...

[angel---eater]

do you have any seb thoughts? sooorta curious about when u mention dirk and hal raising a kid and then going well that would be seb. thats a lie im not just sorta curious, im standing outside the window looking longingly inside

you bet your bottom dollar we got thoughts about lil seb

we're huge subscribers to the thought that Seb is quite literally Dirk's inner child, very much in an age-regression flavour rather than an alter who is a child. i cant quite explain the nuances that make those two things different cause plural terminology is mostly still being constructed, but in my own brain there's very much a distinction

Seb's actions and priorities seem to align with Dirk's own, but are veeeerrry simplified, VERY much like how an AuDHD kid would approach things. there's other simplified aspects of Dirk's personality that shine through as well- like Dirk's awkward bluntness in social situations and tendency to rely on dramatics in conversation to cover up said awkwardness could directly translate to Seb strewing poor poppop's stuffing all over Jane's family room to make his entrance, rather than like, literally anything else LMAO. you also see this reliance on over-the-top dramatics in the Brobot with the, yknow, the ripping out his own atomic heart thing. also very interesting to me how both Lil Seb and the Brobot are mute, so they have to rely on physical drama whenever they want to convey anything. Dirk, the Brobot, Lil Seb, and Hal could literally be lined up on a scale of COMMAND==>ACTION. it is absolutely insane how cleanly dirk divided himself up. dude is walking around like pizza

but while the COMMAND==>ACTION sliding scale model is fun, i personally like viewing dirk and his splinters through a jungian lens as i think those archetypes match up to dirk and his splinters, like, eerily well

HS1 Dirk pre-unite synchronization is the PERSONA. this gets meta very quickly because this specific Dirk is the first one that we, as the reader, actually meet (ignore bro. bro is smth else)

Dream Dirk, who replaces Waking Dirk, then becomes the EGO

Hal/AR is the PERSONAL UNCONSCIOUSNESS and acts as Dirk's SHADOW.

Lil Seb and the Brobot are COMPLEXES (emotional patterns from experiences, can influence thoughts/feelings/behaviours, also often tied to trauma. these guys are subconcious, learned urges made of pure emotion/action)

and Ultimate Dirk, Meat!Dirk, as a dirk who is fully aware of all of his splinters and therefore his entire self, is the SELF.

i would also argue that Bro is another COMPLEX, but this ain't about him right now. i can do him later or whatever. this is about dear sweet Lil Seb

seeing Seb as a COMPLEX that escaped Dirk's brain/soul is really fun to me and puts Seb's ACTIONs in an interesting light in relation to both Dirk and Hal

Seb is bursting with all the things that Dirk is trying to keep a tight leash on, much like what he tries to do w/ Hal, but that he can't help but be- either by how his enviornment shaped him, how he has learned to navigate relationships, and also just how his brain is arranged on a chemical level. Dirk cannot ignore the aspects of himself that make up his SELF. it just doesn't work, no one can do that. surrounding himself with splinters that are either 100% COMMAND or 100% ACTION makes it not work even more, because all of the wants/urges he's trying to hide are given to individuals that can't afford to play the PERSONA game

Seb is fidgety (the adhderrrr). he seems to be very eager to help his/dirk's friends, but most of the time he waits for specific COMMANDs, which makes him seem like he's waiting for approval. him scampering around and helping out almost feels like he's playing to me too, esp because he's literally stimming constantly. with how often we see him climb things, it's like the world is this guy's jungle gym

moving on to who/what seb is exactly in relation to Dirk and by extention Hal

Seb as an individual woud NOT have started life concious obviously. the literal core of him is that darn silly wabbit that keeps popping up through timespace, which Dirk lifted from his bro's collection. going with that and also the running theme of the alpha kids gifting each other things that are very personal to themselves, it seems pretty obvious that the original (original from Dirk's perspective) Huggy Bear meant a lot to him.

Dirk is surrounded by stuff his bro left for him, yes, but very little to none of it had like, the Essence of his bro in it [could not for the fucking life of me figure out a less hilariously dubious way to phrase that]. Dirk's apartment is very tailored to Him, which is hinted at by how much orange soda is in his pockets. all Dirk really has of his bro is movies, movie paraphernalia, and old videos. there's a lot of Dirk's Bro laying around, but not a lot of Dave. Dave, who collected enough movie props and other artifacts(tm) to create a museum from his likely private collection. i can very easily imagine Dirk wedging Huggy Bear between him and Lil Cal when he first got this bunny every night until he got the idea to beef it up and send it to Jane. Huggy Bear was something that Dave touched and that probably meant a lot to him too (John...). Lil Seb is quite literally Dirk's Velveteen Rabbit, which punches a hole straight into my heart bc the Velveteen Rabbit was one of my first books and my autistic ass latched onto that 'enough love makes something real' thing REAL fast

so while Dirk tries to play it cool, Lil Seb pretty obviously means a hell of a fucking lot to him, and again by extention that means Lil Seb means a lot to Hal as well. they're both seen in HS1 to have a sense of responsibility over him and check in with Jane about him fairly consistently. and thats fair because they more than likely made Lil Seb together! before the Jakesteaks drama really starts, Hal and Dirk directly allude to spending time together writing shit about irony/project planning/who knows what else. Dirk made Hal to be a conversation partner (🫢) after all. they absolutely collaborated on turning Huggy Bear (just an old soft toy full of stuffing) into Lil Seb (an autonomous, thinking, learning, perpetually-childlike being who likes to play). Lil Seb is absolutely DirkHal's kid, and imo if they tried to make another bot/being with Lil Seb's base functions, they would have another. They got teen brain/soul pregnant, which is uhhhhhh FASCINATING bc i mean. i believe yall know my thoughts abt Dirk and his fear of passing on his genes despite perpetually multiplying anyway

[zorilleerrant]

I'm conflicted about Murderbot because on the one hand. I use it/its, and I see first hand how many hoops people will jump through to justify using literally any other pronoun. But on the other hand... Murderbot's isn't precisely a nonbinary story.

It lives in a world where gender doesn't matter. Like, obviously people have assigned genders so there must be some kind of sex-gender system still going on, but people opting out of it is commonplace. Sexism isn't a real thing there, so transphobia can't be real either. Nobody cares about gender. There's no discovery, no hidden truth, no sense of self tied up in it. Murderbot isn't being defiant by not having a gender; it just doesn't.

The use of it is tied to the current assumption of anglophones that this should be a dehumanizing term, because humans have to have genders, of course. But in Murderbot's world there's no assumption that people have to conform to manhood or womanhood to be human. That's just a lens for us to see it by; to know that people see it as an object and so assign it no social role.

But that's juicy for people who have grappled with their gender. People who've been pushed aside because they don't fit the role they've been assigned, or because they've been refused an assigned role for not meeting some other metric. People who do fit their role in some ways, but not in others. People who can never meet the standards with their psyche intact. People who don't want to try because that pressure to try is what hurts them. There's a lot relatable in being seen as an object first, and a person second or not at all. About trying to discover gender through that wall.

And what Murderbot's story is about is learning how to be a person. How to figure out your feelings, and acknowledge them, and figure out what to do about them. How to learn to exist around other people, and figure out what you want from them, and figure out how to give and take in a way that's fulfilling to everyone. How to have goals. How to have preferences. How to have purpose. So why not how to have gender?

So I do think there's a lot of room to tell a story about Murderbot, who was never allowed to have any traits, finally learning that she's allowed to be a woman, just because she wants to. (Or a man because he wants to.) I do think there's a lot of room to talk about moving towards a more normalized they, or some combination of pronouns. I do think there's a lot to explore in the constructed self represented by the constructed pronoun.

I don't like it when people misgender Murderbot just because they're uncomfortable with its pronouns. But at the same time, when people see themselves in a character, and then gift that character with their own gendered experiences... there's something that feels off about denying that, too. Even if seeing people call it it gives me euphoria. Because you can pack a hell of a lot of experiences into this construct, you know?

[decepti-thots]

🔥

Oooh, dealer's choice. Okay. Hmmm.

I think that MTMTE does not ever really manage to coherently bring together its ideas around things like functionism or the cold construct/forged idea, tbh. As ideas, it's very easy to latch onto in transformative fandom and try and do something with them- but on the flip side, I think that when you really try and just look at what the comic does with them in the text, they do not ever come together in a way that has a clear narrative goal, or is always well executed.

This feels weird to say when both concepts are incredibly necessary to the comic itself. They aren't superfluous elements you can take out and the comic is still what it is! Despite that, if you try and do a close read of the comic itself, it quickly feels apparent to me that a) in universe, diagetically, they are not very consistent and you often find yourself going 'wait, what?', and b) non-diagetically, in the realm of 'is this a stand in doing real world social commentary', it's straight up a mess much of the time. As worldbuilding, it's wishy-washy and inconsistent; as allegory or anything like it, you often wind up going 'hm. well. that doesn't really work'.

Is cold construction supposed to be a commentary on classism? Maybe- but the degree to which the text reinforces that a degree of real physical difference exists makes that touchy, frankly. Is it then using that to talk about class and disability as it relates to class? This would be an interesting angle- but the comic has too many issues around its treatment of the latter to invite uncritical use of that lens, in my opinion. Sometimes, racism gets invoked, but of that I can only say I think it is an ill-advised approach the comic does not explore well! Functionism, meanwhile, gestures at a lot of stuff, but never really convinces me the comic is quite sure what it's getting at there. Again, the question of classism comes to mind, and it's all clearly a response to the stuff set up early on in IDW1 by Megatron: Origin, which invites such commentary and critique. But there's just too many holes in its treatment of certain characters to make a lot of sense. The inconsistency means trying to do an actual read across the whole comic winds up maddening. (Source: I've tried.)

And if we justify this by saying 'not everything is allegory, sometimes worldbuilding is just worldbuilding'... well. It just still doesn't add up! In the moment, it seems to make sense, but attempting to extrapolate out into an actual consistent sense of how that world works, or worked pre-war, quickly falls apart for me. Which brings us back to the idea it's not literally consistent but is Doing Thematic Work, which... see above! We run into The Issues again!

This is not to say I think there's nothing interesting to be gained from engaging with this element, to be clear. But I find it's most productive for me when I engage with it from the baseline that it's a fairly muddled, inconsistent, and ultimately difficult to pin down element that, while very important to the comic, is not one of its narrative strengths. Very much a part of the comic where I think admitting the meat is in doing work as a reader to make it work for whatever reading you want to do is a good way to approach it, rather than assuming the comic itself has done that leg work. (And sometimes, that will mean being critical of it; I really do think there's stuff in there that deserves unpacking in how it's handled.)

[yellowocaballero]

a while back you mentioned having written ~40k of a steven moon knight fic as well as some of a frenchie fic? i was just wondering if those would ever be posted/shared or if they will stay in google docs superhell forever (also love your work!! your star wars swap au i particularly enjoyed as well as the tma evilcon + associated fics) best of days to you !!

Look at this evilcon fan over here. Deep fucking cut.

Ah, yes I have. The 40k fic was written for Marvel Trumps Hate, and I didn't post it due to some vaguely complicated but not altogether important reasons. The Frenchie fic was the unfortunate victim towards me very abruptly falling out of MK, lmfao. I think all of my fandoms have The One Abandoned Fic that I was working on when I just Got Over the fandom (Human Relations sequel, so cruelly abandoned....).

Kind of a shame, since the Frenchie fic was not bad and just got kinda roadblocked at the end. I've tossed around maybe finishing it when MKS2 comes out and I inevitably get sucked back in. I don't want to post the MTH fic on AO3 right now (maybe in the future when MKS2 comes out and I get sucked back in etc) but there's honestly no reason not to show you...I think...looking back over this, I think I may have decided that the fic's sense of humor was just too insane. It's very.......uh.....

Uh, ok, just between you and me and other people reading this then. It's a fic about a normal guy who thinks that schizophrenia makes you immortal and autism gives you superpowers.

I'll put it in a follow-up post. In the meantime here's the first few scenes from the Frenchie fic. I really do wanna finish this one day....

“A phone call?”

The jackal barked in elderly confusion.

Steven leaned back in his chair, scratching his stubble. Jake was insisting that they experiment with facial hair and it was best to let him have these little victories. “Well, under the human American law each citizen is entitled to a phone call if they get arrested. That’s probably what he means.” The jackal barked dismissively. “Have you tried telling him that?” The jackal barked again, aggravated. “I see. Quite a pickle. Well, I don’t see any harm in giving him the call. We’d have to warn him that this is a faux legal system and that he’s not entitled to any lawyers, but perhaps he could tell his wife he won’t be home for dinner? That would be nice.”

The jackal growled. 

“We could be nice,” Steven said reproachfully. 

The jackal barked again.

“If you really think about it, nothing’s stopping us. Masters of our own fates and whatnot, right? Well - yes, yes, I know the gods are the masters of our fates, that’s not quite - look, sir, there’s no point in worrying a man’s wife unnecessarily, is there? How would your wife feel if you disappeared off the mortal plane?” The jackal hung its head, and Steven sighed as he stood up. “I’ll lend him my mobile.” The courthouse only had landlines, and even then that was iffy. Magical ancient Egyptian constructs still struggled with 4G. “But if he messes about with my Twitter then we’re adding another thousand years onto his sentence.”

Situations like this were why Steven still showed up to work. This zoo often struggled at little things like this without him. The place had gone to the jackals while he was gone - literally, they had taken over many administrative positions - and it would take months just to clean up the wreckage. Steven didn’t mind - nothing made him happier than a good little routine. Ten to two, that was his preference. Downright inhumane to make a man work any longer than four hours a day. He had even scheduled a deli or restaurant to visit for lunch each day of the week. And Marc and Jake were not allowed. Steven only zone. A man’s office was his castle. Besides - if they knew what he got up to all day they might complain about it. 

The two were deeply asleep - Jake because he found Steven’s entire life dull as dirt and Marc because all of the mandated socialization they were doing lately really took it out of him. Steven found it delightful. Jake’s friends were really nice once you got to know them, and you could reliably get a pained expression out of any of them once you told them so. Marc found their whole thing exhausting and if Jake wasn’t entertained he wanted to die, so around noon the two slept like Alexander the Great’s mummy. Might as well build them little tombs. That was cute. Steven knew exactly what his own tomb would look like. He was practically a pharaoh and everything - maybe Khonshu would make sure he got one? No, Khonshu didn’t care about them nearly that much. Boy, but wouldn’t that be nice.

He gave the Bast statue guarding the elevator its usual nose pat, he smiled and waved at the lumbering shabtis, and he stopped and said his usual ‘hello how are you how’s Nephthys Osiris talking to you again yet’ to the Set statue as the jackal gave him the stink eye for holding them up. Kindness was key, Mr. Jackal. Steven believed in positive Steven-god relations. He lived in hope that the other gods would model good behavior for Khonshu and eventually sway him into becoming less of a dick. 

The ibis perched adorably in a little booth checked his identity as it picked up a little visitor’s badge with his beak and dropped it into Steven’s outstretched hand. It pecked at the computer keyboard a few times, accomplishing nothing other than mangling the G and H keys, and a series of papers ground out of the ancient fax machine. Steven cautiously reached over and fetched the papers, scanning them. They were details of the prisoner’s case, which made Steven feel a bit like one of the Forbidden Lawyers. The jackal led him down the winding paths of the jail as Steven fumbled in his pocket for his glasses, squinting down at the pages. 

“Well, this doesn’t seem too nasty,” Steven announced. “I’m sure we can get this sorted out. Certainly not a problem for our Jake, eh?” He looked at the jackal out of the corner of his eye. “Eh?” The jackal did not respond. “Right?”

Steven made the executive decision that this was a bureaucratic issue and therefore not a Marc or Jake issue. They’d just over-involve themselves and pretend they knew anything about the fake legal system. Marc and Jake were like baby brothers playing video games with you on an unplugged controller. They needed to feel like they were doing something or they’d throw a hissy fit. 

The jackal didn’t have to stop and point out the prisoner. Steven could hear him from all the way down the hall: empathetic, pointed, and incessant French patter. The man sounded like he was arguing against a parking ticket, which displayed a disappointing lack of cognizance as to the severity of his situation and the high likelihood that he was about to experience extrajudicial horrors beyond his imagining. 

Poor guy. Imagine being from France. 

For the first time in Steven’s life his shaky French that he could not actually remember learning but that Marc and Jake did not know actually came in handy. As he got closer he could more or less puzzle out what the fast talking man was saying to the two unamused and unswayed jackals. Could the jackals speak French? It had to be some magic thing. The only animals around here who could actually talk to the humans and explain to them what was happening were the baboons, and they were never polite about it.

“ - one little call! That is it! I will never darken your doorstep again, I swear it. One phone call - and, maybe, letting me go! We can talk about it, let’s talk about it! You and I, we are reasonable men - jackal, I am a reasonable man and you are a reasonable jackal - unless you are a woman? Are you a woman? You are still a jackal at any rate. You are a very reasonable gendered jackal, and I am innocent of all crimes - and even if you are a nongendered jackal, I do not judge, I have friends of all kinds - if you give me one phone call I may call one of my friends and he can help, I am certain he is friends with very many of you people -”

The man cut off the second Steven walked into view of his cell. The cells were very basic, with only a cot and a toilet and one wall of metal bars. He was standing up against the bars, fighting with the two unamused jackals standing against the cement wall in the hallway. The man’s head jolted away from the jackals and fixed on Steven, forgetting his captive audience entirely. His slicked back hair was frayed and mussed, gelled strands sticking up every which way, and his blonde mustache twitching in surprise as his eyes widened.

Steven was sympathetic. Human prisoners were always shocked to find a real bloke around the place. 

He waved a bit awkwardly, his reading glasses flopping in the air. In shaky and awkward French, he said, “Bonjour! My name is Steven Grant. And you are…” He shoved his glasses on, squinting down at the intake form. “Jean-Paul Duchamp?” He pronounced it ‘Jean Paul Dew-Champ’, and judging from the man’s twitch he had mangled it. Oh well. “Right. Do not worry, everything will be fine. You wanted a phone call? I have a phone for you.”

The man stared at him. Steven silently suffered this. He knew he was attractive. 

Finally, the man said in accented but thankfully perfect English, “I have changed my mind. May I speak with you in private, Monsieur Grant?”

The three jackals barked simultaneously. Steven rolled his eyes. Honestly! He knew he was the Avatar of Khonshu now, they didn’t need to be like that! “I don’t think that’s allowed. For security reasons and all. Not that there’s anything you could possibly do to me.” A grizzled jackal with one eye barked. “Emotional - hey! I would have you know that my Myers Briggs said I was the resilient type!” Steven considered the matter for a second. “Oh, but I did have a bad horoscope today. Maybe you’re onto something. Do we have any augurers on staff?”

“Excuse me,” Jean-Paul butted in, increasingly wild eyed, “Do you care to explain what is going on, Monsieur Grant? Because the only explanation I’ve received so far was from paperwork on papyrus and a rude baboon.”

Why was he saying his name like that? The French were so weird.  Steven leaned down slightly to whisper in the nearest jackal’s ear. “And he must have been really bad if a French guy is calling him rude.” The jackals cackled. Jean-Paul’s eye twitched. “Never fear, Mr. Duchamp. I’m sure we can get this whole thing sorted out before supper. Let’s review the details of your case, shall we?” 

“What case?”

“Oh, you’re in an ancient Egyptian courthouse for ancient Egyptian crimes,” Steven said vaguely, sliding on his reading glasses and flipping through the pages again. “Yes, the Egyptian gods are real, no they are not aliens, you better believe in ghost stories Ms. Swan you’re in one, etcetera. Alright, alright…I see…ah! There we are! Charged as accessory to one count of tomb raiding…oh, just a little asterisk here, let’s see what that’s all about…you stole from a children’s hospital!?”

“I did not know that is what we were doing!” Jean-Paul cried. “Someone tells me to fly a medical helicopter, I do not ask questions! If I made a habit of interrogating every one of my clients I would not have a great deal of clients, monsieur!”

“Organs from a -”

“It is called professionalism!” 

“It’s called evil!” Steven said, appalled. The jackals barked in agreement. “I have to say, Mr. Duchamp -”

“It’s doo-shamp. And John-Paul. Mon frere.”

Oh wow, oh no, sorry for the French microaggression. Honestly. “If it wasn’t for the fact that you betrayed your clients the second you discovered what they were stealing and refused to pilot them away you would be facing the same punishment they are. It’s quite karmic. Do you  know what Egyptian canopic jars are used for?” Jean-Paul looked a little queasy. “Exactly. Do you still want that phone call, Mr. Duchamp? You’ll receive your sentence from Thoth with or without it.”

“Then why give it to me?” Jean-Paul asked waspishly.

Steven shrugged. “I wouldn’t want your husband to worry.”

“Rest assured, I am quite single.” Jean-Paul stuck his hand out through the bars. “Give it here.”

Steven pulled up the phone function on his mobile and passed it to Jean-Paul, ignoring his thoughtful expression. He tried to convey ‘mess with my phone and I’ll mess with you’ through rigorous eyebrow tilting, but he knew he was very bad at it. 

Jean-Paul stepped back, swiping on the mobile. It did not look like he was punching in a number. Steven abruptly became anxious that he was snooping on Steven’s mobile. He had remembered to delete his text history with Layla, right? Right?!

He typed something on it before looking up, holding it up oddly to show Steven the screen before passing it back to him. “I changed my mind. No need for a call. Thank you for lending me your phone, monsieur, but it was unnecessary.”

The screen was open to the notes app. Steven abruptly felt like they were passing notes in class. Except not quite, because Steven was the Avatar of an Egyptian god and the other party was in jail for magic crimes. The note read -

marc what is the plan

Oh. Oh!

Steven looked up, and now he could clearly read the man’s irritated ‘why are you looking surprised, this is a matter of utmost secrecy’ eyebrow twitch. “Goodness, I’m so sorry. The egg is really on my face here, I’m so embarrassed.” He looked down at the jackal next to him, who twitched its ears attentively. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. It seems -”

Steven stopped short. 

This man knew Marc. He now knew Steven. Marc really, really, really hated it when this happened.

Marc had spent the vast majority of his life masking. His family had been big believers in the ‘never talk about it and pretend it doesn’t exist’ school of mental illness, which had resulted in a great deal of very terrible problems. Marc did not learn from any of these problems and continued to hide the DID from everybody he had ever met up to and including his own wife for a depressing yet impressive length of time. Steven hadn’t really agreed with the wife decision, because it was a slightly huge aspect of their lives that was very much Layla’s business, but Marc believed in privacy. Steven couldn’t fault him for that. 

It wasn’t anybody’s business if Marc didn’t want it to be their business and they were not Marc’s actual wife. Jake spouted off about shame and internalized ableism, which was undoubtedly true, but nobody was really entitled to his health information. He had the right to self-disclose when he wanted and to who he wanted. Steven only wished that this reasonable desire did not lead to sitcom-esque hijinks as they all switched mustaches and pretended to be each other. Sometimes literally. Jake had his whims.

Marc wouldn’t want this random pilot knowing personal stuff about him. He was probably just some colleague he had worked with one time and never saw again. And Steven was very dedicated to helping Marc and making his life easier, just like Marc was dedicated to helping Steven and making his life harder. Jake was dedicated to being a bully. 

Being involuntarily outed was traumatic for Marc. The last time it happened he fell asleep for four weeks and plunged Steven into a Jake induced nightmare. What if he went back to sleep? What if he never woke up this time? What if he left Steven alone with Jake forever? He couldn’t take that chance.

Marc didn’t have to find out about any of this. No point in stressing him out over nothing. 

In a stunning show of cunning, cleverness, and subtlety, Steven looked down at the jackal next to him. “Actually, can I talk with Mr. Duchamp in private? There’s some things we need to discuss.” The jackal asked what. “Human things.” The jackal asked why it had to be private. “They’re private human things.” Steven paused a beat. “Like periods. We’re going to talk about our periods.”

The jackals knew enough about humans to know that periods were private human things and not enough to know that cisgender men did not get periods. They gave him dubious looks anyway, but when Steven mimed yanking a crescent knife from his chest they obligingly filed out. The grizzled one-eyed jackal turned around and gave John-Paul a gimlet ‘I’m watching you’ eye, but John-Paul just sniffed and looked above it all. French people sure were good at looking snooty.

The second the jackals turned the corner and disappeared from sight Steven took a deep breath and changed. 

He straightened, folding his expression into a deep scowl. He tilted his head forward in Marc’s faux intimidating fashion and affected Marc’s terrible Chicago accent - which was just as fake as Steven’s very real to him British accent, thank you very much! Jean-Paul straightened too, eyes widening again.

“What the hell?” Steven demanded. Ugh. It was hell on the throat to talk like this. “How did you even get yourself into this mess?”

“Me? I am the one in the mess?” Jean-Paul stabbed a finger at Steven, who scowled deeper. “What was that? What is this? Why are you working for an ancient Egyptian courthouse under a false identity?”

“It’s a long story,” Steven snapped. It was really easy to avoid questions as Marc. You just had to be mean. “And it’s none of your business.”

“At this point I think it is very much my business! Jesus, Marc!” Jean-Paul exhaled deeply, rubbing his forehead in a forcible attempt at zen. “What is this, some sort of op? Are you undercover?”

“I said it was none of your business!”

“This is why you don’t run the ops,” Jean-Paul said. Steven was offended on Marc’s behalf. “I am impressed at your acting skills but not at your subtlety.”

“The usual, then,” Steven said wryly. “I’m impressed with your talent at getting arrested.”

“I get it, I get it. Marc Spector twenty, Jean-Paul fifteen. I swear, Marc, only you would get yourself in these predicaments.”

“You’re the one in the predicament. I’m doing fine.”

“My predicament is your predicament.” Why would that be true? He said it so casually, as if it was a given fact. Quite presumptuous of him, in Steven’s opinion. “At least now I don’t have to waste a hope and a prayer that you would pick up your phone this time. How are you going to get me out of this one? They have a giant baboon! Have you seen the baboon!”

“The baboon’s very understanding about my medical needs, so watch it.” Wait - had he wanted to spend his one phone call on Marc? Why? They were talented, cool, and altruistic, but… “Look, I’ll do what I can. But the gods aren’t exactly easy to argue with. I’ve tried to get them to overturn a sentence before and it failed miserably.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard my friend try to do things the legal way.” Jean-Paul folded his arms. “Just bust me out. Isn’t that more your style?”

What a suck-up. Marc didn’t have friends. Steven smiled anyway, brittle and thin. “Don’t worry, Jean-Paul. I’ll do everything I can to help you. Just please try and understand the position I’m in.”

Jean-Paul stared at him. Steven forced himself to look the other man in the eyes even though it made him uncomfortable. Marc always stared down people he didn’t trust. 

“So, uh,” Steven said, “I better call the jackals back -”

“Please admit you do not know who I am.”

Steven froze. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Jean-Paul sighed. He kneaded his forehead again, shoulders slumped, but something about the gesture had changed. My predicament is your predicament - what did that mean? “Why didn’t you say - non, non, you would have no reason. Marc, please listen to me.” He looked solidly at Steven, and Steven found himself looking away. “It’s Frenchie. I’m your friend. We met in Afghanistan and we’ve worked together ever since. You’re having another amnesiac episode. This happens to you sometimes and it is nothing to worry about. Do you believe me about this?”

Steven opened his mouth. He closed it.

He couldn’t help it - he hunched his shoulders, clutching at his sleeve and drawing away. “I don’t have friends. You’re lying.”

“Call up Layla and ask,” Jean-Paul said. His voice was even and steady, and it struck Steven oddly. The man was literally in a jail cell about to be Egyptian tortured and he was comforting Steven? Looking out for him in a mental health episode? Did the world contain two Lukes? “Do you know Layla? Your wife? Now there’s a thief for you. I am but a humble pilot in comparison.”

That cinched it. Marc would never tell anybody he didn’t trust about Layla. Much less about what Layla really did for a living.

But Marc didn’t trust anybody. Marc wasn’t supposed to trust anybody. That was Marc’s whole thing. He only trusted Steven and Layla. He only trusted Steven and Layla and - Frenchie? What kind of nickname was that? That was so stupid.

Marc was really bad at naming things. Movie poster, pilfered ID. Frenchie. Jeez.

Steven put it down. He let his shoulders hunch back into their natural slouch, bent his voice back towards its natural tilt, and dropped the mean expression. Despite himself, he groaned. 

“Marc’s going to kill me!” Steven wailed. “He’s going to go to sleep again and leave me with Jake!”

Jean-Paul recoiled, surprise turning into shock. Wow, wow, big surprise. Marc or Jake’s friends freaking out over Steven. Stop the presses.

“He’s gonna blame me for this, you know,” Steven cried. Not whined. Nope. “This is why he doesn’t trust me with anything. As if it’s my fault that his friends keep getting arrested? Maybe I should get a little more recognition for being the only one without delinquent friends. Honestly, I don’t know why we can’t keep better company sometimes. A book club? A Dungeons and Dragons group? Anybody who doesn’t punch people for a living? Is that too much to ask?”

“Hm,” Jean-Paul said. “Your dissociative episodes have grown stranger.”

“What were they like in the military?” Steven asked, morbidly curious. “Marc didn’t even mention amnesia episodes. He can be right frustrating, you know.”

Slowly and carefully, Jean-Paul said, “Do you remember the manic episodes?”

“We’re bipolar?” Steven asked blankly.

“That is what I thought. I do not think I was correct.”

Wait. “Did you think Jake was a manic episode?”

“Jake?”

“The other one,” Steven said helpfully.

“Ah. Yes, I think so.” Jean-Paul paused - not as if he was uncertain, but as if he wasn’t sure how the words would be received. “I understand DID is a very difficult disorder.”

Something tugged at the back of Steven’s mind, then yanked. Steven felt himself fall backwards, and something else surged in him -

*

Frenchie stood in front of Marc, right in every way, wrong only in the eyes - only in the way he was looking at Marc - 

Cautiously, he said, “Steven? You look dazed.”

Dazed. That was what he’d always call it. Whenever Marc zoned out and left his body, whenever Frenchie caught him wandering listlessly around camp with no memory of having even left bed - you look dazed, Marc -

“Do you ever get tired of your front row seat?” Marc asked hoarsely.

But Frenchie just smiled - a little cockily, a little kindly. “The view is quite good.”

Marc couldn’t do this. He never could, he could never do anything - but he couldn’t do this. Humiliation crushed him, Frenchie’s affection and acceptance its strange shadow. The shadow was worse than the weight. It was the shadow he couldn’t handle. He couldn’t handle this. 

He turned on his heel and left, leaving Frenchie alone in the cell with no promise of rescue and no aid given, and he found himself walking faster until he turned the corner. The jackals were still huddled like a football team growling thoughtfully at each other, and they perked up when they recognized Marc. He ignored them, walking through the crowd until they leapt away.

Marc’s walk turned into a run. A drum beat rocked his head, pushing hard at his heart. The beat threw him forward, turning his run into a sprint down the winding cement halls. His desperation reached out and thought of a word, and once he thought it he just couldn’t stop.

Jake. Jake. Jake! Jake, I can’t do it again - Jake - !

*

Marc woke up face first in Jessica Jones’ hair clutching a bottle of Jack.

He yelped, jerking away automatically and falling off the couch with a heavy jolt. The bottle jumped out of its hands, landing on the stained wood coffee table with a heavy thump and rolling against a bulwark of beer bottles. 

Marc bolted upright, ignoring his pounding head to take inventory of his surroundings. He relaxed the second he registered where he was. Heroes For Hire apartment. Morning. Luke Cage was passed out in an armchair, sawing wood. Colleen’s bra was draped across the back of a couch. Did these people do anything other than party?

Jessica flopped over, squinting blearily at him in the morning light. Cars honked outside and traffic blared, the sound cutting harshly into his throbbing head. Jessica waved a hand limply at him. She mumbled something that Marc could somehow translate into ‘what’s your problem?’. 

Nothing. No problem. Not right now, not here. Marc climbed back onto the couch, pushing Jessica aside to reclaim his spot. Amazingly, they were barely even cuddling - their couch was one of those IKEA types that you could just keep adding onto, it was fucking ginormous. He left the bottle of Jack on the table, whiskey slowly sloshing in the glass. Jessica went back to sleep immediately, her warm breaths pressed against his back.

The sunlight faded into night, then nothing. 

*

“ - and that’s why I wouldn’t fuck Mr. Fantastic unless Sue Storm was watching.”

Marc bolted upright.

“I left Frenchie in prison!” Marc cried. 

“Man, what kind of weird dreams are you having?” Danny asked. Marc could hear his voice from behind the couch, accompanied by the rattle of silverware and the hefty scent of bacon. “I can interpret it for you if you want. The prison’s probably a metaphor for -”

“Your psyche,” Colleen intoned. 

“That’s a bit on the nose, don’t you think?” Luke said.

Marc rolled off the couch again, slouching his way to the breakfast table and collapsing in his chair. Somebody put a bowl of cereal in front of him and began shoving it in his mouth. Everybody went back to ignoring him and resumed their conversation about the most fuckable superheroes. 

“Monica Rambeau at the top,” Misty said, for what sounded like the five hundredth time. “Very top. Except my girlfriend.”

“I’m the last heir of a samurai clan, not a superhero.”

“Very top. Monica Rambeau.”

“Do you think the Avengers have these conversations about us?” Danny asked Luke. “Like, they have to, right? I don’t think they’re above it.”

“They have mimosa brunches. Man, you know they do. I don’t want to know what the hell they say about me.”

“One time Hawkeye flirted with me and I snapped his bow over my knee,” Jessica reported. “It’s about controlling the narrative, Luke.” Marc’s hand reached out and swiped bacon off her plate, cramming it into his mouth. “Watch it, asshole!”

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Luke told him, half-amused. “Who do we got today?” Marc glared at him balefully, but he held up the ASL finger sign ‘M’ anyway. “Good to see you, Marc. You’re the early bird, huh?”

“Jake was complaining about you yesterday,” Jessica told him gleefully, as if she was snitching on her classmate to the teacher for saying the b word. “He told us all about your intimacy issues. Is it true that you yearn for acceptance, yet are terrified of receiving it?”

“And why,” Marc gritted out between clenched teeth, holding his spoon at a vicious angle, “is Jake always telling you my goddamn business?”

“He likes to vent.”

“Then tell him to shut up next time.”

Misty scraped up eggs with her knife primly. “Five times a day seven days a week. Never listens.”

“Five people live in this apartment, there is no such thing as your own business,” Colleen said, dead-eyed. “I haven’t had privacy in a year.”

“It’s not that different from the monastery,” Danny said philosophically. “Smaller, though.”

“Drunker?” Misty asked.

“Not really.”

“Damn. Guess you had to do something without television.”

Marc’s grip on his spoon tightened so hard that his bones creaked. “Then you can just go tell Jake -”

Tell me yourself. 

“Shut up, Jake! You can all tell Jake that next time he decides to overshare -” Hissy fit ten minutes after waking up, new record. “I wouldn’t throw a hissy fit if you stopped doing shit just to piss me off!” You are an egomaniac. “That is so rich.”

“Still weird,” Misty decreed. 

“Yeah, still weird,” Colleen said.

Luke cut into his hash brown. “I’m just glad that they’re all talking again.”

“Totally glad that Jake’s back to his healthy, regular state of talking to himself,” Colleen said. “Maybe soon he’ll become normal and only serial kill on weekends.”

“I know none of you care about my personal drama,” Jake said flatly, “but would a little respect be so outta line for youse?” Jessica mumbled something around her egg. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, woman, have some self-respect.”

“Steven and I were talking about going to the zoo and looking at the sloths,” Danny said brightly. “Do you still want to do that? I want to see them so bad. All we have back home are sloth bears but I don’t think they’re the same animal.”

“Sloth bears?” Misty asked.

“They mostly eat termites and ants, really,” Steven told her, “not nearly as scary as you’re imagining. Quite adorable. But nothing really beats sloths on the cuteness factor.”

“Steven! Good to catch you. When do you want to go to the zoo?”

“Oh, boy, maybe Sunday? Do we have anything on Sunday?”

I was going to get drunk.

Same. 

“Looks like Sunday’s free!” Steven paused a beat, a smile fixed on his face. “You know, fellas, I can’t help but feel as if we’ve forgotten something.”

We forget stuff incessantly, Marc said, tired. Frenchie was always dragging me out of bars I didn’t remember walking inside. 

There’s an alternate explanation for that one.

See, that’s what I thought, but Frenchie never thought so.

“Frenchie!” Steven cried. He jerked onto his feet, sending his plate rattling. “We left Frenchie in prison!”

Danny reached out and patted Steven on the forearm. “It’s okay, Steven. It was just a dream. The French can’t hurt you.”

“Not if they’re in prison, anyway,” Misty said.

Luke, the only one who ever remotely was on topic, put down his fork and looked at Steven. “Who’s Frenchie? Since when do you know other people?”

“He’s my best friend,” Marc said. He scrambled away from the table, faintly registering that he was wearing Jake’s outfit. He and Steven had their own changes of clothes in the guest bedroom, he’d have to take a minute and change. They hated wearing each other’s clothing. It felt so invasive. Jake hated polyester, Marc hated wool, and Steven hated layers in non-freezing temperatures. “Damn it, what kind of friend am I!”

Jessica squinted at him, sipping her orange juice. “Wait, you have other friends? I thought we were your only friends.”

“He’s my friend, not Jake’s. You’re Jake’s friends.”

“I’m not Jake’s friend,” Misty said.

“Jake’s my friend but I don’t like him,” Colleen said. 

“Jake’s my friend and I like him,” Danny said eagerly.

“No comment,” Luke said.

But Jessica just continued squinting at him - as if she could read something between their three faces, unremarkable individually but painting a clear picture together. “This is what stressed you out so bad yesterday, yeah?” Marc shoved the chair back into the table, averting his eyes. “Why don’t I come with you? Like, buffer zone?”

A part of Marc did want her to come. He didn’t know if that part was Jake or Steven or himself. He never knew where to put himself anymore, how to partition out his life into the good and bad. How to fit together Jake and Layla, how to give Steven the reins on the courthouse work, how to fit into the Heroes For Hire in a space carved for Jake yet welcoming of anybody. 

It was so easy. It scared Marc. 

“I can handle my own army buddy,” Marc said gruffly. He bent down and kissed Jessica on the cheek. “I’ll call.”

Marc swept out the door, ignoring Jessica calling “You better!” behind him.

[coraniaid]

I think Oz's throwaway comment in Band Candy that his parents "ate a ton" of the titular cursed candy might be the only indication we ever get that Oz even has parents at all. I mean, I might be wrong but I think that's literally the only mention of them the show ever makes.

We certainly never see them on screen, even though we visit Oz's house several times. (In Phases, in particular, Oz seems to live entirely alone.) Which -- even in a show like Buffy, where parents other than Joyce Summers are rarely seen on screen -- feels a little bit weird. We at least know something about how Xander and Willow and Cordelia relate to their parents. In fact, we know these relationships tells us something quite important about their respective characters: Xander's lack of self-belief is heavily tied into his family's poor background (as well as the fairly strong hints that he himself is the victim of abuse); Willow is clearly desperate for positive attention or emotional support of the kind her parents aren't providing; Cordelia's high social status is clearly tied heavily into her parents' wealth (which is why both these things are taken from her almost at the same time). But for Oz ... there's nothing.

Which I suppose makes sense, because Oz really doesn't have a character to illuminate. Oz is not a fully rounded person at all. He enters the show as Willow's Cool Boyfriend and (werewolf curse aside) that's somehow all he ever is. Does he have any friends of his own? None that we ever really see, outside his band. Does he have any ambitions in life? No, explicitly he does not. (The show makes a big deal of Willow giving up the chance to go to better colleges to stay in Sunnydale with Buffy; it's simply taken as read that Oz will also be staying with Willow.) Does he have any sort of character arc, before the show decides to write him out? I honestly don't think so.

So it's always slightly odd to me to see Oz doing well in character polls on here. Is Oz nice? Is he funny? Does he say supportive things about his girlfriend? Sure: he is all these things by construction (otherwise he could not perform his role of Willow's Cool Boyfriend!). I too would be happy to spend time with Oz. But -- considering that he's in the opening credits for over a year, considering that the show treats him as one of the core Scoobies -- he is remarkably boring.

In theory, it would have been great if Oz could have stayed on the show after Willow came out and started a relationship with Tara. I think it would have been nice to see how Oz dealt with that; to give him a chance to relate to Willow (and the rest of the Scoobies) in a different way than he had before. In theory. But in practice, of course he has to leave town at this point. Without being Willow's Cool Boyfriend he has no personality at all. He simply ceases to exist.

[dissectiongirl]

more asks ^_^

YES IT IS.

in my mind they're the actual toxic yaoi. isatona only gets called toxic yaoi because I draw tona cutting or lobotomizing isa but that's like isa's mentally ill fantasy. edentona is just a failing, dying relationship between someone who has accepted it and wants to move on and someone who is in denial of it just to not be alone.

I said this in another post but didn't elaborate on these aspects of their relationship, but they are both undocumented immigrants, though eden lives in the us under deferred action. they have also both lost a parent in their lifetime. similar experiences that allowed them to bond at first, but what they've internalized from their experiences cause them to eventually clash. especially around the idea of their parents' sacrifices, both literally and figuratively. eden is more of an optimist and has accepted staying in america as a way to honor what his parents did to let him "have a better life" than in his birth country and to make something out of the loss of his mother. tona on the other hand is greatly pessimistic and angrier about his circumstances and the death of his father makes it incredibly difficult for him to give a single fuck about wanting to contribute to american society.

it boils down to their values and I want them to have a very tragic relationship. it is to me. they're tom and jerry beating each other over the head with pans and shovels because they just keep getting angry at each other because they ultimately want different things in life.

honestly, my biggest inspiration for their dynamic was this quote from exquisite corpse:

"I love you, Jay" "I can't say that. […] But I know you, Andrew, and that's something I've never said to anyone else." "I know you too."

(and maybe it will get referenced in game)

I'm not gonna lie I was really hoping one day someone would ask me about tona's gender because I think about it like every day. I'm not sure if I have a specific egg cracking moment in mind, however. as a story that takes place in modern times and as a character who is online, it wouldn't be too off base to just say she found out about being nonbinary through forums or social media at least. she was an emo kid after all, which would have allowed her to experiment with her gender expression.

but I imagine her feeling very off about her gender identity since she was younger but never fully processing her feelings until after graduating from high school. a lot of her gender dysphoria is social rather than anything physical. I don't see her having any of the latter really. but socially, she is uncomfortable being seen as a man, as "the Man of the house", in her romantic life, etc etc. especially after the death of her father, she was forced to step up to take care of her mother, and that role always bothered her for more reasons beyond resentment of not being able to process her own grief.

her relationship with her mother is pretty important and as an adult, tona being more feminine would serve to be an exercise in freedom away from that role.

related to the political aspect, I enjoy the intersection between her being an undocumented immigrant and a nonbinary person. where she has always been victim to the limits of these social constructs drawn around her. that she is neither mexican or american enough, nor man or woman enough. post canon, I think she would go on e for a little bit, but stop eventually after reaching a certain point :)

I had this in my drafts and tried to write out an answer like five different times, I just had no idea how to word anything concisely.

I guess firstly, it's a visual novel with point-and-click elements where you play as both isaias and tonatiuh in their early 20's with callbacks to them in high school around the time an arson took place in their city in southwest arizona.

isaias' story is about the aftermath of a suicide attempt where he was interrupted by someone who resembles jesus christ. this kickstarts his journey in seeking redemption for his past growing up with poorly managed conduct disorder, while also battling his want to be punished. he has had previous suicide attempts, the first being at 18 where he cut off tonatiuh, who was his best friend at the time. where he was violent and abrasive as a teenager, as an adult, he is now very meek and remorseful.

tonatiuh's story is about the aftermath of being cut off by isaias, and how much being abandoned has affected her in personality and in her relationships. you start out with her being in a middle of a failing relationship (eden), find out about her other previous failed relationships (tristan), and soon see her reconcile with isaias— all while she reflects on her own desperation to feel some semblance of security due to her circumstances. where she was known to be unassuming and polite as a teenager, she is now very miserable and passive aggressive as an adult.

my vn is about their friendship, how it fell apart, and how much they've both changed in the meantime to both of their surprises. much of it is about immigration, grief, and mental illness, while more abstract concepts that inspire my story are shame, anger, and agency.

[darkfictionjude]

I don't think crowny is a loser, since they cant help the hand they been dealt at life. They are a social reject but not a loser just because people hate them for something they have no fault of. A loser would be someone that auto sabotes and drives people that like them away with their actions

I usually use the term loser for Crowny affectionately I think they are very cute in a weirdo way

Although I don’t think every “loser” is a loser because they push people away. I think loser is mostly a term someone else gives you, it’s a social label because rich famous people who are assholes are called losers too

But hey you view Crowny in whatever way you want when you play, they are yours. And you can tell me how you view Crowny as long as it’s respectful because that other nonnie seemed to be negative and one thing I don’t like is someone shitting on my writing choices because it’s not what they want. Especially when taken into account that I’m offering this story for free, so it just frankly seems very rude.

Give me constructive criticism all you want but there’s that and then there’s complaining because you don’t get to live out your fantasies with what I wrote, Literally read other games or write your own. Also, if every IF main character was the same it would be boring

I wrote Crowny because I wanted people who relate to them to feel seen because usually people like them aren’t MCs

[slotumn]

Thoughts on how it would be possible for Byleth (and also Shez, judging by some of their dialogue) to not know much about the Church of Seiros while traveling across the continent:

There's actually a creeping decline and crisis of faith as of the beginning of the canon era, and it's even more prominent in conflict-ridden/unstable regions that mercenaries would tend to go to.

To be clear most Fódlanis do still consider themselves a believer by default and the culture is strongly influenced by religion. And Garreg Mach is literally the Church HQ, so of course the religious people there would be the best on the continent— smart and well-versed on scripture, theology, philsophy, etc.

But institutionally things are sorta dire in the three nations where regional churches would traditionally have been important institutions of not only faith, but culture and intellect as well. Maybe there used to be a time when the regional branches used to cultivate important scholars, diplomats, artists, etc, who were deeply embedded in the local society and encouraged regular people there to engage with the faith in constructive ways— but not anymore.

The Southern Church is outright exiled while the imperial elite has massive issues with corruption, the Western Church has been hijacked by extremists full of weird grievances, and the Eastern Church is neglected amidst the political infighting of the Roundtable and threats of invasions. As a result the regional churches are suffering brain drain, both in terms of "all the smart people are leaving for the safer/more stable Garreg Mach rather than staying at the regional branches" and the brightest minds becoming disillusioned and not as religious/devout.

It's a difficult cycle to begin once it begins: the local political instability results in the homegrown elites fleeing the regional religious institutions, which results in the regional institutions becoming shittier, which results in less intellectual engagement with religion among the wider population, which results in less homegrown elites in the religious institutions, etc.

So anyway, back to Byleth and Shez not knowing that much about the Seiros faith: in unstable, conflict-ridden regions they'd be hired in, the versions they've encountered are probably either 1. Western Church type unappealing extremists that they obviously wanna stay away from or 2. very feeble ones where the locals nominally believe in it and follow certain rituals but can't even read their own religious text, much less learn about the deeper theology/philosophy/etc.

For Byleth, even if Jeralt also tried to stop them from encountering too many Church-related things, I feel like them not knowing shit about the faith would still have more to do with the wider social conditions of the places they visited being Like That than his efforts.

Tl;dr Garreg Mach absorbed all the smart religious people and now the regional centers of faith are intellectually broke

[xenomorphicdna]

So what goes into managing an iterator?

Because when you think about it, managing a massive semiorganic sentient ai that you depend on for practically everything, might not be easy.

While iterators aren't brought online as children per se, from broadcasts in game we can assume that young iterators probably start out fairly stubborn with their thinking. And while iterators are far more complex and developed than our current good ol' chat algorithms, I think that trying to tell a machine designed to not make any errors, that it is wrong, may come with at least a bit of back and forth arguing.

There'd be a lot that would go into managing a machine as is, even more into one with feelings and opinions.

I believe the ashy green pearl mentions how there's a parental relationship between iterators and ancients (this might not apply to all ancients and iterators but for the sake of the argument I'm going to keep going with this). It also mentions how it's important to keep good relations with their iterator - they are reliant on them after all.

Booting an iterator up and instantly expecting them to perform perfectly how you need them too may not be entirely accurate. Perhaps more mechanical tasks are good from the get-go but more social tasks would certainly require behaviours that would have to be learned. There would have to be someone to teach them that emotional maturity and social skills.

So, going back to what does it take to manage an iterator. I think it's a lot of things, a large team effort of multiple people of different specialties.

Alright let's talk about the food chain here now ey?

Iterator administrators would rank at the top. The administrator title would probably be assigned to two or three house councillors. The role would come with being the voice for whatever iterator matters the public would need to know. They probably make decisions of, hey this important thing needs to be done by our iterator. But I doubt they have any real knowledge on the iterator ins and outs.

That would go to the people just below, the chief technicians, mechanics, programmers, architects, the folks that manage the more machine parts of an iterator. But of course iterators aren't all metal, they're semi organic too. So there would be those who specialise in the biological parts of iterators. And there would be psychologists as well to make sure our beloved machines with feelings are doing ok.

I'm not exactly sure where the common trope of ancients being horrible heartless assholes to iterators comes from. I certainly didn't get that impression from the texts. ?

I think the iterators were certainly respectable members of the community. I think many people cared about them too. The whole ashy green pearl talk about how they have parental obligations. They say how the discourse about five pebbles' construction displeases him. They literally say, hey stop being mean to our iterator, and go in to defend him. Even tho pebbles didn't exactly find the discourse upsetting, they still wouldn't tolerate insults at their iterator. You can't tell me that the ancients - even those at the top - didn't care.

Iterators were created as gifts to word. Five pebbles received drawings from kids. They had sky-sail festivals.

Moon did state her general dislike of her citizens, she calls them parasites with opinions. But I cannot imagine managing an entire city would be easy, and even despite that, she still calls them her parents. They were flawed, yes, but clearly there was enough love there for Moon to apologize.

[janisred13]

breaking my silence: boyfriend lesbianism is extremely toxic

(please just hear me out. I know this is a bit more serious than my usual posts, but just go with it. thank you.)

okay. here's the thing. I like the concept of gender being fluid and a social construct as much as the next person. assuming this next person likes it too. but as everyone is different, gender is not fluid for each individual. the same applies to sexuality.

speaking as a lesbian, I define lesbianism as attraction or relations between individuals who are not men. I like the idea of the label being inclusive to those who do not fit into the gender binary. but people lose me when they begin to identify with both lesbianism and terms that are centered around male identity.

to be clear, I am not referring to people who use or have used the word boyfriend loosely or as a joke. I am also not talking about he/him lesbians here, since pronouns do not equal gender. however, labels such as "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" that refer to an individual's partner literally specify their gender. the "boy" in boyfriend explicitly specifies male alignment. when it comes to how someone identifies in relation to their gender, masculinity is one thing. but identifying with being male itself is not part of lesbianism.

this is not to exclude people from any community, but the point of a lesbian community is that there are no men. if you identify with being male and lesbian, you are inherently a contradiction, and are using one of those labels wrong. and if people don't use labels correctly, then the labels lose all their meaning.

now, I do believe that one day, labels for gender and sexuality should become obsolete, and people should just live however they want without having to explain their existence. but I do not believe that day is today. sure, there are people who don't feel the need to define their gender identity or sexual orientation, and that is so valid. but I don't understand why people would intentionally use a label that doesn't match their identity, much less one that means the opposite of what they truly identify as.

the word lesbian is one of the few sexuality labels that has limits on gender. again, this is not to exclude people. it is just a particular category of queer people, defining those who are not men that are attracted to others who are not men. if you align yourself with parts of being a man, you really shouldn't use this label, simply because it is inaccurate. there are other reasons not to, such as solidarity between women and nonbinary people, but I won't be going into that yet.

I would also like to point out that if you align yourself with the male gender as a transmasculine person, you are practically denying that part of yourself if you call yourself a lesbian. I would not outright call it transphobic, because I believe that actual transphobia comes with some degree of malintent, and I don't think that boyfriend lesbianism has any. but it is certainly riding a very thin line, and by calling yourself a boyfriend lesbian, you are ignoring an aspect of your gender identity.

lastly, I would like to point out the implication of antiquated gender roles when it comes to boyfriend lesbianism. not all people in sapphic relationships that use the boyfriend term are referring to their gender identity. some use it to describe certain behaviors that seem "boyfriend-like". although it seems harmless on the surface, I would argue that this is just as damaging as it is illogical. I really detest when sapphics use "boyfriend" as an adjective to describe something their partner does, especially if their partner is a girl.

to name a few examples, this includes but is not limited to if their partner presents as masculine in aspects such as their personal style, has stereotypically masculine hobbies, or behaves in a chivalrous manner. whether you like it or not, considering this "boyfriend behavior" may reinforce the idea that it is men who should dress and act like this, and take care of women in this way. I don't think I have to explain why that is problematic, but I will just say that it is a very outdated way of thinking disguised by modern language.

to anyone who's made it this far, thank you so much for reading. that is all from me.

[smytherines]

Hey, I saw that you were bored, and I am also bored, so have an ask! Your Owen headcanons are great, so I was wondering if you have any about Owen's interest in acting/theatre?

It's one of the things that's really interesting to me about his character, even though it only gets a brief mention in canon.

Sorry if you've answered something like this already!

Ooooooooo this is such a good ask

It's weird, because despite being a hardcore theatre kid myself (I spent ages 8-18 in a community theatre program doing 2 plays and a musical every year), I always tend to see Owen's interest in acting in relation to my autistic Owen headcanon, as allegorical instead of literal acting/theatre.

Although in my experience, masked autistic people make excellent actors because it's what we do all the time anyways- every social interaction is a performance. We finesse ways to deliver lines, body language, tone of voice. I have to physically stop myself from rocking or swaying. I say combinations of words I've memorized from TV, delivered in the style of whatever actor's delivery is most appealing to me. Before I was diagnosed I used to joke that I built my public personality around Lauren Graham's line deliveries in Gilmore Girls. (I also routinely quote that show in social interactions)

It's exhausting, but I can more or less be at a social event for a few hours and seem ~normal~ and then come home and fall apart. The only time I feel like I can really unmask is when I'm totally alone, and the more time I spend with others (even people I love and adore!) The more irritated I get, the more quickly I melt down, the less I'm able to keep up the "I'm totally normal" facade I've constructed.

Obviously I'm 1000% projecting onto this character, but that's kinda how I see Owen and how I write him. I mean he literally is masked for most of the show, the acting, the way he speaks and his body language changing based on who he's around and what he's doing, him putting on personas and playing characters, the specific way he speaks with his hands, the way he seems to fixate on certain interests and ideas and ideological positions, the way they emphasize his interest in details, just so much of that feels familiar to me.

I do think he probably would've enjoyed acting. It saved my life. I wouldn't have survived without learning how to be someone else, someone other people don't immediately reject. For a second I thought maybe he could've been involved in vaudeville as a teenager, like Cary Grant, but vaudeville was on its way out by the early 30s so that doesn't seem likely. He'd be too young for it.

But I imagine he really liked to read plays, even if he didn't necessarily have a way to act or to see theatre as a kid/young adult. I think in the chwm epilogue I wrote about him buying a used copy of Pygmalion (unless I deleted that in editing, I can't remember). I think he probably read a lot and listened to radio plays and listened to BBC News to perfect his respectable posh accent.

I've had a headcanon for awhile now that Curt and Owen used to have sneaky little late night movie dates, because they just both love movies so much. Curt loves the action and the fantasy, the heroics of 1950s cinema, probably westerns, war films, musicals. Owen likes noir, and sci-fi, and british kitchen sink social dramas (those might be a *bit* late for him but the precursors for that), and is fascinated with the mechanics of acting, picking things apart, like he almost sees it as research for their jobs.

That's mostly just because I love classic films from the 30s-60s and now any time I watch something that came out during their time period I find myself wondering how those characters would react to it.

To me, in my little headcanon, Owen Carvour meticulously built this image of the perfect dashing confident charming British spy. And eventually he meets Curt and he trusts Curt, he sees that they have these similar rough edges that they hide with arrogance and vanity, that they are both playing a role. Curt is the first person who more or less experiences the world the way Owen does- filtering out the unacceptable parts of themselves to get by.

Curt is the only person he ever feels safe even partially letting the act drop with. Not all the way, they could never be 100% vulnerable with each other like that. But enough that Owen feels... safe with Curt. Not just about their secret (although yes also that), but Curt is the only person Owen allows to see any vulnerability, any trace of who he really is. It's part of why what Curt does feels like such a betrayal, why Owen can't move past it. Because he had a relative safe harbor, one person on earth he trusted, and it nearly got him killed.

[rebellum]

Ppbthhh im too emotionally tired and busy to engage in a discussion about it but I just saw a thing saying sex-based oppression isn't real and that it's a terf concept, bc sex isn't real

Which like.. isn't how that works

Race isn't real, racism is real

Sex isnt real, sexism is real

Sex based oppression exists BECAUSE there is this flawed idea that there are 2 definable sexes, each with their own totally separate characteristics, and that one of these sexes a) exists b) is more powerful or better than the others c) the "other" sex is weaker and flawed

Like, that doesn't mean "everyone with a penis has a special penis privilege" nor does it mean "everyone who was assigned male at birth has a special AMAB privilege". Cause that's not true. Many people are oppressed specifically BECAUSE they were amab, or because they have a penis, (those are not the same thing!), and they don't fit into societal expectations of what that should mean (that everyone amab was born with a penis and will always have a penis, that they're the only people to have penises, that they must be men, that there must be no sex ambiguity, that the "dominant" hormone in their body is testosterone, that they not only are men but ACT like appropriately men by being heterosexual and strong and wearing men's clothes and doing a man's profession and not seeming feminine and having manly interests etc.)

Like.. sexism is real. It's not a terf concept to say sexism exists. It's not transphobic or intersexist to say sexism exists. Because it does and it's a major force of oppression.

And like one of the things the post mentioned was that the idea of sex based oppression is wrong is because it assumes people have shared experiences solely because of sex.

Which like, a) no it doesnt, that's literally the reason intersectionality exists, to describe how people who share one trait (eg sex) have different experiences that relate to that trait bc of having other traits b) yeah, that's like, one of the issues the modern and intersectional theories of sexism, the patriarchy, queer theory, and feminism as a whole are meant to address. That there exists a thing called sex and people are put into categories of it and that gender is a binary system solely based on sex. There is the belief that there are shared experiences based solely on sex, and pointing out that belief is wrong doesn't mean that everyone in the world goes "oh okay my bad", it means we need to engage with that idea. Like how race doesn't exist except for as a social construct, but racism sure does, and we can't address racism without acknowledging that people think there is a similarity between like a black man born in Toronto and a black man born into a foraging society in sub saharan Africa, a similarity based solely on appearance, that means they are more similar than the toronto guy is to his indigenous best friend he grew up with, but that regardless if the African man goes to Toronto he will experience racism because he's black. We have to engage with cultural constructions in order to challenge and dismantle them, and recognise that they do exist AS CULTURAL CONSTRUCTIONS (on mobile so I can't just put that in italics or it'll make the whole thing italic) even if they don't exist in some sort of "biological reality" and those constructions don't recognise the truth of the situation.

But like I'm just. So tired. I can type that out but I can't type out good replies or read more of what ppl say with a clear mind. Like I managed to say all that but I gotta go zone out to youtube videos for several hours now and stress about how i should be using that time for grad school stuff

[mikauhso]

Small fandom rant, feel free not to read.

I don’t really care what an artist has done as a person, unless they’re like literally hitler or someone who you’d punch in public for their crimes, I find it a bit sad and annoying how so many artists online are willing to tear down someone else’s art to say “I did it better.” It’s one thing to give constructive crit in good faith, and it’s another to make an OC-ified version of canon out of your love for something, but creating something out of spite will almost always ring hollow for me. I see so much good art duct taped to posts about how “here I fixed it” or “lol you can’t draw” and I think back to the time when I learned the phrase, “you’ll attract more flies with honey than vinegar.” It disheartens me to see artists and people I’d know to be kind and constructive not extend the same kind of care hey show irl to someone online based on their parasocial relation to them. It’s such a low-stakes game and people will act like a mid show having characters they enjoy is the end of the world, and in doing so will take personal snipes and make insults at the art instead of addressing the actual problem head on, because it’s easier to derail and funnel attention and love towards yourself instead of ask that others improve. I love redesigns born of love. I love rewrites that try to see an artist’s vision, but at a certain point I wonder if people even like what they’re making art about or if they’re slapping something recognizable over top of it in order to ride trends.

The internet normalizes clout chasing to the point where I feel like we do it almost instinctively. That little insult or sly comment at the end of a post, that’ll sway people to your side. Saying why you don’t like some person despite not knowing them. It’s valid to have your opinions but I wish people would act like they would in the real world. You wouldn’t go around and scream at someone who you saw post this one thing one time. You wouldn’t punch someone based on a rumor, or verbally berate them in a restaurant. Yet people post so much shit online and it’s so normalized that we don’t even register it as a sign to log off anymore.

I feel like social media is something incredibly important for communication, but it’s currently designed in a way that centers ourselves and how much dopamine we can get, whether it’s at the expense of others, ourselves, etc. And we’re part of the problem too, we refuse to change and recognize that maybe internet points aren’t worth it and maybe it shouldn’t matter what people think of us. And maybe it’s an opinion I have but I shouldn’t judge someone based on what fraction they put out on the internet of themselves. Maybe I should cook myself a snack or go out for a walk or sit on the balcony or in the yard, talk to a friend face to face. Again, I love what the internet has done for accessibility but every accessible thing is locked behind a service designed to ignore vitriol and anger towards one another.

I guess I fall prey to this too, but I’ve seen this pattern happen again and again and again. There are people behind everything that’s made, and unless it’s ai or something stolen, an artist put their time and heart into it. It’s part of the game to have tough skin but I wish it didn’t have to be a necessity because of spiteful people.

I guess I should add an addendum, this is about a pattern I’ve seen in many a fandom. This isn’t about the morality of a show’s crew or whatever, that’s a conversation for another day that I’m not getting involved in because the personal lives of others are no business of mine. Hah, there I go again. But in all seriousness. I’ve seen it in Hazbin Hotel. I’ve seen it with High Guardian Spice. Velma. Steven universe. The owl house. Any new show I’ve seen come out where someone decides to have a moment and say “I will create out of spite and a need to be seen.” I wish artists didn’t feel the need to ride trends and that we’d value each others’ work as much as something put out by Disney. But that too, is a post for another day.