#i have Options its just a matter of how much energy and motivation i have to put into those options. urgh

[scourgefrontiers]

yeah that post made me think. commissions as my only source of income is rough. its fun, yeah! but the inconsistent and frankly Low income of it all gets..very stressful and tiring

i only know of two conventions around here and they dont happen for a while and theres no guarantee i can get into the artist alley, let alone afford more stock to sell at said cons. other than that i dont know of really Anything art related around locally like craft fairs or galleries. so im not sure if i can really break into that scene around here ??

if theres a way for me to make money with my art that doesnt involve killing myself with commissions or trying to break into an industry that doesnt want me then i am Open To Suggestions

[felikatze]

right so. when replaying rejuv for v13.5. i'm literally only on ch9 rn and forgot most of endgame but i'm having thoughts that the interceptor has wayyy more characterization than before.

like i've pondered "is the interceptor a direct player stand-in or their own distinct entity?" before but replaying made me really im favor of the latter

and i think that. the kind of core defining moment of the interceptor as a Person. is always grief. The moment that made them a person is grief.

spoilers for like, mooost of the game, maybe? primarily up to blacksteeple and terajuma though

a lot of waffling without much point other than "i love silent protagonists and unconventional explorations of personhood a lot"

So. the first time control is REALLY taken from the player's hands in how the protag FEELS is. melia's "death". because no matter how you play, the interceptor was stuck in depression for a week and just staring at a wall until they had enough energy to finally set out again in melia's name.

and, really, the FIRST thing they are defined by as a character is the loss of their mother. when the oceana sinks, the protag is the only person left, and the motivation of the pokemon journey for them amounts to "do ANYTHING to fill the void, and maybe find out what happened to mom in the meantime." They miss their mom! A lot!

Blacksteeple is of course the point where this gets even worse. When Nancy dies for them, they're catatonic again. And after that, so much of them is defined by the grief of her sacrifice. Like the optional encounter with a Nancy ghost in Amethyst Cave, right at the top of it, when the interceptor's first brush with grief came in its depths. "Why do I feel this way?" they can't comprehend the emotion they're defined by.

Even before they got a journal to snark around in, sidequests that gave them the occasional line of actual dialogue, the interceptor has always grieved, and they do not want to grieve again.

Like. Okay. The A-Gang, right? Wasn't it that they allowed the interceptor to use their souls because they were tired? this terrible catastrophe happened to them. they're all dead and gone, their home is destroyed, they just... cant go on anymore. their grief destroyed them.

in a way, the interceptor is made to grieve. and they are made to move on, again and again and again.

[shu-box-puns]

I never would have given you to them; not for anything (Tsu'tey x Reader)

Last Chapter <- Part 5

If you prefer to read on Ao3, the fic can be found here!

Summary: You can choose to stay.

Word Count: 7532

Reader uses they/them pronouns.

Perched upon Eywa’s throne after yet another near death experience, you were officially contemplating if Eywa wasn’t just some neurological connection between the tree of Pandora, and was actually some dormant deity. Because for some reason, She really wanted you alive.

In the last twenty-four hours, you had been released from Bridgehead, captured and interrogated, only to somehow escape the first encounter, only to end up shot and then resurrected over the course of an hour, all so you could be nearly stabbed to death before the day was out. And somehow, you were still fucking alive, despite almost dying more times in one day, than you had in your entire previous life.

You would’ve found it hilarious if you had had the energy to laugh. But instead, you just felt drained. Whatever will to live that had been keeping you going until now, was running on fumes. You were hopelessly hungry and achy from the bullet wounds smarting across your side, and to add insult to injury, you had no idea what was happening. 

Tsu’tey seemed to have decided you were returning to camp with everyone, despite how little he clearly trusted you. And for some reason, neither Jake nor Neytiri had objected.

It wasn’t as if you had much of a choice regardless. With Quaritch and the rest of your squad dead and General Ardmore no doubt informed of your betrayal, marching back into Bridgehead would be about as effective as eating a bullet. Not to mention, with your injury, wandering off into the forest would result in a similar situation. 

Perhaps if you hadn’t exerted every inch of energy you had left getting Spider out from under Quaritch’s knife, you could’ve managed option two. But that didn’t matter now.

The body of your late comrades remained sprawled across the grass, their blood soaked into the earth beneath them. You felt no remorse for bringing about their end. Spider hadn’t deserved to die so you would have an opening to get away. He was Tsu’tey’s son, and that was enough to make him worth protecting.

At least they would finally be able to rest.

Your gaze flickered away from the bodies towards your own grave. Of course, it hadn’t moved since you found it earlier, where it had silently observed everything that had happened here. Unmoving and indifferent. It offered no answers beyond what had become of your past self. 

The skeleton it cradled would not sit up and push the dirt off like a cosy blanket. The corpse would not reanimate and take a seat beside you upon the roots of the Throne. It would not laugh and sigh as it retold its life, filling in all the blanks the Tree hadn’t. Hell, its body wouldn’t even hold the evidence of what had killed it. By now there would be no fingerprints nor injuries to examine. 

In your peripheral, Tsu’tey slipped into view, his hands visible and his expression solemn. Without turning your head, you moved your eyes towards him in acknowledgement. The mourning paint from his nose to his forehead had been mostly scraped away, his flying helmet set low above his brows. 

“We’re ready to go.” He told you simply, “Jake has room on his ikran for you.”

You hummed, eyes rolling back to the grave. To the source of so many questions and anxieties.

Tsu’tey shifted restlessly on his feet. “Look.” He stepped closer, but at your instinctive shift to keep some distance between you, he quickly stilled himself. His ears lowered in understanding, his hands raised to show his empty fingers again. “I just wanted to thank you for protecting Spider and the others.” Tsu’tey said simply, his tone earnest. “I know I didn’t say so before.” You looked him up and down, finding no ulterior motive in his gratitude. 

“It’s what they would have done.” You said simply, knowing that you both understood who you were referring to. 

“Yes.” Tsu’tey agreed.

Another beat of silence.

“What happened?” Tsu’tey shifted on his feet, swallowing loudly. “What?” “What happened to them?” You repeated, eyes boring into the carved name of your headstone. In your peripheral, you watched Tsu’tey study you, before he shifted back a step and glanced at the graves. His body was wound tight, as if it pained him to acknowledge them. As if he viewed them as some sort of failure. 

“We should head back-” “What happened, Tsu’tey?” You pressed firmly, tearing your eyes from the graves to meet his. “The Tree showed me so much, but it didn’t give me answers. I need you to be honest with me, or I can’t trust you.”

He swallowed. “Okay.”

“What happened to them? What killed them?”

>_<

“What killed them?”

Tsu’tey hated this. He despised the haunted look in their eye. He loathed the pain echoed in their eyes, both mental and physical. All he wanted was to go home. He wanted the safety of the clan surrounding his family. He wanted a warm meal, his comfortable hammock, and the knowledge that this nightmare was over.

“Did She not show you?” Tsu’tey asked instead of responding plainly. 

The recom shook their head. “Not all of it. Someone gave me a tea.” 

“Yes. It was infused with mucus from the Txumtsa’wll.” Tsu’tey confirmed with a grimace. He hadn’t realised at first, and had found the soiled mug in the compound some hours afterwards, the smell having drawn his attention. “Shit.” The recom breathed, “then why did they stab me?” “The tea alone would have taken too long to kill you.” Tsu’tey replied honestly, “and it is treatable if the patient is given the antidote quickly enough.” He paused to gather himself, stomach squirming as the uncomfortable memories began to resurface easily now that he was talking about it. “Arvok, my brother knew what he was doing. And he knew he would be noticed if he was gone too long. He struck on the night of a meeting between our clan and one of the horse clans. He stole one of their knives and framed their Olo’eyktan for your death. You died in my arms when I tried to get you to Mo’at.”

The recom was uncomfortably silent.

“How did you catch him?” They had finally stopped looking at their grave as if it would offer answers and were instead looking at him. Properly looking at him. Not his ear or the space above his eye, like they had when they feared him before, now they were looking at him like an equal.

Somehow, it didn’t make this any easier to say. “He went after Spider.” Tsu’tey spat, “and it was his last mistake.”

He could still feel the rage of that betrayal simmering beneath his skin, even fifteen years later. Could still feel the chokehold of grief that had blinded him. Forcing him to be reliant on Mo’at and the rest of the clan, to help him care for Spider when the sadness of losing his mate got the best of him. 

He could still taste the FURY that had burned the back of his throat when he turned up to  Arvok’s hut to pick Spider up, only to find his son suffocating. Arvok had laid the infant out on his back and removed his exo-mask, his face horrifyingly devoid of emotion as Tsu’tey’s son choked to death.

<”WHAT ARE YOU DOING!”> Tsu’tey had snarled, his body moving how he wanted for the first time in weeks. His vision had narrowed down to his son, panic and betrayal making his hands shake as he shoved Arvok aside and dove for Spider. With unsteady but determined hands, he had secured Spider’s mask back to his face. 

<”It is for your own good Tsu’tey.”> His little brother had informed him, whilst Tsu’tey had kept his back to him, his attention solely on Spider. With careful fingers, he had combed Spider’s hair back from his face, relief blooming in his chest as colour returned to Spider’s face and his eyes cleared. He was still breathing hard, catching his breath, but humans usually recovered without difficulty at this stage.

At his back, Arvok was still monologuing, basically admitting to the murder he had allowed the visiting Olo’eyktan to take the fall for.

With Spider recovering, Tsu’tey had finally turned his attention to the threat. <”It was you? You did this?!”> Tsu’tey hissed, fury replacing the fear as he turned slowly. 

<”Yes.”> Arvok admitted freely. And he was smiling. 

<”It was your fault?”> Tsu’tey bellowed, <”I had to bury my mate, because of you? Spider’s other parent is rotting in a grave, because of you? You did this?”>

Arvok nodded again.

<”This nightmare never ends, and it’s your fault!”> He wasn’t entirely sure when he had reached for his knife, but it was in his hand regardless. <”YOU DID THIS!”>

Arvok seemed to have caught on that Tsu’tey didn’t agree with his motive. The coward had startled at his raised voice, his hands rising in surrender as he began to back up.

<”Tsu’tey!”> His mate’s murderer pleaded, <”think about what you’re doing-”> <”NO!”> Tsu’tey snarled, his tail thrashing with rage. His hands ached to kill, his entire body ached actually. From heartache and loneliness and remaining in his hammock for too long. But he was moving. Finally his mind and body were in sync again, listening to him. Willing to help him carry out vengeance. To protect his son from this threat and avenge his fallen loved one. <”I will not think! I will not wait! This ends NOW! I will NOT allow you to hurt ANYONE ELSE!”>

Arvok fumbled to draw his blade, but it was too late, Tsu’tey had already tackled him to the ground. His brother had shrieked and wiggled, pleading for mercy, but Tsu’tey had given up listening. His knife punctured vulnerable flesh with a wet slice, and the body beneath him began to tire. 

He recalled the numbness that had followed. How his limbs had refused to cooperate again as he had crawled off the body, tears sliding down his face as grief tore open his chest anew. He had gathered up his unconscious son and crawled towards the hut’s entrance. He had only been able to make it as far as the walkway outside before he was forced to rest, his limbs screaming in exertion as a panic attack threatened to crawl up the back of his throat. 

All he could think about was his son choking in his arms. About the promise he had made to his dead mate to look after him. How he had almost failed not even two weeks after they’d died.

He was a terrible father. 

He’d curled up outside the hut for what felt like hours, tears slipping silently down his cheeks as he protectively curled around Spiders’s little body. Listening to his heartbeat even out and feeling his breaths with every puff of the exo mask. 

Mo’at had been the one to find him. She had always been like a mother to him. Even more so in those moments, when she had peered into Arvok’s hut, and seen his body, but had not flinched away from Tsu’tey. Her voice had been soothing and calm as she had helped him up, coaxing him into keeping a firm hold on Spider as she led him away from the scene.

Within minutes, she’d had him sat in her hut with a cup of tea in hand, whilst she sent hunters to deal with Arvok. By the time Spider had spluttered awake, Mo’at already had food waiting for him and Tsu’tey had stopped shaking. 

With a hard blink, Tsu’tey was back to the present. Stood beneath the shade of Eywa’s Throne with his family readying their ikran at his back, as he looked upon the reincarnated form of his mate and finally felt as if a weight was being lifted from his shoulders. 

“I dealt with him personally. He will not be a threat to you, should you choose to remain with us once you are healed.” Tsu’tey continued.

“I’m just sorry I wasn’t there.” The recom breathed, “that can’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t.” Tsu’tey replied simply, because it was true. It hadn’t. And several times, he was sure he wasn’t going to pull through. “But you are now. I asked Eywa for a miracle. For you to stop being dead. And you did.” He smiled, small and private, whilst the recom nodded. “And you came home.” 

“I wanted to.” The recom admitted. “Getting back to you was my first thought upon waking up. I wasn’t even sure if the clan had survived the Battle for The Tree of Souls, but I had to know anyway.”

“Thank you.” Tsu’tey said again, and they looked up. He did not elaborate, and they did not ask him to. 

And this time, when he offered a hand to help them stand, they took it. 

>_<

“Hold tight.” Jake called over his shoulder, prompting you to tighten your arms around his waist as he coaxed Bob into a fluid glide under the belly of a colossal mountain. The wind tore at your hair and bullied your ears into lowering tight against your skull. You didn’t have a visor, so you’d been forced to duck tight against Jake’s back so his bulk would block most of it. Your eyes watered as you peeled them open a crack against the sting, to watch the mountain pass. 

Far below, the forest sprawled, and you couldn’t help but feel safe. Even if it was Jake doing the driving. As if to prove your point, your pilot unexpectedly rose higher on his stirrups, yanking you up with him thanks to your death grip around his stomach. Crouched awkwardly behind Jake, you winced as he yipped loudly over his shoulder, prompting the other ikran to fall into formation behind Bob. 

With another turn and a great swerve, the flock neatly soaring up into the hidden mouth of High Camp’s entrance. 

The camp stretched out below you from wall to wall. A living, breathing community of homes and cooking fires, interwoven with the compounds the scientists used to live alongside it all.

Bob circled once above it all before landing on the lip of the rocks as he had before. The rest of the flock followed suit. 

Your hands were ice cold from the wind, but somehow, you managed to peel your frozen limbs out of their death grip around Jake. Sitting back heavily in the saddle, you breathed out a sigh of relief now that there was no longer any danger of plummeting to your death.

Jake turned in the saddle, looking back at you over his shoulder with amusement plain on his face. “I’m surprised you didn’t scream the whole way up here.” “You forget I also used to accompany Trudy on her missions.” You replied sharply. “A little rough flying and a maniac of a pilot hasn’t killed me yet.”

Jake raised a brow at the irony, but didn’t push. “Need a hand down?” He asked instead. 

“I got it.”

He shot you a look that clearly said he didn’t believe you, but he dismounted alone regardless. Remaining in Bob’s saddle, you watched Jake stride towards Neytiri’s ikran and raise his hands in preparation to help Tuk down. 

Then you remembered that there were things to do and a clan to inform, all whilst you were relaxing on someone else’s ikran. Glancing down, you realised that you couldn’t actually judge how high the drop from the saddle to the ground was going to be. Even the flight up had drained you, and you could feel yourself on the cusp of crashing now that your adrenaline rush had well and truly died. Readjusting your grasp on the saddle straps, you yelped when Bob seemed to sense your struggle and smoothly lowered himself to the ground. Stretching your legs down, you scrambled for purchase whilst clinging tightly to the saddle. 

Bob was surprisingly patient and remained still until your feet touched cool stone and you slid off him entirely. He cooed softly as you leant against him, the world briefly spinning now that you had moved too much.

At your back, Mo’at’s booming voice echoed throughout the chamber.  <”Welcome home!”> Glancing over your shoulder, you found the Tsahik and a good chunk of the clan crowded around the landing area. 

Despite how gently you had moved, the movement pulled your torso wound wrong and you hissed in pain, ripping a hand away from the saddle to apply pressure. Which was bloody ridiculous because you’d just endured an entire flight without it complaining more than a dull throb. 

Your knees buckled without you focusing hard on keeping them straight, but luckily, Bob was a nice tempered ikran and simply followed you down instead of watching you topple over like Jake probably would have if you had instead allowed him to help.

Bob cooed encouragingly, his big head swinging round to lightly push at your shoulder. His scales were cool against your heated skin; soothing. 

Distantly, you could hear Mo’at waxing poetry to the clan, declaring some bullshit about Eywa repaying everyone’s hard work and devotion by offering one of the fallen a second chance. The People ate it up with hums of agreement, blindly trusting their Tsahik as they should. She might have mentioned the other recoms, or dragged Jake’s situation into the mix, but you couldn’t really hear.

White noise had swept in and drowned out her loud, regal voice. Your vision swam, but you could feel the stone you were sitting on and the saddle strap still clutched tightly in your hand. You could hear Bob chirping and feel the vibrations of feet approaching. 

Shadows flitted across your unseeing vision as a hand soothed down your back, whilst more checked your forehead for a fever. An even smaller set cupped your cheek, encouraging you to look at a small, pale face locked away behind an exo mask. You blinked slowly, feeling horrendously nauseous. 

Someone else dropped to their knees by your side, causing the other hands to retreat. The hands that touched you now were uncertain but supportive, encouraging your crumbled form to lean into them. You felt hands on your kuru, lifting and moving the braid, but it didn’t hurt, so you didn’t bother to fight it. 

There was softer, comforting talking happening right in front of your face, but your ears couldn’t figure out the words. Not whether they spoke in Na’vi or English, let alone what was being said, but the sound was comforting all the same as you felt yourself beginning to drift. 

There was zing up your kuru that flooded warmth into the base of your skull where your braid connected to the top of your spine. The pain seemed to ebb in its wake, leaving behind a sensation that could only be described as soothing.

I’ve got you. Tsu’tey’s voice promised, although it spoke in your mind rather than out loud. Clearer than anything that was happening in High Camp. He sounded kind, like he had in the memories, instead of angry at your very existence.

Hurts. You thought back, letting out a pained shout as you were abruptly lifted by whoever you were leaning into. Their grasp was firm on you, more grounding than painful now that you were being held steady.

I know. We’re gonna make you better.

Spider? He is here.

More vibrations thrummed through your cheek, which was pressed against a cool collarbone, as the person holding you spoke out loud. Almost instantly, a small hand reached up to grab your limp arm, which hung down. Five fingers squeezed down, sending a bolt of relief through you.

You found yourself suddenly grateful that this inevitable crash hadn’t happened in the forest. If they had decided to leave you behind, you would’ve been vulnerable to predators or detected by the RDA. But here you were instead, hidden within the heart of the clan, concealed within the floating mountains. That is right. Tsu’tey soothed in your mind. You are safe here. We will not allow harm to come to you.

And you believed him. 

The rest was a blur after Tsu’tey ducked into Mo’at’s hut. Your strength had almost completely departed now, as you hung limply in Tsu’tey’s grasp. Strangely, the Olo’eyktan continued to be unsettlingly gentle as he sat himself down beside the fire, with you cradled between his knees and your head resting back across his shoulder. His touch burned your over sensitive skin, but it was as soothing as it was unsettling. 

You saw the hut through Tsu’tey’s eyes, your own suddenly too tired to stay open. You were in the same hut as before, Mo’at’s herbs hanging from the ceiling whilst a pot of something strong bubbled over the flames. Spider had already moved towards where Mo’at kept her instruments, his back tense as he began pulling out various things. You could feel Tsu’tey searching for something to say to soothe his worries, but Mo’at swept in before he could voice anything.

<”Good.”> The Tsahik breathed as the curtains swished shut behind her. There was an unspoken lightness to her tone as she moved further into the room, ruffling Spider’s dreads as she went. <”I will not have to bully you into creating the bond. That shall allow this to go much more easily.”> She paused to take note of what Spider had already begun to pull from her supply, a proud grin tugging across her lips at what she found. <”You’re learning.”> She praised, to which both you and Tsu’tey noticed some of the tension leaving Spider.

Mo’at squeezed his shoulder, before returning her attention to you and frowning. <”Now, let us see the damage.”> She approached on steady feet, sinking to her hunches at Tsu’tey’s side as she began asking questions about your injuries. 

Between the three of them, they began patching you up. Tsu’tey kept you steady and the pain at bay, whilst Mo’at cut away your shirt and the old leaf bandages to get at the wounds beneath. Spider handed over disinfectants and cooling salves that she took great care in firmly rubbing into the fresh wounds. The pressure was even and predictable, allowing you to suck in shaky breaths whenever she withdrew her hand for another dose. 

As Mo’at carefully bandaged you up, you felt Tsu’tey beginning to relax on the other end of the bond. Until now, he’d been careful to keep his own emotions in check, so much so that you had barely realised he was tense. But now you could feel it. His anxiety came in waves, ebbing and flowing with no rhythm. As soon as he was calming the first, a second would unexpectedly sweep in to drench him, causing his heartbeat to pound against your back. Stubbornly, his face remained unreadable.

With what little strength you had left, you reached up to cover his hand that was gently curled over your stomach. 

I’m fine now. You told him mentally with a tight squeeze to the back of his hand. Good as new.

There was no fresh wave of guilt to challenge your claim, and something visibly loosened in him. Through the bond, you got the vague sense that he wanted to bury his face into your shoulder and cling tightly, but it was gone as quickly as it came. 

<”Tsu’tey sit them up higher.”> Mo’at suddenly said from closer than you were anticipating. Dutifully, Tsu’tey obeyed, whilst you cracked open an eyelid to find Mo’at holding a bowl of something steaming and a spoon. <”There you are.”> She said softly, <”try and eat something before you go back to sleep. Today has taken a lot from you. You will need your strength.”> As she spoke, she filled the spoon with warm broth and raised it to your mouth. You opened and hummed in thanks as the warmth flooded from your tongue into your body. It was the most delicious thing you’d had since waking up. Hearty and soothing, sweet but not too much so. Worlds better than RDA rations. It warmed you from the inside out, allowing sleep to make your eyelids heavy.

<”Spider, could you clear some space for a spare hammock, of course we’ll need to monitor them-”>

<”Dad and I could look after them!”> Spider rushed out before abruptly cutting himself off. He cleared his throat. <”I mean, we have room. In our hut?”>

You grumbled softly, content to let them figure it out between them. With the broth heavy in your belly, you could feel sleep finally digging its claws in and refusing to relent. This time, you couldn’t have stayed awake if you wanted to. 

>_<

For what felt like weeks but could have only been days, you flowed in and out of consciousness like river water around submerged stones. When the current pulled you higher, you managed to peel your eyes open to find a woven hut roof and a warm bowl of something light to eat waiting for you. 

And when it pulled you deep down within yourself, you relied on the comforting presence of Tsu’tey to keep you grounded. During those times you shared Tsaheylu, the pain was relieved better than any painkiller, as if Tsu’tey swept it away through sheer force of will. With the connection also came stories, fond memories that Tsu’tey offered to pass the time. Some you recalled from before everything went to shit, and some that were new.

If you were especially lucky, you would drift up enough to hear Tsu’tey asking Spider for memory ideas. To which the boy would happily and animatedly narrate some fond memory he had, whilst Tsu’tey recalled it from his own perspective and fed it down the bond to you. 

It was a simple, repetitive existence. So much so that it was jarring to float upwards again and find yourself staying there. 

Your eyes were crusty as you peeled them open, your back smarting from lying still for so long. But you could already tell you didn’t hurt as much. There were still bandages wrapped securely around your torso, slightly restricting your breathing, but you didn’t feel wet under them. Your injuries were definitely on the mend. 

The hammock you were tucked in swayed gently as the rest of the hut came into view. It was not one you had been in before. 

In the pit, the cooking fire had fizzled out into nothing, whereas the repetitive, slow breathing of someone nearby alerted you to the fact you were not alone. Everything hurt as you eased yourself up into a sitting position, surprised to find yourself stripped of your ratty, RDA issued uniform and instead dressed in the traditional na’vi loincloth. Your hair felt clean for the first time in days, the build up of sweat and grime washed away whilst you were unconscious. 

The world swayed as you struggled to haul yourself out of the hammock, dark spots floating across your vision as you grasped one of the supports for dear life. The tent your hammock was strung up in was tidy, but clinical, with hooks lining the ceiling supports in uniformed rows and baskets of healing supplies carefully tucked away against the far wall. A long rug covered most of the uneven stone floor, whereas the entrance to your right was pulled to, but not obstructed.

“Zaza?” A small voice groaned from behind you, heavy with sleep. Your ears pricked as you turned, finding Spider half out of a hammock three times too large for him. “Where are you going?” There was thinly veiled panic hidden in his tone, accented with the way he was holding himself dangerously still. Uncertain whether to approach.

“Where am I?” You asked instead of answering, tail ramrod straight as the boy fully slipped out of the hammock. His stripes were dull now, somehow, you could tell even in the low light. 

“In the infirmary,” Spider offered easily, hands plainly in sight as he slowly approached. “I wanted to take you home but Dad said you might not be comfortable with it.”

“I see.” You replied neutrally.

“Are you hungry?” Spider offered when you didn’t follow the sentence up with anything else. You found yourself nodding hesitantly, to which Spider smiled tightly. The cuts Quaritch’s knife had left across his throat had scabbed over.

“Can we go to mine and Dad’s tent? We have ingredients there for breakfast?”

“Only if that is okay with your Dad.” It felt weird to refer to Tsu’tey like that. “He won’t mind.” Spider replied too quickly, flashing you a winning smile. Smiling back, you followed him out of the tent and into the main chamber of High Camp.

The camp was quiet considering the early hour, with only the odd hunter milling around and the ikran perched near the cave mouth. 

Spider walked noticeably slow ahead of you, glancing back periodically as if you would slip away between the tents if he didn’t keep an eye on you. 

The boy’s tent was surprisingly empty of Tsu’tey when he held the curtain open for you. As you rounded the dormant fire pit to take a seat, you noted the two hammocks strung near the back wall, alongside the knick knacks and keepsakes scattered beneath the one on the left - clearly Spiders. Whereas Tsu’tey’s was neatly tidied with his bow stand empty and his arrows gone. The tent felt homely, and well lived in.

Spider was clearly comfortable navigating it. With confidence, he woke a fire and began pulling all manner of fruits out of the various baskets near the entrance. Pausing to tie back his dreadlocks, he neatly pulled out a spear knife from a box and got comfortable on the opposite side of the fire. WIth a steady grip, he ducked his head and began dutifully cutting the closest thing to him - a yovo fruit.  

Between you, the fire popped merrily, and you very quickly realised you had nothing to say to him. Besides sharing a near death experience and a common drive to keep each other alive, you realised you had nothing in common. You didn’t really know him.

“How’s your throat?” “Healing.” Spider replied after a heartbeat of silence. “H-how’s your side?” “Better.” You assured him, with a subconscious touch to the healing injury in question. “I’m assuming I have you and your Dad to thank for that?” Spider ducked his head. “Dad did most of the work, I just helped.” “And yet you were standing guard when I came to.” 

Spider flushed this time as if he was embarrassed you had noticed. “I fell asleep.” He admitted with a mumble. 

The corner of your mouth tugged up at the quiet admission. “Don’t beat yourself up over it, I’m the exact same when I sit still for too long. You’ve had a difficult-” you trailed off, “how long have I been out?” “Two days.” Spider supplied helpfully. 

“Thank you, it’s been a difficult few days.”

“It hasn’t been bad.” Spider admitted absently, using his knife to half and scrape some freshly sliced  yovo fruit into two nearby bowls. He was quiet for a moment as he picked up the slightly larger portion and held it out to you. Ducking your head in thanks, you reached forward to take it from him, but Spider didn’t let go.

Meeting his gaze, you found him already watching you with a long look. “Thank you for not dying again.” He said sincerely, “I’d really appreciate getting to know you this time around.”

You smiled bitterly at the sentiment, a look that Spider mirrored easily. 

“And I, you.” You replied easily, finding that you meant it as he let you take the bowl. “I’ve heard great things about you Spider, it’ll be nice to get to know you better.” He averted his gaze then, scooping up a bit of fruit and stuffing it into his mouth instead of responding straight away. Taking a page out of his book, you lowered your gaze and did the same. The fruit was delicious. It was sweet and full to bursting. With every bite you had to wipe the sides of your mouth because of the sheer amount of juice in every piece.

“Will you stay?” Spider asked when his bowl was half empty. You paused mid-bite to find him looking at the fire instead of you.

Swallowing your mouthful, you wiped your chin and asked seriously, “do you want me to?”

“Yes.” Spider said without missing a beat. His expression was painfully vulnerable, full of hope and what could only be described as longing. “Dad does too. And Mo’at. Jake and Neytiri too, but they won’t admit it because they don’t want to pressure you.” He paused, “you’ll be safe with us here.”

“I would be.” You agreed, “but I have to see if it’s the right decision first. If I don’t fit here, then I can’t force it. Do you understand?” Spider pouted but didn’t contradict you. “I understand.” He said maturely, and you knew he was being honest. 

>_<

Recovery was slow, but you’d never been the kind to remain in bed for long. Even with Mo’at barring you from contributing on hunts, you ensured you rose with the sun and helped out around the camp in whatever way your injuries allowed. Sometimes, that was cleaning or servicing stolen RDA weapons alongside other hunters, or you were washing and prepping Mo’at’s herbs. 

In those first few days, the clan gave you a wide berth, which you appreciated. In return, you remained unarmed and calmed yourself by sitting with your back to a wall or against someone’s hut whilst you completed your tasks. You kept your head down, and gradually, their unease faded. 

Usually, Spider or one of the Sully kids joined you for an hour or two, talking about anything or everything whilst their parents hunted or contributed with patrols. But today, Tsu’tey sat himself down opposite you, a basket of fruit balanced on his hip. He kept his gaze fixed on his work as he crouched a comfortable distance away, and immediately occupied himself with peeling the fruits. 

You said nothing, and as you had the last few days, refused to start up a conversation. As long as neither of you opened your mouths, you tended to be able to exist in the same space without dissolving into insults or painful memories. You knew he was trying. 

You knew Tsu’tey was attempting to rebuild some of that trust in the only way he knew how, but it was unsettling. You’d never known him to be this quiet. This comfortable in existing in someone else’s space without having to voice his internal monologue. It was just another reminder of how much he had changed whilst you’d been frozen in time. 

And what’s more, some of the things he was doing for you, couldn’t be explained away as an Olo’eyktan looking out for one of his own. Even after you’d woken up and spent that first morning having breakfast with Spider, you had been a long way from recovered. 

Moving around without long naps in between chores left you exhausted and oftentimes passed out in the weirdest places, such as Tsu’tey’s tent floor when you had been waiting for Spider to finish making lunch. That time - and every time after - you’d woken up in a hammock instead of on the floor. 

When a fever had come for vengeance and your wound had gotten a minor infection, he’d been nothing short of doting. Feeding you light meals to settle your stomach. Braiding your sweaty hair back so it was off your forehead and didn’t cling to your neck. Changing your bandages like clockwork. Adding and taking away blankets where needed. 

In a lot of ways, it reminded you of how your parents had doted on one another. Performing thankless acts of service without the other ever having to ask for it. 

And through it all, he scowled the entire time. Like constantly. And you definitely shouldn’t have found that as achingly familiar and reassuring as you had. You definitely shouldn’t have started looking into it, searching for the fiery, annoying man you’d fallen head over heels in love with all that time ago. 

You were submerged so deeply in your thoughts, that you’d completely forgotten where you were and what you were doing, until you managed to sink your knife into your thumb. With a hiss and a jerk, you dropped the fruit you’d been peeling and jammed your bleeding thumb into your mouth and sat back on your hunches.

Across from you, Tsu’tey clicked his teeth. “Idiot.” He sighed, but not with his usual bite, hell, it practically sounded fond, as if you’d done something endearing instead of pathetic. “Here,” he continued, reaching into the pouch secured across his chest strap and pulling out a river leaf. “Let me.” Slowly, he reached across the distance between you, his expression open and sickeningly kind. You let him take your hand without a fuss. Carefully, Tsu’tey mopped up the blood, a soft tut leaving his lips as he assessed the depth of the injury. 

“Do I need to go back to Mo’at?” You joked half-heartedly.

“Luckily not. She’s getting sick of only seeing you.” 

“Not for long hopefully.” You interjected, “I’m on the mend for real this time.” Tsu’tey hummed noncommittally. “Have you given any thought into what you will do once you’re healed?” He asked point blank, with no warning or prompt to get him to say it. 

You blinked. “What brought that on?” Tsu’tey ducked his head, a gesture you’d noticed Spider doing when he was embarrassed. “I overheard Spider asking about it the other week, and I can’t stop thinking about it.” He admitted sheepishly. 

Just to fuck with him, you gasped dramatically. “You were eavesdropping?” “I was not!” Tsu’tey corrected defensively with a scowl. He bit his lip and averted his gaze again. “I was worried when neither of you were in the infirmary when I went to check. Naturally, I checked home before looking anywhere else for him.”

“I see.”

“So?”

“What?” With a firm crack of his tail, he caught your gaze and held it. “I answered your question, so answer mine.”

He was still holding onto your hand with both of his, you realised absently. He was sat close enough now, that the combination of all three hands had fallen into his lap, the river leaf forgotten and your finger beginning to scab. It was such an intimate position, that you almost forgot what his question was.

“If I were to stay,” you started carefully, intending to see how far he would go, “I would need somewhere to live. Mo’at’s going to chase me out of the infirmary one of these days if I stay there much longer.” “We have spare tents.” Tsu’tey said neutrally, ears swivelling to face you, showing just how eager for your answer he really was. “And if you were comfortable, you could even move in with Spider and I if none of them were to your liking.” He paused, before quickly tacking on a panicked, “but only if you wanted to. There is no pressure of course.” “Of course.” You agreed readily, feeling more at ease than you had yet. With a small smirk, you decided to keep fucking with him. “And I would need my weapons back.” “That can be arranged.” Tsu’tey agreed, before glancing up and stalling at your expression. You tilted your head.

“And I would need to negotiate a relationship with my son if his father was open to it.” Tsu’tey went very still causing panic to slam into your sternum. Abruptly, the tables had turned and it was you scrambling to justify yourself. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to step on your toes. I don’t even have to see him that often if you’re not comfortable with it. I can take him out for a day, or we don’t even have to do that. I could be like that distant cousin, or the weird clone twin of his dead- fuck this isn’t coming out how I wanted it to-”

“I think,” Tsu’tey cut in sharply, looking more amused than offended. “That Spider would love to build a connection with you.” Tsu’tey’s hands had gone completely slack around your own. The sluggishly bleeding cut completely forgotten now that the air between you was thick with untold tension. 

“And what about his father,” you pushed, studying his expression, “would he be happy with that arrangement?” 

Tsu’tey’s gaze dragged across your face and circled at least twice down to your lips. “He could be persuaded.” He said darkly, making your stomach squirm from his tone. 

His eyes had fallen to half mast during the little back and forth, his pupils swollen as they looked at you. You could feel your tail wagging at your back, and you hated to think how eager you probably looked. 

With a hard blink, you dragged yourself off of that train of thought before it could derail off into dangerous territory. Kissing him would be a stupid idea right now, you reminded yourself. In fact, it would be more stupid than marching into Ardmore’s office and openly admitting to treason. Not only would it jeopardise your position within the clan, but it wouldn’t actually fix anything between you and Tsu’tey and might even end with him pulling away.

No, as gorgeous as he looked right now, and how much you could see he wanted you, you needed to wait. There was no room for this, when you were only just beginning to trust each other once again. Maybe soon, but not now. Not today.

Clinging tightly to that reasoning, you sat back and pulled your hand out of Tsu’tey’s grip.

He blinked and seemed to come back to himself. With a sheepish clearing of his throat, he also shuffled back and out of reach. Ears lowered, he took up his knife again and continued his previous task of peeling the fruit, dutifully pretending like nothing had happened.

You hated it. But you hated that blank expression on his face more.

Scrambling for something to say - anything - to keep the conversation flowing, you blurted out the first thing that randomly came to mind to fill the silence. 

“How did we end up adopting, Spider?”

Startled, Tsu’tey’s head snapped up. His brows furrowed as he struggled to process the question, as if bewildered you were still willing to talk to him after pulling away.  

“What?” “I mean, if I’m going to be co-parenting with you, then I should know these things.” Something like relief flooded his expression. “I see.” He said easily. “So,” you prodded, with a pointed wiggle of your ears, “how did we end up adopting a human child together?” 

Tsu’tey smiled fondly to himself. “It was after the battle. We went to Hell’s Gate to raid for medical supplies. I insisted on coming along because you were so small, and you fought me every step of the way because I had suffered a shoulder injury.”

Instinctively, you knew which shoulder to glance down at. The bullet wounds were old and faded with time. You could only imagine how long it had taken him to heal them, and how long it had taken to rebuild the strength in that arm.

“The corridors were stupidly small and impractical, but echoey. I heard a baby crying and you followed me when I went to investigate. We found Spider in someone’s bunk room, and you told me he was hungry. From there, it was just a matter of no one else having the time to take care of him, and you stepping up. And as your mate, I did too.”

“Huh.” 

“Anything else you want to know?” Tsu’tey prodded good naturedly. You thought for a moment. “What was his first word?” Tsu’tey stopped his polishing to laugh. A proper laugh. The kind that started deep in your belly and burst its way out of your mouth and demanded you to tilt your head back from the sheer force of it. A truly gorgeous expression on him.

“What?” You defended yourself with a chuckle, “I need to know the important information.”

“Of course.” Tsu’tey chuckled, the mood light. “His first English word was uh-oh, because he knocked my bow off your desk. And his first Na’vi word was Sempu.”

“Oh, I see how it is!” You mocked, pretending to be offended whilst Tsu’tey shot you a wicked grin as if he’d won. “So his first word was practically ‘dad’, big deal.” Tsu’tey hummed.

“Alright, what’s his favourite food?”

And it went like that for several hours. You and Tsu’tey basking in each other’s company, learning and reliving fond moments from a time long gone. It was easy and familiar, and it finally felt like home.

~FIN~

Last Chapter <- Part 5

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

How do you find motivation to write fics??????? I write ONE chapter and can’t finish

Motivation is FAKE, you finish by sheer force of WILL, STUBBORNNESS and SPITE /hj

In all seriousness its different for everyone.

I used to have trouble finishing stuff too ngl, its tough. But you just gotta find out whats stopping you. Is it really lack of motivation? Or is it lack of confidence or worry your writing isn't good enough yet? Or maybe you're worried no one will like what you're writing so it makes you not want to finish. Or maybe you're exhausted by other stuff happening in your life and it makes it hard to write because writing requires a lot of mental energy! Could be you might even be writing something you don't want to write just because everyone else is writing it and its super mentally and emotionally draining! The options are infinite!

Honestly when i stopped caring about what my writing sounded like and whether it was good enough or not and started treating things as more of a writing practice, it took a lot of pressure off of me and made it much easier to write. Usually I find its my own unspoken expectations on myself that make it hard to gather up motivation to write.

Motivation, by definition, is basically just a desire or willingness to do something. So what's keeping you from doing it really? You might just have a block you haven't figured it out where it's come from because we tend to default to identifying it a lack of motivation. But motivation isn't a reason! Its just a description for our desire and drive to complete a task basically.

I know this is a bit of a cop-out answer a look-within-you wise-old-mentor answer, but it really is a unique thing for everyone! Gotta get to know yourself and understand and acknowledge what might be really blocking you! and then work on that and chances are (at least in my experience) its gets easier.

Thanks for this ask! I actually needed to be reminded of this because I'm having trouble finishing something. And whaddaya know what i thought was lack of motivation was something else entirely.

I wish you luck in your writing journey mate! Its a never-ending process of being kind to yourself, working hard and getting to know yourself and what works for you, no matter how long you've been writing.

[dragontamerno3]

DS9 S3 E15-17

Another bad pain day. I watched these three earlier while I curled up and probably would have watched one more but that seemed like a heavy Bashir/Garak episode so I stopped to give me proper energy/time to squee later. That said, I'll do my best to recap how I felt but I might miss a thing or two cause I'm still very much suffering lol

E15 - Destiny

I really appreciate how Sisko handled this one. I'm very much not okay with a lot of religious messages in my media because of the trauma I faced as a kid so some things are definitely hard to swallow but so far its been only skirting the line of intolerable. What I appreciate about this one, though, was that Sisko decided prophecy or not, he was going to do his job to the best of his ability.

He wasn't about to risk the lives of everyone but he also wasn't going to listen to an ancient text that could have been made up let alone translated poorly. And honestly, having it be the second option, where the Cardassian's (minus the Obsidian Order sabotage) aren't the bad guys was a great narrative choice.

I'm a little icked by Kira's kind of worship over Sisko but I'm hoping that doesn't stick, or at least isn't a big thing.

Miles and the Cardassian scientist having a bit of thing was cute and while I know he's married, I definitely headcanon the whole crew as one big polyam fam and so I'd ship it. lol

Overall, great episode

7/10

E16 - Prophet Motive

I was kinda bored with this one. I'm not really a fan of the Ferengi as a whole, the Nagus more so than others, so that's probably why. It was fun to watch Quark run around trying to solve this weird mystery as to what came over the Nagus and it was interesting to learn that the Ferengi weren't always a greedy species, but over all it was just a middling episode.

5/10

E17 - Visionary

I enjoyed this episode but I had some head scratching moments about the time travel bits and how one Miles could know things that the other didn't even though they were meant to follow the same time line. In the end I mostly just let myself sit back and enjoy what I could without trying to think too hard, even though I couldn't completely stop it lol

I wasn't surprised it was the Romulans at fault, as much as their my favorite antagonists in most Star Trek series (SNW and Lower Decks are their own beautiful beasts), they are very much a "actions before answers" kinda people.

I think my favorite part of this one was when Odo told Sisko about his investigation in detail to remind him of just how good he was. Also that Odo "always thinks of Quark", his words lol

I adored Miles for willing to put his life on the line for thousands of others. He's very much a "needs of the many" kinda guy and he's shown it several times but each time he volunteers without hesitation. I think its one of the reasons why I like him so much. That and he feels like one of the few truly grounded people on the crew, on that believes in Starfleet but knows that there are flaws in every system, not matter who runs it.

I'm curious, though, if the Miles that returned at the end of the episode will have more 'out of place' feelings and what that might mean for it. It's gotta be fucked up to watch yourself die like that.

7/10

[veebs-hates-video-games]

I keep forgetting or not having the energy to do the next one of these. It's going to be two in one again, this time for Glitchhikers: The Spaces Between and Vengeful Heart, which are the two "wokest" games I've played in a while (in a good way).

Glitchhikers is the only thing that's ever given me a dialogue option to declare the concept of the hero's journey to be an act of colonialism (we make fun of Campbell on this blog, and also Jung while we're at it), and Vengeful Heart is probably the most openly revolutionary thing I've played since A Bewitching Revolution (which is also great and you should give it a try).

I played the original Glitchhikers over a decade ago when it first came out. It was only like 15 minutes to go through it once, but it was the exact right thing I needed to see at that exact point in my life, and it's still one of my most memorable experiences with a game ever thanks to that. The new remade and hugely expanded version didn't quite do it for me in the same way, but it was still interesting and had some stuff going for it.

It's very much an experimental art game experience and not something big on gameplay, and it can be a little clunky or frustrating to interact with sometimes as a result. The park section in particular was mostly just annoying for me rather than me getting much out of it.

It can also be kind of on the nose with some of the dialogue and the messages in it, and some of it left me feeling like yeah I've seen multiple posts about this on Tumblr except they expanded on the idea with a thousand more words and it led to a bunch of discussion that added a lot more to it.

When it gets stuff right I really like it though. The train segment of the game avoids those problems entirely for the most part, both because it's a fixed path that makes navigating it a lot easier and because you run into each character multiple times. That latter thing is particularly important because it lets them flesh out the conversations a bit more and spend more time with each idea or theme, which it really benefits a lot from.

I think the final airport section was probably my second favorite. It's a bit tedious wandering around the empty space, and it's kinda blunt with its message, but it did a good enough job presenting the idea that how things are framed and structured matters for how we perceive and think about them, whether it's architecture or stories or ideas. It's a very "I see what you did there" way to wrap things up, but it works.

And then Vengeful Heart is just good. It's a postapocalyptic cyberpunk dystopian VN that manages to be appreciably worse than the way things are in the real world but not by so much that it's not immediately able to be related back to real life. And while the setting and situation are pretty dire, the story itself is about disempowered people joining together to work to do something to change it. Not without struggles and loss along the way, and not with a universally happy ending where everything is magically fixed, but with hope for their actions and sacrifices leading to continued change and improvement in the future.

They absolutely nailed the PC-98 aesthetic better than I've seen anyone do it in a while, and it feels like someone could've made the artwork 30 years ago. A lot of the music is pretty good too and sets the tone well.

Its biggest strength is its characters though, which is always a good thing in a medium and genre that relies so much on them. There are strong women and PoC and queer people and disabled people and student activists and working class union members and more all working together, both learning from each other but also having conflicting ideas and motivations at times, and of course the evil billionaires and militarized cops and private security you'd expect from the genre too. I really liked how a lot of them were handled, and I kept thinking about some of them for days after I finished the story, completely unprompted.

I could see myself going back through the train section of Glitchhikers now and then to meet different characters and see what they have to say, but Vengeful Heart is the one I expect to end up fairly high on my list at the end of the year, and I'm really looking forward to whenever they finish the next thing they've been working on.

[sepublic]

            One of the ideas behind the Nizziverse is how Cybertron as a community and the Great War itself has gotten… Smaller over the years. Destruction on both sides, and the depletion of Energon resources, means that Cybertronians can’t support the same numbers and technology they once had. There used to be multiple Omega Sentinels, but now there’s only one; Various Combiner teams have been destroyed, and making a new one is a much more Herculean task due to limited resources and the society’s division.

         It’s part of Megatron’s motivation here; That Cybertron once held this thriving golden age, but ever since the war and loss of Energon, it’s depleted into a mere shell of its former self. Transformers are dwindling, they’re getting smaller, literally and figuratively. There’s less of them and the ones who DO exist are built to take up less Energon… Battles used to be a lot more cataclysmic, but now their scale has deeply regressed. The concept of an Omega Sentinel has in some ways become more and less prominent.

         Nowadays, a Titan is a true game-changer; But back in the olden days, while still intimidating, there were still other Titans, and both sides had stronger armaments and Transformers to better handle such a threat. Not anymore. Hence why the last Omega Sentinel is considered such a big deal, yet he’s also the last, so surely they can’t have been THAT great to have nearly died out?

         Giant ships can’t be Transformers in and of themselves now; Most of the time, Cybertronians have to settle for the cheaper, less fuel-costly option of just being a regular ship without a spark, that doesn’t transform. There is a lament that Cybertron is undergoing a mass extinction event over a gradual course of time, and it’s this concern that has motivated some Autobots to defect to the Decepticons, fearing this gradual decline will result in the death of their race.

         This concern is going to be particularly relevant in Age of Extinction, hence the title; Humanity won’t betray Transformers and set a new status quo of every single one being considered illegal on Earth. I hated that story decision for a wide number of reasons, particularly how it invalidated the victories of our protagonists, was just so mean-spirited, and made humans dominate Transformers even more on a literal and figurative level. Extinction for Cybertronians isn’t about being hunted down, it’s moreso a lament of how they’d had to commodify and adapt to fewer resources.

         There are mentions of a ‘Maximal’ project; Combining the words ‘Maximize’ and ‘Optimal’, some Cybertronians hope to redesign and evolve their race to be more fuel-efficient and compact. Punier bodies, sure; But still the same amount of soul and sapience as ever. And isn’t that what matters, in the end? Well, not to the Decepticons, who prize military strength and conquest. To them this is a humiliating fate worse than death for their species, and they refuse to change, despite transforming and adaptation being their whole gimmick.

         Though, some have been swayed; The Maximal project was designed to address concerns about the population dwindling. By making each Cybertronian more fuel-efficient, that means more energy to create more Maximal Cybertronians, thus resulting in more members of the population (even if individuals are now smaller than before). This would make an extinction-level event, such as a war, more easy for the Cybertronians to survive; More people means more survivors.

         Some Decepticons still insist that the Maximal project will just doom their race. If Cybertronians become smaller and weaker, then it doesn’t matter if there’s more of them; They’re still easier to kill off, which makes extinction even MORE likely a threat. Others argue that more numbers mean more collaboration and community; A group is more likely to survive than an individual, even if the individual is particularly strong. The Great War has taught many that quantity is in itself a quality; It’s less about making individual units as strong as possible, and more about churning out as many as possible to overwhelm, and better survive disaster.

         It’s a politically charged discussion, with a lot of room for nuance. Some Decepticons have surrendered and been granted amnesty, placing their faith in the Maximal project; Besides, it’s not like they have much of a choice, since their side is clearly losing anyway. Others remain persistent; After being revived through KSI, Megatron makes his grand return in appealing to Decepticons scattered throughout the cosmos, rallying them to defend the Cybertronian race itself against the Autobot traitors. The fact that KSI has unwittingly granted him a new army has Decepticon cells reassured that maybe they CAN still win, after all.

        In the end, seasoned historian Optimus Prime makes a good point; These smaller numbers are actually a return to Cybertron’s more sustainable past, before the Functionist Council encouraged mass expansion and growth for the sake of it. This ‘Golden Age’ that the Decepticons refer to was never natural, and was never going to last; Cybertronians have already existed like this, in better harmony with their environments. But of course, Optimus is labeled a traitor who is dooming his species for others, and when close friends around him die, Prime can’t help but occasionally fear that those people are right. Maybe he shouldn’t have started the Great War… But no, he doesn’t want to subscribe to this Decepticon binary, that it’s Us VS Them; Cybertron CAN co-exist with others. They must.

[messerkampf]

This ask again for Mitsukurina, cos I forgot to send one, but still want to read more about her 👀 : A1, A13, B15, F5, G6, H8

What of the Meyers-Briggs personality types they most fit into? INFP, ENFT, et cetera…

According to the quick lil test on 16personalities, she's ENFJ-A (the a being assertive, apparently-- I don't remember those from the last time I took it. The other option is T, Turbulent).

I think this fits her. It might seem odd to people who know her at first-- she's not shy, but she's not necessarily a very talkative person, and she can seem like she keeps to herself-- but the site describes ENFJs as leaders who seek to do the right thing no matter the cost, or at least have a positive impact on people.

She's the person who is charismatic and outgoing but doesn't fit the typical mental image of that. She's not very loud, she's fairly calm or chill most of the time, and she rarely dominates conversation-- but she is someone people gravitate to, both to open up to and to follow, and she gladly takes that role. She's also well aware that people do this, and uses it to her advantage to fly under the radar but still affect things.

"When something strikes them as unjust or wrong, they speak up. But they rarely come across as brash or pushy, as their sensitivity and insight guide them to speak in ways that resonate with others. These personality types have an uncanny ability to pick up on people’s underlying motivations and beliefs."

Does your OC have any phobias? If so, where did they come from?

Hmm, I don't know if I'd qualify it as a phobia, but the idea of being abandoned or abandoning others she loves is a really strong problem for her. Somewhere between attachment issues and phobia.

Does your OC enjoy social events, such as parties, clubs, et cetera..?

It depends! The people she's with will definitely affect her decision, as well as the location. She does love people watching, and she likes enjoying good music. She's not against dancing but she's not likely to unless the friends she with decide to. After being in prison for so long, she cherishes the freedom and busyness a lot-- but she cherishes the private alone time she chooses just as much. Overall though, I think she likes being in lived-in social spaces.

How handy are they? Can they fix appliances, cars, cabinets, et cetera?

Pretty darn. Some of it out of necessity-- when you're too broke to buy something new, you fix it, or you steal it (or you steal the thing you need to fix it). She's got a fairly good mechanical mind and is good at rigging up stuff she needs, and she's always loved tinkering with motorcycles and cars. She can do simple repairs, and some advanced ones, but its mostly just a side hobby.

Do they have any favorite childhood memories?

I've been waffling on what I want to do with her childhood and the finer details of it a lot, but I do know she liked to dye her hair as often as she could. She has a lot of memories of staying up late and having Duncan or whoever else was around help her with it, and those talks as well as the vibe was always nice.

She also loves anytime she and Duncan would get to go to the waterside and check out what was there. Nice to just wander, talk, scavenge, and try and spot people or critters.

What’s your OC’s idea of a perfect date?

She's pretty laidback when it comes to her idea of dating. A long drive somewhere (car or motorcycle), walking around a city, finding a good fishing spot just to chill, deciding what to do on the fly and having no plan-- she likes relaxed and spontaneous things more than planned or fancy ones. Someone who would be willing to match her energy and just do whatever, from hitting 120+mph to chilling on the couch somewhere would make a perfect date for her.

[onlyplatonicirl]

very very good chapter yippee yippeee tcoti my biggest special interest yay hurray huzzah

but in all seriousness the newest chapter was fantastic, all the characters are so well writte, despite condemning what error has done i can sympathise with him so well in this chapter and now throughout the entire story, he is a being who exists outside of reality unable to properly integrate into it because its just not in his nature, his body rejects its very existence and his mind is completely shattered (even more so after what the council did lmao), he seems so hopless in these last few chapters focusing on him, all he wants is to just get to his little void and curl up on a nice comfy bean bag and then fucking die

the way youve characterised ink is also incredibly interesting, he isnt this paragon of moral superiority but he also isnt a naughty no good bad man >:(( , he really truly is just such a uniquely neutral blank slate of a person (or monster ig), he doesnt seem to have any motivations outside of what he deems to be moral but his sense of morality is somewhat twisted by his desires and is doomed to forever be selfish because it only ever serves to suit himself and the current emotional palette hes experiencing, he cannot truly feel in same way others do so hes always running off of what his id tells him, what does he need in that moment to survive? what does he want in this moment to make him feel good? hes a pleasure seeker through and through, so long as his desires dont conflict with the relationships hes already established he'll go for that goal and he wont stop until hes got locked between his teeth through hell or high weather, doesnt matter if it conflicts with his moral compass, who needs one when no ones looking?

dream is also another really fantastic character in this fic, truth be told im usually not the biggest fan of him, a lot of his characterisation, like ink, lacks nuance, hes either a happy go lucky naive ball of energy, or this rude burnt and backstabbed cigar smoking loner, but dream in this seems to be a lot more nuanced, hes had bad past experiences and he does what he believes is right, every character in this story has these sets of moral principles and not all of them align, which is really interesting when you put them all in one room (the council) and force them to try and agree upon one major decision, the results of which will literally affect the entirety of the multiverse, dream believes in a great good otherwise known as utilitarianism - making choices which will maximise the happiness of everyone involved - and right enough killing or otherwise disposing of error would be the most utilitarian option, but he cannot shake the fact that murder is wrong despite how much he hates him and everything hes done

needles to say i am excited for the next chapters, i want to see these three relationship evolve (or devolve), and from the looks of it, dream corruption arc 👀👀????? he may not go the path of his brother, but hot damn that boy is gonna be pissed off at the world and the people who live in it and i cannot wait to see him tell them all whats what

glad to have you back in the writing biz

YESSSSS THANK YOU FOR THIS, YOU GET ME!!!! YOU GET MY CHARACTER ANALYSIS WAAAAHGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Ink is a TRUE NEUTRAL and has his own interests in mind. That being said however, when he has a normal emotional palette he does genuinely care for the people important in his life, such as Dream and Error. He’s mildly pissed off at Error and more pissed off at Dream, but he does care. It may be shallow but it begs the question - is it anymore shallow compared to people with souls?

Dream is at his core a good person, and he was opposed the murder. He’s happy and kind, but he’s also not an idiot, and after going through everything he’s been through he’s more an in his right to be pissed beyond belief

And Error, well, you nailed EXACTLY what I was going for

I really wanted this story to be something that people could have discussions about, arguing in favor of and against characters and their actions. I’ve seen people get in ARGUEMENTS over alchemy and whether or not he’s in his right to do what he did. And I love it

THANK U SOOOO SO MUCH FOR THIS!!! I absolutely adore hearing people’s takes on characterization and what they think will happen. They’re all so complex and I ADORE them for it

The closest character we can get to “evil because I love being evil” is like - Nightmare and Killer probably, but we already know enough about their characterization outside of TCOTI to where I don’t really have to say anything lol

[thatinsufferablenerd]

Sassy For Some Reason

It’s gotten cold at night. Like, hovering just above freezing while it’s dark out cold. It’s still sunny and fairly nice during the day, I like that. Our dogs have taken to sunning themselves on the back porch, laying on the vents or climbing into our laps to share body heat in our poorly insulated house. Our smallest dog is 40 pounds, but I don’t mind. The street dog we took in a couple months ago is thriving on spoiled couch time and the twins have always been like this. All that’s left of the bug I caught is the cough I can’t kick. My energy is back, my motivation, the aches gone, getting better sleep. Today I opened the box for the STEM advent calendar my mom sent to my kids, they’re over the moon at the idea. 

We’re still fucking broke, though. My husband is just as stressed as I am, even if he’s not having literal nightmares about bussing tables for brunch on Mother’s Day. We’ve agreed that I’m going to try to look for remote work first, something part time just for supplementary income. If that fails, then I’ll look for something in person. I haven’t worked since 2015, so learning the modern job market and updating a resume is going to be…a trip. I hate all of this so much. I wish I didn’t feel my heartbeat pick up in pace every time I think about working or get an email from Linkedin. I wish I didn’t have stress-induced nightmares about a job I haven’t worked since before I moved out of my mother’s house. 

Sometimes it feels like escape is all I have. Other than hitting ‘play’, anyway. Diving into a story puts some distance between me and the bullshit, so I do it. Whether I’m reading it, writing it, or watching it, it doesn’t matter. As long as it’s some form of distraction, something to take my mind off THIS. I know it’s not healthy. I know I spend way too much time on YouTube and I know this is not a great coping mechanism. What options do I have?

I’ve had Bleach on the back burner while I got through Aaron’s two published books. Now that I’ve finished both Ruins of Ivy and Forgotten Steel, I can pick that back up in the coming week. Forgotten Steel has some slightly different themes from the first and expands its world a lot. He set out to write an entertaining book, and I had a good time. By coincidence, his book touched on an idea that my series does, albeit in a very different way. Three of his main characters are called monsters and have to wrestle with whether or not that label is deserved, if they can go back from it. He’s not doing anything new with it, but in tandem with some other concepts he has juxtaposing that one, it’s keeping my attention.

I had to renew that Tchaikovsky book at my library this week, so I did that and picked up two more volumes (4 and 5) of Lore Olympus by Rachel Smythe while I was there and finished them both in an afternoon. I’m aware of the criticisms of age-gap relationships and the slippery slope of depicting toxic relationships, as well as the ‘it’s not accurate’ detractors. I really could care less. I like it. I like the art, I like how every character feels like an individual that keeps moving and doing things when they aren’t on page, I like the leads and how they’re drawn to each other. I like that Persephone is allowed to be angry sometimes, and Hades isn’t exactly a model for morality either. Sue me, I’m going to read the whole series. I think I have pretty solid media literacy skills. Plenty good enough to tell that it’s a little weird for the eldest of the Olympians to have fallen head over heels for a twenty year old. Don’t care. I’m a sucker for sun and moon dynamics.

I’m hoping to get through Bleach by the end of the month. I might not make it, I’ve got about 240 chapters left (the Fullbringer Arc and the TYBW for anyone keeping score), but I am going to do my best. I’m really excited about reading the Dan Da Dan manga. I can’t do that if I’m still hung up on Bleach. I’ve been pretty busy with other stuff, so I might need to go back and read the last ten, twenty chapters just to refresh myself. We’ll see. My notes might be enough. I might post my ramblings here when I do finish. I’m looking forward to getting into the TYBW. The anime is so good and there’s a lot of hype to keep me trucking along. 

I know I keep promising myself I’m going to spend time in front of my whiteboard and not doing that, but I did something better this week! I’ve been working out exactly what’s left to cover in this volume of the story. The exact chain of events that leads to the plot point I want to be at when I move on to volume three. Hitting the books is not going to be the most fun time, and some of this is just going to be me and a map making shit up. That’s just how this goes. But I am going to get to it. Now that I’ve finished those two books I have a little more breathing room to get some of my own work done. 

I also slotted a pretty important piece into the overall puzzle that is my current project. Since I’ve been doing so much reading it back over while Aaron makes his way through what I have, I noticed a pretty consistent tic that my POV character remarks on her memories A LOT. So much that it feels more important than context or characterization, it’s getting into theme territory by accident. We’re going to run with that in conjunction with a decision I hoped I wouldn’t have to make. Aaron asked me if ghosts exist in this world based on a couple offhand comments POV characters makes. I wanted to keep it vague since I didn’t want to say anything about the afterlife or mortality, but it’s fine. It all fits together just fine with the connections I’ve been making with the other plot points and themes I’ve been doing. 

Writing is both a romantic solo venture and a highly stressful collaborative effort. I can sit in front of my whiteboard for ages and not know if what I’m coming up with is any good. Then again, entire writer’s rooms have ended up with crap too. Sometimes we need someone else to bounce ideas off of, and sometimes it’s just too many cooks in the kitchen. Even though I am still very much going through my existential crisis, I’m glad he said that. It forced me to think it through, to make a decision, and that decision will ultimately benefit the story. He also told me that my rough draft is one of the top ten books he’s ever read. 

I thought I was having a heart attack. I hyperventilated, felt like I was having palpitations, and it’s still such a surreal thing. In moments I’m flattered, in others I’m numb, and yet others I’m wondering what books he’s read that MINE could be considered that good. I’ve had so much trouble getting anyone else to give me a chance. I’ve handed out the link like it’s candy but no one who’s gotten the link has managed to get past the prologue. I don’t blame them, obviously. Everyone is busy and it’s a huge investment of time. I understand that. My biggest worries revolve around if I’m doing too much, if what I have makes sense, if it’s any good. That kind of thing can only be determined by readers. So without them, I just…panic. Forge on bravely, but still panic internally. My mom told me when I told her “I wish you believed in yourself as much as the rest of us do.” Bitch, WHAT? You don’t even like fantasy, you read five pages a year ago, so much has changed in that time. You’re my MOM, you can say whatever you want. 

You see what my brain does when I get praise? Try living with this shit. 

Here’s a list of some of the good shit I watched on YouTube this week: 

-Why Accuracy is Overrated: Spinster’s Library

-Fashion Doesn’t Matter (like it used to): Nicole Rudolph

-Do Modern Writers Remember How to Write Fantasy?: dan doug

-Why is NCIS Obsessed With Israel?: Skip Intro

-The Twisted World of Dark Romance: Mina Le 

-M.A.P Walsh is Hiding Something: Foreign Man in a Foreign Land

-How Potatoes Changed the World: Religion, Rebellion and the Industrial Revolution: OTR Food & History 

-Edgar Allen Poe’s Obsession with Death: Lady of the Library

-Gendered Reading in Fantasy, the Decline of YA and More: Johanna Reads

-Can TV Change the Way We Speak?: Otherwords on Monstrum

-In Defense of Cozy Fiction: Tale Foundry

-Brat and the Culture of Addiction: Alexander Avila 

-Girl Eats Boy: Cannibal Women in Horror (Raw, Yellowjackets, Bones and All): elle literacy

-How YouTube Dethroned MTV: Polyphonic

-Did the Coroner Make This Disaster Worse?: Caitlin Doughty 

-Everything You Think You Know About Thanksgiving is Wrong: Abby Cox

-Sympathy for the Villains: Princess Weekes

I hope I have more good news next week and that my emotional crisis passes, because I’m tired. I hate being like this. Sitting around worrying and being flattered and trying to think but also stressed out of my mind at the same time. It’s exhausting. I only have so much RAM and I have other things to worry about. The world is about to get much worse. I have things to protect here. I just hope I’m the one worrying too much and it’s not warranted. 

Stay safe out there <3

[nutraexperts]

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[manasastuff-blog]

Top Coaching for NDA

Manasa Defence Academy Provides the Best NDA Training to the Students

Preparing for the National Defence Academy (NDA) entrance exam can be a daunting experience for many aspiring candidates. With so much at stake, finding the right coaching institute is crucial for success. Among the myriad of options available, Manasa Defence Academy stands out as a top choice for students seeking the best NDA training.

Why Choose Manasa Defence Academy?

Manasa Defence Academy offers a comprehensive, student-centred approach to NDA preparation. Here are some reasons why it’s considered one of the best:

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Doubt Clearance Sessions: There’s no such thing as a silly question in education. The academy provides frequent doubt clearance sessions for students to clarify their concepts. This open-door policy fosters a culture of curiosity and learning.

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At Manasa Defence Academy, the curriculum is designed meticulously to cover all aspects of the NDA exam:

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[luicifellt]

So I got some issues..

Emotional issues. This complicates communication greatly..

To try and explain my thoughts, and thought process to my new partner I decided to write some of it down. To help get him an idea.

Because I'm inept at explaining my feelings and emotions.

Beneath the read more will be a lot ... but I need to have it out somewhere. Maybe someone will read it.

I dont know what I hope to get out of this. But its fairly dramatic so ... someone might like to read it.

These are snippets of thought.

Sadness

Anxiety

Stress

Loneliness?

Self hatred

Self disgust

Can't do anything right

Won't finish what's started.

Anything created will be hated, and NOT good enough. At all times.

Am I toxic?

Do you love me? Yes?

I believe you..

But Why?

Not pretty, not talented, not smart.

Kinda phat.

Emotional but can't express it.

Depressive episodes and mood swings...

Females am I rite?

Why bother ?

Why would you pick this? There's better options.. hopefully.

Seems like a mistake to invest in me. Though I'm so happy you did pick me. Never thought I'd have a relationship.

So good to me... can't give anything back though. Its not enough.

Can't handle myself well. Will lash out..

Seems like a animal adoption form. Don't adopt me. I look soft, looks are deceiving.

No motivation hates Self for that

No inspiration hates Self for that

No dreams or aspirations hates Self for that

No hobbies doesn't do much hates Self for that

Probably the worst conversationalist. Only has about 5 witty bright and fun days where true humor truly shows (a year) hates Self for that.

Selfish! can't stand myself, but still want the nice things.

Egotistical hates Self 90% of the time the other 10% is spend on Self complimenting ???

Hates Self for that. Thanks brain.

Horrible body image. Hasn't realy looked at self more that absolutely necessary in 15 years. When mirror is used:  -10 don't recommend.

Uses self deprecating humor to feel better. Bad trait.

Can't control bad thoughts, let's it spiral like a junji ito story.

See! can be funny..is not enough though, is it.

Friend(s) will tire of this.

Got nothing to add to the group.

Can't (but should) find the energie and motivation to change that short term.

Long term probably not worth it. Tho Time will move anyway.. why have people waste it.

Fear of abandonment, fear of being left alone. Also weirdly craving it, to get it over with.

Convinced feelings can be turned off and broken. Maybe it should.

Who's kidding, sobbing mess in private! But can barely cry in company. Why. Nobody knows.  *ugly cryier

Should honestly, cry more... should cry more honestly. Shouldn't let it vester for months. But I will.

No fysical energy. No creative energy. Stuck In the limbo of adult life.

Gets envious of people that know how to express themselves and have dreams and can make art and spend their time productive. Hates Self for that.

Self hate trumps envy. Keeps me grounded.

Don't know where the balls to hold out like this come from.. weird episodes of righteous ideas on improvement and finding motivation to improve. Can and will not last longer than 5 to 7 business days.

Tried psychologic help. Makes head messier and can't express any thought or feeling without feeling like crying.. main reason to keep it in.

Why does it bother me? Will cry literally everytime, feelings need to be discussed. No one wants that... yes. I decided that, because I don't want that.

Convinced that whatever power the universe holds in its dark matter, it manifests as bad luck.. consistently.. Time and experience have proven this to me.

Maybe just pessimistic.

Definitely just pessimistic.

Good taste in music tho. Bit static perhaps.

Has grand ideas. Doesn't know how to express them. Dissapointing.

Will overthink most things. Takes pride in well thought out plans... overthinking still more a problem, than a benefit.

Loves deeply for a lot of things but can't invest in one thing. Took a long time to convince myself I could love. Inexperienced.

Wish I could do better for you. Wish I could like me more.

Has hope to get better with help. But the spirals... Make me tired.

Has thought about dying. Knows this is a no no. Been through this before at years 12 through to 18. Never again. Not like that.

Weight loss helped.... people around me, to behave normally.

With the exception of a few, people would be degrading, look down on me, find me disgusting.

What I later learned however is that its usually not okay to express these thing out loud, to the persons face... especially when underage.

except when you're fat apparently because people would... constantly, daily, even if they didn't know me. They'd still tell me in passing.. as if hearing it would change anything in that moment.

I have had people do double takes and track back so they could tell me I'm offensive to the eyes.

I wish i made that up to be dramatic.

I feel like I have lived 2 lives.

But the first one seems so far away. It's not just the "getting old" part, nor the nostalgia factor. I suspect I simply blocked out a lot of it. Memories have more gaps than I care to admit.

I grief over this often. Sounds dramatic, again... but its the truth. I feel like a big part of Self got lost in those years and I'll never find it again.

Regrets and heartbreak over small things seem, so big when you have a lot of them.

It hurts.

It hurts to look at all the stuff I possess and gathered over the years.

All the art supplies all the expensive materials. The tools, the airbrush, the paints and canvases. The clay, the silicone, the make up...

They mock me everytime I catch them gathering dust in the closet, or drawer. They take up endless amounts of space... but I can't get rid of it.. because, what if.. as if.

Not having these things hurts more...

I can write pretty decently. To bad everything written feels like a edgy YA novel. Dropped.

Reading used ro be a comfort.. now a pressure at the back of my head reminding me of how it USED to be. Reading now no longer an adventure, or practical pass time.

Feels like wasting time. ( and money)

Sometimes it feels like one more dissapointment away from running on empty.

No thoughts, head empty.

Sounds appealing. Where do you sign up.

Imagine being simultaneously most loved and taken care off by a partner, for the first time in your life... but also the most lost.

Feels like a disappointment.. one of many. How much more do I have, before it's to much for me, or the people around me.

Maybe i SHOULD write angsty YA novels.

Maybe not.

Wonder where the irrational thoughts and fits come from. Could it be trauma? Could it be drama? Maybe in another life I was a theatre kid after all.

Goals: be part of it, stop being a spectator.

Pick a personality that you like and stick with it. Be useful.

[thatstormygeek]

Just, y'all...

Fine:

It is objectively false that third party candidates only "siphon" votes away from Democrats. "Third" parties exist across the political spectrum: the Libertarian and Constitution parties are on the conservative side, for example. And the Libertarian party has run a candidate in every US presidential election since 1972.

It is objectively true that the way our elections are run and federal funding is allocated, the chance of getting a third party candidate into the Oval Office is so slim as to be functionally impossible.

Having our political parties set up like this means that our government is absolutely not representational. There is no way that you can adequately care for the needs of over 300 million people (or 250-ish million if we're only looking at those over 18) with this two-sided partisan mess. And neither the Democrats or the Republicans are interested in changing that.

Which leads to an oft-repeated lament of "both parties are the same." Dems like to throw this back in the faces of those on the left when the GOP acts extra shitty, as if what is meant is that both parties have the same opinions on social issues and not that both parties are invested in upholding our capitalistic system and are beholden to the donor class rather than the constituents they claim to serve.

The awfulness of the Republicans has been the stick Dems have used to beat our votes out of us for decades. That "just one more time, bro. this election is really the most important this time bro, we swear" post that goes around with all the smug libs talking about how voting is not just a one time thing? We know that. It's satirizing the messaging from the Democratic party. Messaging that has remained basically the same since before most users of this website were born.

Thus there is no point to the constant "Vote Blue No Matter Who" refrain we get, a wave of which swamps anyone whose criticism of the way the Dems are handling things gets any real traction/visibility. And that is the message, by the way. OP's version ("you should still vote blue?") would be annoying but much less aggravating (at least to me). We know that's what we're supposed to do. We've been inundated with that message constantly from various directions. We fucking get it, okay?

Which brings me to this ownership people feel over other people's votes. Which is why I put "siphon" in quotes in number 1. Your vote is your voice in politics. It's the only official one you have. Yes, you can contact your reps, etc, etc, but they are free to ignore your messages should they wish. Your vote is your one option to have your voice counted. And I cannot stress how fucking off-putting it is to have the Democratic party and its lib cheerleaders running around literally telling us they own our voices, and if we use them in a way they don't approve of, anything negative that follows is our fault.

And that is the oft-used method: shame. guilt. So there's a real mindfuck of an experience to be had when folks will assert that shame and guilt are not good or useful tools to motivate people when it comes to whatever progressive cause they are agitating for, and then turn around and do that exact thing when it comes to elections.

Again: SHAME AND GUILT DO NOT WORK. Dig those out of your toolbox and throw them far, far away.

Those of us further to the left see self-proclaimed Democrats and liberals using their energies to chide us rather than do the promised work of holding their party accountable. Because that's the part that has gotten ignored. In the run up to previous elections, there was at least a pretense that libs would work with leftists to push Dems left once they were in office. That's the trade, see? For our votes? After 2016, however, even that is no longer there. It's just a unilateral demand with the threat of torture if we don't comply.

And again, this is a problem inherent in the party duopoly; it's very much a team sports mindset. Black and white: you're with us or against us. As those on the left are obviously not with them on the right, well, we're with Dems, and thus basically Dems, and they are owed our support.

I am not a Democrat. I don't know that any of my leftist friends would identify or register as Democrats. Dems really, really need to understand and accept that. I may support your party because it is the best of my available options, but it's a compromise.

My message to liberals and Democrats would be to focus more on keeping up your end of that. Instead of lecturing me on who I need to vote for because apparently you believe I am unable to figure that out for myself, focus on your efforts to make the Democratic party one that leftists want to vote for. But that would require turning the party's attention away from the mythical undecided centrist and I sincerely wish you luck with that.

If you've read this far, go you! 🍪 /gen

Something we can all push for right now if we're serious about improving things is Ranked Choice Voting rather than First Past The Post. It won't even come close to solving all of the issues of the party duopoly, but early results are encouraging as far as reminding everyone involved that this about people's lives and not just a contest to win.

In conclusion, this is absolutely nobody's business, but I know how the internet is, so:

I turned 18 in 1995. I have voted for the Democratic candidate in every Presidential election for which I have been eligible to vote. Despite the fact that I've always lived in red states and so my vote actually went to the Republican candidate (because that's how the electoral college works in most states). And I've made it a point to vote in pretty much every election that I could (though I admit to missing a couple special elections over the years).

The point of this is not to argue against voting. Not even a little. It's not even saying not to vote for Dems. I just - fuck, I don't know. Honestly, I just want the Democrats to do better. I'm tired of having this same conversation. And I'm tired of them ignoring what's being said and spouting slogans and then blaming people like me when they lose an election. Y'all - I'm a neurospicy trans person in Missouri. I know what's at stake, okay? But I'm also in my mid-forties and have lived in this fucking country my entire life. So just do what you will.

listen i am not american. i understand that even democrats fucking suck and its a genuinely shitty situation to be in. im so sorry. but hey, hey look at me. why are you guys bullying people for saying "you should still vote blue?" Like im curious about the alternatives youve got. voting red? firebombing walmart? tumblr user catboyssepticbutthole, i know you will not be firebombing walmart.

[crazylil-lion]

I'm so depressed and empty.

Idc about my job really. Idc about building my career or continuing to get more certification and all that stuff.

Honestly I just don't care because most my energy is spent trying not to kill myself yet.

To me it seems like an excuse. The past few months seeing I haven't had much work because of a down time in the project I just haven't done much for self growth as far as work goes.

I'm exhausted everyday no matter how much I sleep. I realize it doesn't matter. Bc I just don't care about my life and am just waiting to end it on my bday.

Its hard to find motivation to continue to push myself when I've been too exhausted for years.

The problem is I don't have any love or physical affection.

I have no one thats interested in being my friend or dating. I just don't have anything that matters to me.

My career was just the best logical option. But its meaningless and I feel myself decaying.

Sure I don't cut as much mostly cause I bleed so much less from my thighs but I'm no where near any better.

I'm just waiting. I've tried everything. I do all the things professionals say to help with depression, bpd, anxiety. I do all the things. Have been for years but nothing is getting better.

Just a high functioning person with bpd.

All I'm waiting for is the day i take my last breath and can embrace the cold emptiness that haunts me my whole life. Waiting to embrace the peace that comes with death.

[therobotmonster]

How big of a threat do you think AI Art is to the employment of concept artists? Given how artists like RJ Palmer and Bogleech are panicked about it, you've worked in fields adjacent to that, and you've worked extensively with AI art, I'd presume you'd have some perspective on that.

AI art is going to shake up the art field, any new art tool worth its salt can and will.

I was training as a graphic designer when InDesign was finally starting to hit its stride in the late 90s, but I learned on QuarkExpress and learned old-school techniques in high school Newspaper club. I'd been dealing with dot-matrix printers and photocopier work since I was 8 at my dad's office.

So I got to see the graphic design industry in a state of panic through my professors and our various industry guests. All the EM-dashes and the declaration that the " on the keyboard is the inches mark and not the quote were protective measures for the industry so that talented amateurs wouldn't know the secret handshakes and couldn't "fake" their way into being seen as real graphic designers. And they were PISSED that Adobe InDesign was easy to use and automatically converted the measure-marks into "proper" punctuation.

Yet there's still a graphic design industry.

That said, I'd be curious if the ones that are actually freaked out have ever actually used the products. Because I"ve been in a down slump and I'm prone to stim, I have done pretty much nothing but dig into Midjourney and Stable Diffusion's brains and my experience doesn't match the observations of the terrified.

I think part of it is because people only see the results and they don't see the work. And there is work involved.

Iteration and Curation: I've posted a couple hundred pics from Midjourney so far. What do you don't see is this:

Now, in Midjourney parlance "image" also includes 4-grid previews used while developing final images.

For each panel of "Glitch"/"The Bethesda Epoch", for instance, I generated at least eight options (usually more) and evolved several of them across many generations to get what I wound up with. The Bethesda Epoch took me days to put together and garners me feedback and response roughly equal to a 3d modeled piece I'd put together in the same time frame.

Truth of the matter is, you rarely get anything perfect first try, everything needs modification or massive amounts of reiteration to pass for final work.

Promptcraft: Spend even a little time on the discords and you can tell who is playing and who is trying to make art. Play is an entirely viable application of this technology (more on that later) but while this levels the technical skill barrier for a lot of people, it does not cover for a lack of vision or ideas, and it requires its own skill.

There's a big difference between "in the style of D&D art" and "as a D&D monster, full body, pen-and-ink illustration, etching, by Russ Nicholson, David A Trampier, larry elmore, 1981, HQ scan, intricate details, inside stylized border" in terms of what you get.

Play: Most people are just having fun. It's real easy for artists to take the ability to express the ideas in our heads for granted. Most of what you're seeing is people playing with ideas they've been unable to express before. A lot of what I do with it is play, too.

Accessibility: My hands cramp when I draw these days, depression and other problems frequently knock my motivation and energy out of me, but I can use AI to put my ideas out there when the other parts of me aren't cooperating.

Limitations: The tech looks miraculous, but it can't do everything. In fact, it can't do a lot of things. The artist is still needed for the vision, for the ideas, to work the outputs into something meaningful, to supplement the outputs with human intention so a copyright can be involved, the list goes on.

Even Rembrandt used a camera obscura.;