#i still don't know what stranger things is about

[thirtyknives]

OH MATE I WAS HAVING A BITCH ABOUT THIS WITH @glitchyvoxel THE OTHER DAY. One of the things I hate about Binge Format is how it fundamental changes the economy of storytelling.

In a traditional once-a-week show, you need to have characters who have easy to identify, readily recognisable character traits in order to be memorable for the six days between airing. They need to be clearly defined enough so that when the viewers meet them again after a week apart, they still know who they are and where they sit in the story. This is especially true for older media with more homogeneous casting - like if all your cast is hot white blondes in shiny dresses, you have to put some work into making them stand out. The way this is achieved varies a lot from genre to genre - a comedy will give specific catchphrases or mannerisms, drama may use lighting, the turn of phrase, costuming and other things to separate its cast out. Your main plot points also need to be fairly clearly defined, or the story gets muddy over long periods. Even mysteries and thrillers did this - the X-Files was adept at providing strong story beats in a setting that prioritised obfuscation. Each episode also tends to be very neatly written, because it has to fit in its window of time and for a series to be successful they need to fit a satisfying start, middle, and end into their timeslot. Even cliffhanger shows still need to provide enough emotional payoff to keep people engaged over the length of the episode and during the time between them, too. This makes for good viewing, even if you take into account survivorship bias and all the shit episodic stuff written between now and like, the fifties. But it also gives fandom a lot of well made toys to play with. Shit shows that did the above poorly disappear and don't generate fandoms the way ones that did a solid job did. It also helps if there's gaps in the world building for fandom writers to have a play in, which is something you get by necessity in a longer running series, because when you have 45 min once a week you can't go into too much detail - streaming allows shows to get bloated due to a lack of restrictions on episode length, so some series over-explain themselves at the expense of producing a watchable program. But when you know your whole series is going to be dropped at once, and the viewers will probably watch the lot in a few closely spaced sittings, you don't need to take the time for that differentiation. You can structure your narrative like a thirteen hour movie with six intermissions, rather than as seven episodes or whatever. Even stuff that would be fun as an aside in a traditionally aired program (the russian stuff in the most recent Stranger Things) winds up feeling wedged in and pointless because there's been no decompression between episodes and you're still in the Hawkins headspace and haven't had a week of what-ifs and did-you-sees to pad it out. And it impacts characterisation and framing too, and fewer episodes are written to be self contained, and if you're someone who hates spoilers you're probably thrashing your way through it as fast as you can, too, so anything subtle - about the only thing binge has got going for it is that it can afford to do more subtle character work because they don't have to colour their characters as broadly - is going to get lost in the "shit, if I don't get this watched by tomorrow some dick will post on Facey about it and spoil the surprise." It changes the nature of how the stories are told, and even consumption becomes competitive rather than collaborative.

this this this

[eraserbread]

ugh that ex husband gojo fic HURT but i loved it sm,, do u think u can write ex husband gojo AGAIN but even after the divorce he's still so in love w/ u? thank uuu!!

the ex husband gojo in question ✧

→ f!reader, angst... mostly angst

sure, gojo took it well, but at the beginning, he was a mess.

it was fleeting at first—you two had only been married for five years before it all got too much. but five years in the grand scheme of things was a long time. he was your twenties personified—a walking shell of your old self—but he was just too distant.

your marriage wasn't a marriage. there was no partnership, gojo is married to a job he can't even tell you about.

so those first few weeks without you were hell. you're the one who finally did it in after moving out, sending him a classified bundle of papers to his address at jujutsu high. then, you hit no contact. you left him in the dust.

must be nice, pretending like he never existed. gojo died that night, standing alone in the manufactured shell of your love.

that big-ass apartment in the city he doesn't even live in—he leased it for you—your love that you could decorate to the sound of his voice. right now, it's an expensive thorn in his pocket.

and he's only here because half of his wardrobe is here. It's sad how bad he is at doing his own laundry. it's the first time he needs to be on top of it in over ten years. luckily for him, clothes you laundered just before you left him sat untouched in the expansive walk-in closet. some of those shirts will be a good buffer until he finds a good laundry service.

yeah... that's his reason for being back at this apartment, key sliding through the gold-plated doorknob. it's locked, just like he left it a few days ago. if he were counting on his fingers, it's been exactly ten days since you left him.

and only his second time being back.

so when he walks into the door, footsteps light as he shuts it, he's shocked silent when he sees you.

you're in the kitchen, back turned, packing a reusable bag of cooking tools. the first thing he notices... your face. you're so beautiful. even just your side profile shines in the low light. his unshakable form quakes when you look up at him. his gaze softens. you're the same as you always were.

"hi, stranger."

"i'm just here to grab some dishes. i'll be out in a few." you're emotionless and quiet as you pack your bag. some of the things in here are your favorite—it's been hard to cook without them, but you just couldn't come back yet. gojo's schedule is too all over the place, the wound is still fresh.

"take your time. i've been meaning to talk to you." he's talking to you the only way he knows how: soft and loving, dripping sweetly because his heart still sees you as his wife.

you're trying everything to ignore him, not to listen to the words that you know will sway you. this divorce was not easy. you're trying to relearn your life without your external heart—the heart standing at the doorway with a relieved smile on his face. all he had to do was call you by your old name, paint you in lovelicked daydreams backed by the sweet sound of his laugh. it's what made you fall in love. he covers up so much of himself with the humor, that you reveled in the time it took you to peel it all away.

but he's peeled, now. waiting to be devoured like a piece of oddly-shaped fruit.

"don't really wanna talk..." you're murmuring, not wanting him to hear you. you don't want to make him laugh—can't bear the weight of it anymore. "sign those papers when you get a chance, yeah?"

gojo watches you hoist your bags over your shoulder, the way they catch your blouse under the arm. he can't help but smile, I mean... you're right in front of him. "sign what papers? i'm not signing any papers, you're a gojo. always will be—never gonna change."

"you're bitter."

"so i'm gonna wait for this to pass... this, whatever it is for you," he's waving at you, noting the small embarrassed scowl on your face. "a call for help, maybe? a desperate plea for more attention? i understand, it's okay." he's so sure of himself that it makes you sick, but he won't come closer to you. won't even take a step. "you can just move back in, we'll fix it together. that's all we can do."

"i don't deserve to hang on your string for weeks, barely any contact. not when you agreed to be my husband." suddenly sure of yourself and your crafty ability to turn him down, you're pummeling for the door. "you make promises you can't keep, satoru. i don't want an absent marriage."

"you not wanting to be married to me is fine—we don't have to be married, just wait." now, he's pleading. palms held together at his chest as he watches you reach for the knob. you're angry, he sees that, but he knows you. "i love you so much, please don't go."

"no matter what you think, this isn't easy for me."

"you want the apartment? you can have it. the diamonds I bought are all yours."

"i just want you."

"here i am! come get me, i'm here in the flesh." you can feel yourself starting to cry as he finally walks up to you, vaguely reaching for your hand. his eyes are sad, yet passionate against some form of the word. it's a familiar look on him, as hard as that is to sit with...

"come get me," he whispers as his final plea, voice so distinctly low between the heavy wood door.

you're left speechless for a second, shaking away the tears that start sliding down your face. he makes contact against the door handle and it frightens you.

"i've made my choice."

that's what you leave him with, tearfully and starkly indifferent to his suffering. the knob turns, he backs away, and you bolt out of that door like the room is on fire.

and when you're alone in that hallway, face-to-face with the elevator, you cry. because, of course you do.

[sirfrogsworth]

Clinging to sanity

Summary of this post...

My brain is broken. My A/C is broken. My phone is broken. My computer is broken. My support system is broken. My financial stability is broken. My family is broken.

And the big finale...

Please give Froggie a Yelp review to repair his relationship with his estranged uncles.

Seriously, I need a whole bunch of you to say nice things about me in a convoluted plan to get back the money my brother stole from my dying father.

If you don't feel like reading all of my broken stuff and just want to read about giving me a good review as a person, you can skip to the bullet point list at the end.

Alright, here we go...

I sometimes get in these states where I feel like my sanity is compromised. My mental defenses are minimal and I lose the filter on my brain that tells me "this is a good idea" or "this is a bad idea."

This causes me to say embarrassing things. I overshare with strangers. I keep myself from falling asleep because I have some amazing idea. But when I wake up in the morning I can't believe I lost all of that sleep for such a ridiculous idea. I write weird posts that no one likes. Or I post about controversial subjects like A.I. and trans people and RFK Jr. that I *know* will result in contentious feedback.

And my insane brain says, "You can handle it! Besides, you are so factually correct about this, no one will dare question your meticulous research. IT'S ALL GOOD! SEND IT, YOLO!"

I have a rule. If I am not emotionally or mentally prepared to defend my point of view on a controversial subject, I should wait until I am ready to publish.

Insane Froggie Brain ignores this rule.

After I "send it" and the negative feedback starts to flow in (even though I was assured by my brain it wouldn't), I become afraid to look at messages and replies and reblogs. And a lot of times I need that sense of community. I need to talk to my cool little community so I don't feel lonely. But Insane Froggie Brain cuts me off from that. I give myself all of this anxiety that could have been avoided by just posting another time.

And because I have no emotional defenses, that anxiety is amplified. Mean comments hurt much more. I obsess over them and my OCD causes thought feedback loops where I cannot get something out of my brain. I once couldn't sleep for a weekend because someone said I was wrong about how light reflects off the moon. They were right and I was also right but they said I was "misleading." And that just lived in my brain for days. I kept trying to think of new ways to better explain my point of view. I used up energy I didn't really have to take pictures of a baseball in a dark closet.

It was silly. It didn't matter. It was just a small disagreement. But OCD doesn't do small. OCD makes everything BIG.

What I'm trying to say is...

People need their emotional defenses.

People need their filters.

It's weird because I still have full access to my logical brain. So sane thoughts get all mixed in with the less sane ones. Sometimes I am self aware and can shut down the less sane ideas. Other times I am oblivious. And I *hate* losing control of my brain in any way. It's one of the reasons I've never touched alcohol. Which is why I get very disturbed when this happens.

I remember one time I was positive I was going to move to Florida and start a pet photography business. I had an entire business plan worked out where I trained people how to take the photos so the business could run itself if I got sick. I made an entire PowerPoint presentation to show Katrina so she would be my business partner. I was looking up rent prices for office space. I was making equipment lists for camera gear. She was going on a trip so she told me I could talk to her about it when she returned. And I am so lucky she wasn't available at the time.

Maybe if I had a normal person's energy, I could make something like that work. But once I returned to sanity, I realized it was orders of magnitude more complicated than anything I was actually capable of doing. I am still planning to do pet photography, but I have to come up with a more reasonable plan that does not involve Insane Froggie Brain.

I think it is just my ambitious mind trying to escape. Chronic illness is often heartbreaking because you have to temper all of your ambitions. And it is especially devastating when you are a very ambitious person, as I am.

I want to have all of these big ideas. But I have to filter them through reality. And when that filter is broken, I just unleash big ideas on all my friends. I once even held an official video chat meeting and we took notes and made plans. And I feel so guilty I wasted 4 people's time like that. None of those ideas happened. They had no chance of happening with my energy levels. But my friends and collaborators still did the meeting and nodded along like everything was fine. I appreciate them humoring me.

I also overshare. I overshare normally, but when I get like this I OVER SHARE. You are probably going to witness it in this very post. But I tell everyone everything about what is going on. I tell strangers. I tell a dog walking by.

"Hey doggie, my testosterone is returning and I'm struggling with having a libido again. I know most people would not complain, but it is very disruptive to my day! I have other things I want to do!"

Right now I am just not confident in anything I think or do. I wrote a post about social constructs yesterday. That literally took me all day to write. I was endlessly tweaking it and I thought it was going to be viral and helpful and win the trans debate for everyone.

It currently has 49 notes.

I'm afraid I did not fix trans rights.

Sorry about that.

And my rant about Christopher Nolan using IMAX is doing pretty well. I nerded out about film grain for like 2 paragraphs and it is getting way more notes than a philosophical perspective on constructs.

I just have no idea what people are going to like and I used to be pretty good at judging that. It's like I'm throwing spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks but instead of a wall I'm throwing it into the void. The spaghetti just disappears into infinite darkness.

I'm clearly still recovering from the big house clean with Katrina. And I am more tired than normal. But I am also very stressed about losing the house. I'm trying to figure it out, but I may only have until the end of June before I have to make some scary decisions.

And also, my air conditioner is not working. It has a leaky evaporator. Last year, I had it recharged and that lasted the entire summer. If the leak is leaking at the same rate, I could just do that again. It would be expensive, but replacing the evaporator is so costly, I'd be better off getting a heat pump installed. I'm a good candidate, it could save me money in the long run, but I am nowhere near in a position to make that happen.

Also, my phone is falling apart.

Literally. The only thing keeping it together is the phone case.

And this laptop, which I love, was not meant to be my main computer. I bought it when my dad was sick and I needed something upstairs to manage his prescriptions and bills and appointments. It wasn't meant to be an image editing machine. And, to their credit, Apple has made a crazy powerful little computer. I admit it, I love an Apple product. It can handle way more than expected. But my photo restorations can sometimes end up with 5 gigabyte files. I can't even save them as PSDs. I have to use this weird "PSB" format. It stands for "Photoshop Big." When I fill up the RAM, my computer uses the main SSD. And when I fill that up, I think I can hear the laptop crying and saying, "I wasn't meant for this! Please use fewer layers!"

But I need to finish restoring these photos because I have delayed their completion by about 5 months (got sick before I could finish). And also because I need to pay for the A/C recharge.

You might be thinking, "Didn't you fundraise to get the big fancy powerful computer of your dreams a few years ago? Why don't you use that?"

My big fancy computer has been broken almost since I got it.

It was right before my mom got really sick and there is a major hardware problem. I worked with tech support for over a month and we could not figure out what the issue was. The computer is mostly unusable. Like, "can't even web browse" unusable.

It honestly has caused me so much depression. Like deep, deep, crying-myself-to-sleep-for-weeks depression. I still cry about it. I know it is just a thing, but I am genuinely heartbroken about it.

Why haven't I fixed it? I'm a good computer fixer, right?

Once I had to take care of my parents, I just did not have any extra energy to deal with it. After a month of back-and-forth emails from the manufacturer, I finally told them, "I'm sorry, my parents are sick. I will email you when I have the energy to revisit this."

If you know my story and how I took care of my parents all alone because I have a neglectful brother, then you can probably guess that energy never came.

I am good at tech support. I have been an expert in computers since I was a teenager. I have taken apart and built computers more times than I can count. I have never had a problem this frustrating before. It works fine for a few hours, and then it just progressively slows down to being unusable. I narrowed the issue to either the SSD, the CPU, or the motherboard. All things that are not easy to replace. (The SSD is behind the damn GPU.)

In the 30s, the Royal Air Force used to have issues with their planes that baffled them. This is where the term "gremlin" came from. No matter what they did, no matter how many parts they replaced, they could not get the "gremlin" out of the plane. These were professional mechanics who just could not fix something and it drove them nuts.

I have a computer gremlin. I've never experienced anything like it in all of my years of fixing computers. I was working with professional tech support people. I was on reddit forums. And the only thing left to do was start swapping out parts. I'd work on it maybe an hour each day with whatever energy I had and it eventually was too much. I just could not deal with it. They told me to send it back, but I could not take care of my parents without any access to a computer. So I just rebooted it every time I used it.

At that point, my parents were requiring 24/7 care and I was so overwhelmed that I said, "fuck it" and ordered this laptop. I figured I'd fix the computer when I had time or energy. But that time and energy never came. And I certainly didn't have the energy to haul a 60 pound computer upstairs, box it up, and then take it to UPS. So I just kept putting it off and putting it off.

And I let the warranty expire.

When I realized I did that, I cried myself to sleep for another few weeks. This material object has caused me legitimate emotional trauma.

Any part replacements are now on me. And there isn't really any way of knowing which part is faulty. I figured I'd buy a cheap SSD and start there.

I feel so fucking guilty because people donated money for me to have that machine. I feel like I let them all down by not getting it fixed. When I finish my recovery, I'm hoping I can sort it out. But that could be many months from now.

Recovery has been such a dark, lonely place. Trying to restore my health a millimeter at a time is a grueling marathon of misery. I have been struggling to keep Insane Froggie Brain at bay this entire time.

I felt like I was stuck in a hole.

And like a superhero with the power of friendship and puns, Katrina pulled me out of the giant hole I was in. My house turned into a biohazard. She flew from Florida to essentially clean and organize everything. How do you even begin to thank someone for that?

But also, she shouldn't have had to do that. I have a perfectly functional brother. But he hasn't spoken to me for nearly a year now.

I have other family in town. But I missed so many family gatherings over the years, they don't really know me. None of them have called. I'd have to rebuild those relationships if I want them to be a part of my life again.

And I haven't talked about this yet because it has been too painful.

But... my support system fell apart.

My aunt had to move away to take care of her father-in-law. A year before my mom passed she took care of my grandma as her end-of-life caregiver. And people should only have to do that once. But she has to do it again, and unfortunately, we haven't been able to speak much.

We were very good at keeping in touch in real life. But she is of an older generation and has trouble maintaining relationships on a smartphone. I mean, I get it. Some people are just better at meatspace than cyberspace. That was actually one of the things I liked about our bond. Almost all of my friendships are online. Having someone who liked to visit me and talk to me in person was special.

But, for the time being, I lost that. And it feels a bit like temporarily losing another parent.

I am struggling to even start writing the words for this next part.

I had two best friends. Katrina and I are great. Our friendship is probably better than it has ever been.

But my other best friend of nearly 15 years ghosted me without explanation.

I haven't talked about it because it has been too hard. Any time I try to think about it I get upset. My eyes are filling up with tears as I type this.

I have been pretending like it isn't happening.

Which is not working great.

I've been trying to hire a therapist.

They all have months-long waiting lists.

My friend just stopped talking to me and I don't know why.

They went from driving across the country and holding my hand at my dad's funeral to just not being a part of my life.

I'm so scared I said something terrible or did something terrible. I keep going through all of my memories trying to figure out what I could have done. But we had the kind of friendship where we'd talk about that stuff. If I screw up, they would tell me. We'd work it out.

This person who was in my life nearly every week for over a decade is just not there anymore. I keep losing people and I can't make it stop. And I am really worried that I am leaning on Katrina too much. She went from being part of a multifaceted support system to my entire support system. That isn't fair to her.

She has been very understanding. And she knows I am going to rebuild a support system as soon as I am able. But I don't want to overwhelm her and lose her too.

Weaning off this medication and living with no testosterone has been so miserable and she has been the only one helping me through it.

I'm doing so well with my recovery. I think I can be off the meds in 3 months and hopefully my testosterone will be fully back in range. I'm already more productive than I have been in nearly 8 months.

But I have 1 month of financial runway left and I am not going to get well enough before then.

Everything happens all at once. Every single time. And usually terrible things happen in my life at the same time terrible things happen in Katrina's life. She had terrible mold that destroyed her health for months. Thankfully it did not turn her transphobic, but it sure fucked her health for a while. She made all of this progress getting fit and healthy and BAM, the universe says, "You are doing too well, you need a challenge!"

So, what is my plan?

I am a problem solver and I have some doozies to solve.

Right now I am going to appeal to the family patriarchs on my dad's side. On his literal deathbed, my dad asked his brothers to "take care of me" and I am going to attempt to call in that favor.

I am going to ask them to talk to my brother and hopefully mediate a solution regarding the stolen inheritance. I want them to convince my brother to do the right thing and return the money he took from my dad.

Sorry, the money he "legally inherited" due to his wife "reinterpreting my dad's wishes" in the will.

Before you ask, I have no options to fight this in court. A verbal promise is not enough to overturn a written will. And the cost of fighting would be more than the inheritance. Please don't suggest any legal advice. I've talked to good lawyers. And unless I want to sue for emotional distress, there aren't any legal options available.

The best option is to appeal to my brother personally and ask him to keep his promise to my dad.

The only reason I am in this mess is because my brother repeatedly promised to give me the money. He said he didn't want it on multiple occasions. So all of my plans involved the expectation of this money. I was going to fix up the basement apartment and seek a roommate.

But it took over a year to just get it out of probate. A year I could have used to come up with other solutions. But he waited until the last minute and made his lawyer tell me he was screwing me.

I'm sure my brother will argue my dad knew what he was signing. But I know that is impossible. Before my dad passed, we were in the hospital and I saw the will for the first time. I asked him if it reflected his wishes. And I asked him if he meant to include my brother's wife in the will.

His response was, "Are you fucking kidding me???"

Readers, does that sound like a man that knew what was in his will?

Dad was so upset that he was about to have them cut off his leg just so he could live a few more weeks and fix the will.

You have to give my dad credit, he goes pretty hardcore when it comes to protecting his family.

I couldn't let him go through an amputation to protect me from my brother's shenanigans.

But I am pretty screwed now.

That said, my uncles are pretty hardcore too. One is *very* intimidating. So I feel like my uncles talking to my brother might carry some weight.

But I have one problem...

I mean, aside from the myriad problems already described.

How about... I have one additional problem...

My uncles don't like me very much.

They think I am a basement-dwelling loser who is faking his illness and was taking advantage of his parents for two decades.

One uncle even accused me of stealing from my dad.

They are protective of their brother. They loved my dad. Which is a good thing! As long as I can convince them that their assumptions about me are invalid, I think their love for my dad will compel them to help me.

They just don't have the context. They don't know me. They live in far-off lands. And due to some unfortunate timing, one uncle saw me at one of the lowest points of my life. This was maybe 8 years ago? He didn't realize I was thrown into the deep end and very recently took on the role as full-time caregiver for two very sick people.

My awful strategy at the time was "if I don't take care of myself, I'll have more energy to take care of my parents." If you are a caregiver, this is a bad strategy. It seems obvious you have to do some self care to give care to others, but when you are just starting out, that seems impossible.

My uncle showed up unannounced and I wasn't showered, I hadn't brushed my teeth in a week, and my room had a fun layer of trash on the floor. The trash can was overflowing and I literally did not have the spare energy to change the bag.

To make matters worse, my mom's medications and constant pain had broken the filter in her brain that prevents her from saying mean things. She was on this crazy chemo-like infusion that was basically using poison to fight her psoriatic arthritis. Her aggressive, blunt remarks were not her fault. That wasn't who she was. But she could not stop herself from saying hurtful things.

The kindest woman alive was suddenly Don Rickles without the "just kidding" subtext. And my uncle didn't know this and I got into an argument with my mom.

I probably looked like a pampered brat loser who just lies in bed and plays video games all day while arguing with his saint of a mother.

I don't blame him. Without context, that's exactly what it looked like.

So I am writing my uncles a letter.

It is essentially a memoir of the caregiving I gave to my parents. I hope to publish it publicly at some point, but right now it is just a letter to them. If it were a typical hardcover book, it would be about 70 pages long.

I am telling them everything.

If nothing else, I just need them to know my dad's story. I need them to know he was well taken care of. That I did everything humanly possible to make his last year as comfortable as I could. I need them to know he was *never* alone.

Sadly, because they probably think I am an unreliable narrator, I am my own worst witness. So I am asking 3 people in my current support system to write testimony to verify everything in my memoir is accurate. I even have a doctor's note!

It is probably insane to put this much effort into convincing my uncles to like me. But I'm pretty sure Sane Froggie Brain is behind the wheel of this endeavor. Sometimes the craziest, most desperate idea is the only option left.

Basically I am using my writing skills to try and save my Froggie butt.

I don't mean to be braggadocious, but people perusing my prose persistently pontificate that I am proficient at penning pleasing passages.

People say I write good sometimes.

And I think this memoir letter thingie is the best thing I've ever written. So I am hopeful I will deflate these dubious assumptions and tug on my uncles' heartstrings.

But there is something you all can do to help me.

A friend on tumblr is helping me edit this memoir monstrosity. And she gave me her testimonial to add to my 3 witnesses.

"I have been following The Frogman for well over a decade on his website. It was years before I learned his name was Benjamin! We all just call him Froggy. He was (and still is) one of the funniest internet guys out there. He is incredibly skilled at putting together humorous GIFs and photo sets, and his comedic writing is second to none. He regularly goes viral. Along with that, he was open and vulnerable about the toll CFS takes on him. I can attest to many folks over the years telling him that he has helped them as they dealt with their own health issues. He is so knowledgeable about so much--his posts are famous for being long, detailed, and wildly informative. And most of all, entertaining. They are a joy to read. We also followed along on his heartbreaking journey with his parents. He shared so much of them with us over the years that they felt like people we knew. It was so clear, from his long absences, how much he was doing for them. Our hearts broke when he told us his parents were no longer with us. Froggy has fans, and so did his parents. Otis, too. We love and support him and will always wish him the best."

It made me cry.

But it also felt like getting a Yelp review on... my entire deal.

And it gave me an idea.

What if I had a bunch of these as optional testimony for my uncles?

I'm not going to force them to read what a bunch of internet strangers have to say. But it could be a compelling way to prove my website antics were a serious attempt to build a livelihood for myself. My uncles were successful businessmen and respect a strong work ethic and trying to make your own way.

I was too early for monetization options like Patreon, TikTok, YouTube, and Twitch, but I ran a very successful comedy blog. If I had my 2013 success in the 2020s, I probably would've been able to retire and live off that for the rest of my life. I have several original GIFs that were downloaded tens of millions of times. Google said one of them was searched for over 100,000,000 times.

My blog was silly, but I took it seriously and I had sponsors and merch and an Otis plush.

They think what I did was like when you are at the family Christmas gathering and you ask your weird cousin what he's been up to and he says, "I run a blog about corgis from my parents' basement."

How do I relate the impact I had? They don't know what "Know Your Meme" is. They don't know what being on the front page of Reddit means. They don't know the amazing community I built. They don't know that I created one of the largest and most generous online support systems one could possibly have. I'm still alive and trying to make a life for myself because all of you continue to love and support me.

I was successful and I worked hard despite my disability.

I just had bad timing with the financial aspect of that success.

So, if you want to leave a Yelp review of The Frogman for my uncles, I'd appreciate it.

I came up with a list of things I need to prove to them. I'm just going to copy/paste the entire thing here. I'll strikethrough the ones you all probably can't speak to.

I am not a basement dwelling loser.

My website was more than a silly hobby.

I did not mooch off my parents for 20+ years.

I did not steal from my parents.

I am not the crazed, awkward mess [my uncle] witnessed.

I am disabled.

I cannot get a job.

I am a good person.

I am a likable person.

I was a good son.

I took good care of my parents.

My parents would not have been better off in a nursing home.

My parents would not have been better off moving closer to my brother.

My brother and his wife neglected and emotionally abused Mom & Dad.

My brother and his wife changed the will to benefit them against my mom & dad’s wishes.

My brother promised repeatedly the will was a mistake and I would receive the full amount.

I did not take care of my parents to “retain the house” or get money.

So, if you want to attempt to convince two elderly conservative Catholic men that my cat memes were lit, I would appreciate the help.

If you’ve been part of this community, and you’ve ever felt like I made you laugh, cry, or feel understood, a short 'review' of me as a person could mean the world.

Just remember your audience is...

Uncle #1: A stoic, but brilliant 80 year old who writes text messages like they are business emails. Complete with "Dear Ben" and "Regards, Your Uncle". He is still very sharp-minded and lucid. He thinks success is a high paying job, a house, and a family (my brother). He does not like weakness and consistently thought I should "be an adult and get a job." He is very loyal and respected my dad very much.

Uncle #2: A 60-something retired grandpa who thinks his constant dad jokes are genuinely funny. He is empathetic, but secretly judgmental. He will act like your best friend even if he doesn't care for you. He is an amazing grandpa. Very involved with his kids and their kids. He keeps every video of them getting a goal in sportsball on his phone. He will help you if you think you deserve to be helped. He is very close with Uncle #1.

So... kinda running the gamut there.

You can reblog this post or leave a reply or send a private message or email me at frogman54@gmail.com

I will be anonymizing your names for obvious reasons.

I fear my uncles might not understand why Tumblr user "PokemonAssBlaster69" is saying nice things about me.

Explaining "The Frogman" is hard enough.

Anyway, thank you in advance.

[skay-ali]

Wild Girl

It's a prologue, based on a series that won't leave my head. Why the heck did they have to cancel it? Well, it's an idea, with which I come back or show that I'm still alive. Ahggg, college is killing me. I hope you enjoy it.

Okay, I love all the careless reader stories.

Now I can't get the idea of ​​a reader shipwrecked on a remote island with a bunch of strangers out of my head.

"Your last action was very strong," your father spoke coldly.

"Well, you shouldn't have done that," you protested angrily, still hurt by what you knew.

"I'm an adult, and your father, you can't dictate what I can or can't do."

"Please, seriously, are you going to say that?"

"You were a very disrespectful girl."

"And what are you? I don't think I'm at least what you are."

"___, stop responding to your father."

"Seriously, Mom, after what he did to you."

The woman remained silent and, with a serious face, didn't speak again.

"Pack your bags, I don't want to see you at home for a while." With those words, your fate was sealed.

"Ahhhh, you don't know how much I hate you," you screamed.

You went to your room, destroying many things, your eyes red and your throat burning from screaming.

On your trip, you didn't say goodbye to anyone.

It's not like any of your family had shown up when you drove to the airport. It was your punishment.

But what was supposed to be a retreat for troubled ladies turned into hell after the plane crashed and you were stranded on an island.

You spent horrible years. They weren't days, weeks, or months... they were years.

Years filled with pain, intense struggle, disappearance, and suffering.

Many of the girls you developed bonds with perished... each one falling.

It was funny how their families sent them to save them from their problems or correct them, only to end up exposing them to great danger and even harming them further.

Your skin was wasted, your pale color was now red from the burns, your hair was a mess, so much so that you had to braid it so it wouldn't get damaged too much, you even cut it, your lips were cracked, your clothes became so worn out that you and your companions had to make your own clothes.

You had to learn to hunt animals, gather food, and create shelters from time to time.

You had to make sacrifices and survive.

It was a miracle that when you lost hope, when you saw one of your last companions leave, her baby being carried by you, when you were so broken, desperate from the loneliness, the loneliness that increasingly surrounded each of the island's inhabitants.

Someone, a mysterious person, managed to spot them in the vast sea. They were saved... you, two traumatized girls, a baby without its mother, more than five corpses of innocent women with a life ahead of them that was snatched away from them.

It was an interview where you returned.

Everyone in the league was watching, interested in the story. Well, in part, it was because one of its members was very interested in the story, which closely resembled his past.

You were the only survivor who spoke. You and a baby by your side. You couldn't separate yourself from him. The psychologists and psychiatrists who examined you called him your attachment person.

All the anxiety, what you experienced, was controlled by your interaction with the little boy. You went crazy when they took him away, thinking about the thousands of dangers he could be plunged into.

You couldn't break your promise to the only person who ever truly loved you, the person who gave you comfort during your time on the island, who listened to you and tried to understand you. Your best friend, your sister.

"___ Welcome, it's a pleasure to have you on our show."

"Well, I'm glad to be here, especially so you'll stop being a nuisance with all your invitations," you joked.

The audience's laughter filled the room.

"You're one of the few survivors of the retreat trip, finding your light. Tell me how that whole journey felt."

You weren't planning on talking when you returned to the world.

Especially since no one cared when you were missing; they just left you for dead.

But you had to go against your story and take down the guitres who wanted to exploit your story and pain to the fullest to line their pockets.

"It was very hard, being a teenager with no experience surviving, in a place without internet, without adults, without food, a roof, or clothes."

"The girls, my classmates, had to do terrible things to survive," you looked emotionlessly at the camera.

They were difficult memories.

The questions continued; you were reserved about some, very open about others.

You were giving people what they wanted.

"Tell me, do you think there's someone to blame?"

"What?"

"Yes, the plane failed, right? Surely someone was to blame."

"The truth is, I don't know." "It was something that happened quickly. I was on autopilot for a long time, trying to believe it was all a dream, that I wasn't on an island."

"But I'm sure of one thing: my father, my own father, was the one who sent me to this nightmare."

"He'll probably defend himself by claiming it was punishment, but it was his pride."

"It was my mother's fault. She accepted that my father would punish me just because I tried to defend his pride."

"It was easier for her than having to deal with her daughter, as she had done before."

"It was my brothers' fault. They never cared about what was wrong with our father. To them, I was the one who was wrong."

"While my fellow islanders are now with their families, overcoming their trauma, I am alone."

"I left society alone and am returning to society alone."

"Your family still hasn't contacted you?" You just denied it.

It was done.

It was only a matter of time before the internet discovered your true identity.

You didn't care anymore.

The press would have someone else to harass.

You needed to heal, find a new life, find a place, and keep your promise.

Take care of the only memory of your friend.

If looks could burn, Batman, the famous millionaire Bruce Wayne, would be burning from the fire in his companions' eyes.

It turns out someone did recognize you, or rather, your new fan, the other millionaire with plenty of resources to investigate your identity within the group, who decided to look for you out of self-interest, more compassion for your story, a need to help you that arose within Green Arrow.

To him, you were just a girl who went through the same horrors as him. He knew you needed help.

That harsh image on television wasn't the real thing. You were burying your feelings, and that would end you at some point.

But Oliver didn't stay silent when he found out about you. It was a huge outrage, because you could have avoided everything if only your family hadn't interfered in your life.

You could have spent a mini-vacation on an island if only your father, who had a lot of resources, had noticed and desperately searched for you.

He exploded in anger at his crime-fighting partner.

The truth was revealed to all his other companions, who also didn't react well.

Then reality hit Bruce. You, the girl who thought you escaped because of your last fight, in an instinct of rebellion.

In reality, you didn't. You ended up in a dangerous place, defenseless, waiting for someone to save you.

He was a hero, but more than that, your father. Even so, he left you to rot on an island, without knowing it.

"Hey, do you think we'll ever get off this island?" a redheaded girl asked.

"I wish I could say yes, but that possibility is becoming more and more impossible."

You looked at your friend. It was her last piece of clothing in good condition; she was the only one still wearing it, an explicit agreement to protect her and her baby.

"That's so sad. A group of girls arrive on an island and die, leaving only their corpses." Autumn lowered her voice sadly.

"Don't say that. You're supposed to be the positive one." You took your friend's hand and squeezed it.

You felt like everything was ending, the world was collapsing around you.

"But it's true, what awaits us, what awaits my baby." You didn't say anything; you shed tears of pain, sadness, and hopelessness.

So did your friend. You approached the woman, carefully placing your face against her chest, trying to comfort yourself, to comfort your friend.

She did the same, wrapping her arms around you.

"I think... I think... when your little person is born, she'll have a great mother, a great island paradise, and many aunts who will give her love."

"I don't think I'm going to see her grow up."

"What are you talking about, Autunm? Of course you'll see her grow up."

"I don't know. I feel like it won't be like that."

"Well, it will be. Just trust me."

"___"

"Autunm, no, please don't continue."

"No, ___, you have to listen to me."

"You were one of the few most likely to continue living."

"You have her too, so stop."

"We don't believe in fake dreams."

"They're not fake."

"I need you to take care of it." He pointed at his stomach.

"No."

"No?"

"No, because you'll do it. Don't leave me with a big burden," you protested angrily.

"Yes, I think I will." "But only if..."

"I'll take care of it, only if..."

[how-now-a-rat]

#i havent been in the position of losing feminist or queer community cause i didnt have those things prior to transition#but i do feel it now when by nature of people seeing me and believing me to be a man or even amab#im met with pre-emptive rejection or a sense of the need for my exclusion#which is understandable in some circumstances and frustrating and hurtful in others#and i dont have great experiences with being in community with other trans mascs-- either rejecting and excluding me for being gnc or#trying to social bond via misogyny and transmisogyny which i am not interested in either#but so long as we're passing and our immediate documents are changed to M#almost nobody suspects you of being transgender and you do gain access to the benefits of patriarchy in employment#and if your voice deepens enough strangers respond to your verbal contributions or intrusions as they would a cisgender man#one day i want to make a proper presentation of my experiences with being transmasculine agender and femme via @void-star

The key word here is "relevant". At this point I would say you are arguing passing privilege which is highly debatable if it even is real privilege since it is very situational and dependant on having the ability to/wanting to be stealth. It heavily depends on personal circumstances and can itself often be a safety risk if you do get outed. If privilege is awarded only on the condition that you hide the relevant aspect of yourself that grants you that "privilege", I would argue it's really more of a conditional advantage for some select individuals in some select situations, not a privilege that a whole group of people can access automatically through the trait that we are discussing here - which is transmasculine gender identity. Trans men are still much more likely to be unemployed than both cis men and cis women and I don't know any research about a subconscious voice-depth bias in the treatment of transmascs but it sounds like it would be very dependant on personal circumstances. In any case, that would be more of a freedom from one instance of microaggression, which I'm sure can offer some relief but is not what I was talking about here. I used "relevant privilege" as in unconditional access to things like: medical research and proper medical treatment, health care, employment, physical and emotional safety, housing, social acceptance of lived realities, social standing, historical research, protection of the individual's human rights, representation in media and government, etc. Some of these are as it stands fully unachievable by transmascs, some are debatably but even then only if you pass well and often enough, a standard that is not possible and/or desirable for most transmascs. Based on that I don't think there is a case that can be made for access to relevant privilege based on transmasculinity.

Transmasc transition often involves so much loss of community. Especially if you already were in feminist or queer spaces before your transition. It's not true that we gain relevant social status within patriarchial structures by transitioning (if patriarchy supported the choices of those who they see as women to be anything other than a wife and a mother/to transgress gender-norms we wouldn't have to have most of these conversations) but we do noticeably lose social status within our own community. And along with that access to safe-spaces and ressources that we need for physical and emotional safety and well-being.

[ao3scrapesearch]

Thank you so much for the AI scrape search tool. I am not sure if you have answered this question before but in case not: I always thought that locking fics to logged in users was a safe bet. and all my fics were locked, but it appears 36 of them got scraped anyways. Do you know what enables the AI to scrape them? are there additional measures I could take to prevent it happening besides using an unrevealed collection?

Thanks in advance! i really appreciate that you took the time to make this

Aw man, this is something that's bothered me since long before this recent scrape.

There's this common advice out there that user-locking your fics will protect them, and that's just never been the case. The only thing user-locking does is require all readers to have an account. I can get a new AO3 account in less than 5 minutes. Even if I couldn't find someone to give me an invite code (which many, many people will, even complete strangers), it's only a couple days to wait to be auto-approved. Once you have an account, you have access to the locked fics for as long as you can keep that account from getting flagged for suspicious activity. To avoid that, you just have to limit the rate at which you're scraping. Do it slow enough, and you'll never be flagged as a bot account.

The public works are only a more popular target because it's easier to scrape them quickly.

(And to be clear, this isn't meant to shit on the people who were passing around the advice to lock your fics! They saw something they thought would protect people and were kind enough to spread the word. It unfortunately just isn't the reality.)

I try to keep up regularly with AO3's terms of service, and the last I checked, there's no blanket ban on scraping. I personally use a scrape tool on my own statistics page daily, and that's 100% within the allowed terms of service. It's my stats page, so obviously, I'm logged in to do that. Different scrapers use different tools, and I don't know anything about what mass scrapers stealing other people's fics do, but I know for my own personal one, this is the only bit of code I needed to add to handle logging in to do my personal scrape.

For FFN:

In people language, this says "Pop up an error to tell Skyler to login to FFN and try again." I have to do this because FFN has anti-bot stuff on their login page that I'm sure some people could get around, but I'm an amateur and I sure can't do that.

AO3 is even easier because the code can just log in for you if you're not logged in, and AO3 doesn't do CAPTCHA. Scribbling out my NSFW pseud because I am NOT outing my weird kinks to you guys, sowwy.

That code takes maybe 5 minutes to write and test. That's why locking your fics isn't a guarantee, because it's that easy to just log in and then set your scrape tool to go slow enough to not be flagged.

So far, the only things I've seen that look effective are unrevealed collections and not posting fic at all, but I'm still trying to look into other options. (I was hoping to look faster, but it's been insane at work so I haven't had time to do much else!)

[lyxchen]

Genuienly I can't get behind all the Squid Game promotion stuff Netflix does. It's kinda gross to me. All the Squid Game events in different cities where you get to play the games and people go around taking pictures with the pink guards and idk posing sexually or calling them 'daddy' and don't even get me started on Squid Game The Challenge. Like no hate to the people taking part in this, they're just having fun but I just don't think this is cool. I don't think seeing kids costumes of players and pink guards is cool. I don't think recreating a show in real live and taking out the bad parts, the parts that are there to send a message is cool and fun. I know a lot of shows have serious themes and I'm not against fandom for Squid Game at all and I also think having fun with the show in fandom without always bringing up its serious messages is totally okay (I do that too) and I also think that Netflix can of course promote a very popular show. But I think once it gets to a point where Netflix makes it silly and cutesy is when it has to stop. Netflix going around different citys and putting up the Red Light, Green Light doll and having random people on the street play the game is just... For what? For promotion? For money?? Of course it's for money but I think it's kind of so gross. Nothing else is irl promoted as much as Squid Game is. I don't see nearly as many events for Bridgerton or Stranger Things. But Netflix RECREATED this show about Horrible Things happening to people, who don't know how to help themselves anymore stuck in a system that is actively working Against them, with real live people stuck in similar situations. For Entertainment. And you know who gets the most money out of it?? Netflix!! A show about poor people taking huge risks to get a better and livable life and in the end Netflix is still the one making all of this money off of it. And they're squeezing every last bit they can out of this show. And it's so disgusting to me. Again I'm not blaming people who take part in this, who go to those events. I just think Netflix shouldn't be making these events in the first place

[crownmemes]

Assassin Sentences, Vol. 3

(Sentences for interactions with assassins. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"If I'm going to do this job, I need to know what it is I'm dealing with."

"You don't get the tell me who to kill."

"Why don't you kill him? You could always say that it was me."

"Hunting a man is no great thing. They're slow and predictable, and they can be found always where their appetites lead them."

"I know how these people think; I'm a trained killer myself."

"Speak again and I will shoot you in the head."

"Isn't ordinary death exciting enough for you?"

"Where do you want to be shot?"

"Look, I'm for killing whoever needs killing, but it's not going to make you feel any better."

"What are you worried about? If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead already."

"I've never felt as alive as I did when I was killing him."

"Tell me what to do, then I will tell you my price."

"You do this a lot? Go places and think about killing?"

"You've never done that before, have you? Taken a person's life?"

"It's a shame. You came all this way and you didn't get to kill anybody."

"Listen, I have just left a very enjoyable evening with some old friends to come and murder a hired contract killer for you, so let's tone down the judgement a tad, shall we?"

"Technically, you killed him."

"You just can't go around killing people!"

"I really want to apologise for, you know, the massive crime I've committed."

"It's not very smart to piss off a guy who thinks about killing people for a living."

"Once you take a life, there's nothing like it."

"I'm a shooter, not a spy - I don't usually solve problems with my people skills."

"Because I murder with will and not like a blind animal, you think me a monster. Yet, how many corpses have you left in your wake?"

"So, you're going to teach me how to be a coldhearted killer?"

"You know that I'd never take that job... Unless the money was really good."

"Death excites you, doesn't it?"

"I'd invite you up into the office, but there were two dead bodies hanging about until about an hour ago."

"Do you think that one more corpse means anything to me?"

"Did you kill him with your hands?"

"What do you think about when you think about killing?"

"Can you kill them all with one pistol?"

"I regret everyone I kill."

"Killing him would be more trouble than it's worth."

"I am, as you know, no stranger to killing."

"Despite my reputation, I really don't approve of collateral damage."

"Are you worried I'm going to shoot him or something?"

"If you don't have a code in this job, then you have nothing."

"This may come as a surprise to you, but I still fear death."

"I think if you wanted to kill me, you'd have done it already."

"Murder's not what it used to be."

"If anything in this life is certain, if history has taught us anything, it's that you can kill anyone."

[asce-of-hearts]

Could I request Itachi or Sasuke with 🐕 Once I have you in my arms, I'm never letting you go, 🍁 You belong to me and only me and 🦔 Because you're all mine, I won't hand you over to anyone. If it can be only one you can choose any of the ones I chose. thank you

Grievance

Contents: Yandere!Itachi with prompts: 🐕🍁🦔

more Itachi content here

TAG LIST

PROMPT LIST

WARNINGS: SOFT YANDERE, OBSESSIVE AND POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, IMPLIED KIDNAPPING.

A scroll is delivered to your doorstep. You recognize the handwriting.

"My dearest ___,

Do not alert of my presence to anyone. I know I'm a bad man, I know I don't deserve forgiveness, but in truth, I don't care too much about that. What I do care for is my wish to see you, and to fulfill a promise I made a long time ago, when I was something entirely different to the monster I am today.

Please, do not be afraid. I do not wish to hurt you or your family. I only wish to see you once more. Although, I feel obligated to warn you, once I have you in my arms, I'm never letting you go.

Sincerely yours,

Itachi"

Your eyes grow damp at those words. Itachi seems like a stranger to you in that moment. The man who killed his clan and left, disappearing in the night. You remember him, you remember how he didn't leave without saying goodbye. You remember he told you to not mind the stench of blood that plagued him in that moment, that he told you to stay quiet, and to wait, because he would be back for you.

That promise seems so distant. And even so, when you read those words, you can't help but hope he comes back soon.

The night is cold, summer heat transitioning into autumn coolness. And the moon is full, and your hopes are slowly getting crushed. Why would he come back? He hasn't been near you in years, and now all of the sudden he's interested in seeing you once more? Foolish. You're a foolish girl for believing a man like him, a criminal, a murderer, a... a sight for sore eyes.

"You came." As soon as those words leave your lips you throw yourself in his arms. You don't care if he might stab you and kill you in that moment, you can only think of his warmth and his love and his promises. He came back, he really did. He's standing there, tall and menacing, in the middle of your room.

"I'm a man of my word," He whispers, his lips pressing against yours in a firm caress. And you cling to him, afraid he might be an ilussion, that he might dissapear in any moment. His red eyes darken, going back to the dark grey you grew so familiar with. "I would never lie to you, ___." He cups your face with his hands, rougher and more calloused than you remember them, his expression serious. "But... It's time for us to leave, ___. We can't stay here for much longer."

"Eh? But you just arrived? And... leave... us?" You are confused, and he only gives you an indulgent smile in response, as enigmatic as always.

"I cannot leave you here on your own. I cannot leave you here knowning you might be promised to someone else one day. You're beautiful, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And to think... to think some other man could have you, I can't stand the thought," His grip on your face tightens just enough for you to feel a little scared. "You belong to me and only me."

Your expression clouds with something akin to anger, and you don't know what to say without blowing up.

"You disappeared for years, Itachi. You have done... unspeakable things," You exhale, a dark, shaky chuckle leaving your lips. "And now... after years of letters as the only confirmation that you were still alive. You... you want to take me with you? Why?"

"Because you're all mine, I won't hand you over to anyone." He's being blunt, sincere. "I would rather destroy this village before letting you be wedded to another useless man who won't be able to care for you, to protect you, to do things like I could."

"And what if I refuse?" You say, and his gaze softens, eyes glowing red once more.

"I'm afraid you don't have that choice, my love."

hope you enjoyed this!!!!!!!!

have a great day/night

TAGGING: @mimihaitani @bad4amficideas @janeisnotonline @architectofsuffering @thatoneweirdkidattheplayground @poopooindamouf @staarflowerr @starberryzos @kaylarilla @mallowryblog @whatupbishs @dreamcastgirl99

[blackjackkent]

banner art by the amazing @eluvisen !

-----

Open Your Eyes and It Will Blind You - Chapter 6

Pairing: Jaheira/Rasaad Characters: Jaheira, Rasaad, OC Bhaalspawn (Caden), Aerie, Imoen, Minsc Rating: G Warnings: None Descriptors: Angst, Avoidance, Fix-It, Slow Burn, Romantic Tension, Canon-Typical Violence, Fake Character Death, Grief Fic Word Count (Thus Far): 31k Chapter Word Count: 5.8k Setting: Several years after BG2 TOB Summary: Years after the defeat of Irenicus and Melissan, Jaheira and Rasaad are both still haunted by the things they have lost, and neither of them is much good at opening up despite how deeply they’ve come to care for each other. When Rasaad decides he must travel to Calimshan to face up to his brothers in Sun Soul, she and their friends insist on accompanying him, and the two must begin to come to terms with their unacknowledged feelings while uncovering a deep darkness that has infected the place Rasaad once called home. (Chap 6/?) Chapter Summary: Jaheira and her companions break into the Selunite monastery in search of information about Gahan and his Sharran loyalties - and discover far more than they expected. read on ao3 | send me fic requests!

It takes them the better part of the day to track down an entrance to the tunnel system. 

Jaheira remembers Rasaad describing a passageway from the markets, but most of the shopkeepers in the khanduq merely seem baffled by the idea. Others squint as if they expect an amlakkar trap, and say nothing at all. But gold paves many roads, and the combination of Caden's purse and utterly guileless sincerity ultimately gets them what they are looking for, from a young apothecary's apprentice hauling crates off the back of a wagon.

“Sure, I know what ya mean." The girl pauses in her work, her dark eyes sweeping over their odd little group with mild and wary fascination, as if she is examining a bit of unexpected and exotic wildlife. Then she shrugs and hoists herself up to sit on one of the loose crates, rattling the bottles within. "You're talkin' about the tunnels to the harbor. Master Adel uses 'em plenty when he’s shipping in rare herbs; Cal’port’s taxes are murder.”

"That does sound like it might be what we seek," says Caden. His eyes are shadowed from grief and lack of sleep and there’s a touch of stubble on his jaw, giving him a ragged and exhausted look. But with the girl, who can’t be more than fifteen, he is instinctively gentle, his voice soft and his smile good-humored. "Might those tunnels go elsewhere besides the harbor as well?"

She relaxes, drawing herself into a cross-legged position on top of the crate, and returns his smile with a cautious one of her own. "Where ya trying to get, stranger?" she asks. "Most places ‘round here have a plenty good front door."

"Hypothetically speaking... perhaps the door is closed," Caden answers carefully.

"Ah." The girl lifts her eyebrows with a knowing nod. "Amlakkar trouble, eh?” This seems to cheer her up a little; apparently it’s a motivation she can easily fathom. “Well - there's plenty 'a branches off the tunnels, for sure. My master and I don't touch 'em, though."

Jaheira stirs, rousing herself with effort from her own thoughts. "If you can get us into the tunnels," she mutters, "I can find our way from there."

Caden produces a handful of gold from his pouch, offering it to the girl. "You can tell us how to get in, then?"

"Sure. Furthest boat slip west, there's a door marked with blue paint. Anyone asks, tell them Adel sent you." The girl grins, pocketing the coins. "Hope you enjoy the trip. Place stinks something awful," she adds with some relish.

"Stinks?" Aerie asks politely.

The girl laughs. "Well, of course. It’s the sewer route; what else d’you expect?"

Read More on AO3

Tag List:

@redfoxwithaccount @yeehawitsjakee @the-magpie-collective @rhysintherain @justlet-melive

@scribblingface @writer86 @thedarkstrategist @marigoldbaker @krawwan

@eluvisen

(Want to join one of my tag lists? Click here!)

[queenofshenanigans]

WIP WEEKEND! Make Me Write

I reorganized a few things this week, and added links to the tags if you want to track down previous WIP sneak-peeks of a few things. Send me an emoji (one WIP per ask, but idc how many emojis per WIP per ask) and I'll write at least 3 sentences and share a bit!

**NEW**📼- STEITH WEEK is coming for us all, there is no escape. NSFW Sneak peak below. Make me finish this pwp with surprise feelings maybe? Track all my Steith Week stuff here if you dare.

👩‍👩‍👦 - the Stranger Moms fic. There's plot now. Might be a S5 thing. Liz Harrington/Claudia Henderson meet ugly eventual romance. You can follow the tag here.

🐉 - Steve finds a dragon in his closet. (Steddie, ft Dustin's unsafe scienigal experiments)

🏰 - Shenanigans in Steve's attic thanks to his dad's latest experiment. It's basically Honey I Shrunk The Kids, but ST canon compliant as well. (Pre-Steddie, ft Erica & Dustin, intended to be a drabble and/or short fic, but I'm outta control.)

⚔️ - A Knight's Tale (with magic) AU, Ronance with side Steddie (and other various pairings), but it's 90% Wheeler sibling feels.

🤫 - Steddie Big Bang (this has gone under so many genre changes, all I'll say it's still a romance and has a happy ending. I'll write 3 sentences, and share some stuff from ⚔️)

🛼 - Sapphic Mini Bang (90s Bubblescoop with background Stommy; I'll write 3 sentences, and 👩‍👩‍👦)

**NEW** 🤸‍♂️- I'm going to yeet @tinytalkingtina into a Stedissy aerobics AU, as voted by the @strangerthingswritersguild. I don't make the rules ig. (JK, it's just an aerobics Stedissy AU. Someone will be yeeted though, I respect the democratic process.)

Tagging: @yesdangerpls @machtaholic @augustjustice @cloudsurfing42 @queenie-ofthe-void @felixir-of-moths @sourw0lfs @vthx @pearynice and anyone else who wants to play!

NSFW (cw: period typical thought processes, some roleplay that could edge towards a dubcon scenario; let me know in DM if I missed any cw) snippet of the #steithweek fic below.

"Oh, fuck, this is happening," Keith babbled, leaning more fully against the counter behind him. "Uh, right. Boris Karloff—remember the name Harrington, he was, uh—"

Steve tuned out the actual words, and let the cadence of Keith's voice fill the air around him. The way he stuttered when Steve wrapped a palm around the base of his cock, the way his voice went higher when Steve pressed a kiss against the tip. He'd never actually done this before, given another guy a blow job. He'd gotten gay head once, from a dude outside a club in Indy when he and Robin had braved the city over the summer, but this was his first time on his knees for another guy.

He liked it, he thought. It wasn't so different from doing this for girls, and he'd liked that a lot. Making them feel good, using his mouth to get them off while they gripped his hair and directed his head where they wanted it. Keith wasn't there yet, his hands were clenched on the edge of the counter, as if he wasn't sure he had permission to touch anywhere else, but Steve decided that was fine for now. Until he knew what he was doing, anyway.

"Fuck, Harrington, that's good," Keith moaned, when Steve pulled him all the way out of his pants and put his mouth over the head of his cock.

He didn't suck, just held him inside his mouth, getting used to the weight of a cock on his tongue, but from the way Keith sounded it was the best thing he'd ever felt. Steve grinned internally, feeling powerful and more himself than he'd felt in a long time. King Steve still had it, it seemed, even if he was on his knees and roleplaying an employee worried about losing his job.

[steviewashere]

Mmmmm

"Losing My Religion" by R.E.M.

A Steddie break-up fic where Steve, hopeless romantic Steve, is in a whirlwind romance with Eddie. And Eddie who finally gets his big break and plans to leave Hawkins in the rear view. It starts slowly, just little things Steve doesn't take to heart: Eddie getting distracted in the middle of a cuddle session or a kiss or even sex, Eddie pulling away quicker (but he's still loving on Steve so he doesn't really care), maybe cancelling more on their date nights or claiming that he's got plans already made with the Corroded Coffin boys.

And then the space between them just gets bigger and bigger and bigger, and Steve is left behind in the dust. Abandoned again. He's always looking to Eddie, but Eddie's not looking back. They're arguing more. There's a knot, a strain weighing on their relationship.

When Steve begins to pull back, Eddie barely puts in the effort to keep him tethered. And Steve, gullible and hopeless romantic Steve, lets Eddie get away with it. Because any attention is better than none. Even if he's going to bed alone every night, waking up to a going cold space beside him. Even if he's biting his fist during an argument, saving the tears for a quick shower. Even if he has to choke back on his emotions, because any big outbursts he thinks will push Eddie further away. Will spiral them out farther.

But then Eddie just abruptly leaves. Leaves their life, their friends, Hawkins as a whole. And Steve has to get his number through Wayne, who thought the boys were still together.

And it's not until Eddie answers with a, "Hello? Oh—hold on, babe, somebody's on the phone," that Steve finally puts two and two together. They aren't even dating anymore. He hangs up before say anything.

Eddie's left with the distant sound of somebody breathing on the other side and the dial tone. Never to hear from Steve again.

...anyway!

[secondbeatsongs]

going through some old logs, and I need you to understand just how truly unhinged early 2010s RP omegle was.

genuinely you could stay on there for hours with just one person, hashing out complex traumatic backstories, drawn-out love confessions, detailed action scenes...collaboratively describing graphic violence, past abuse, comfort, hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, any number of sex acts...and then one of you would be like, "oh haha it's 2AM! I have to sleep :(" and the other person would say, "omg saaaame. :( gnight!!!" and then you'd exit the chat and never speak to each other again, and this was. fine.

you could just spend an entire evening shoving your wretched, bleeding soul into a chat log with someone you'd never meet or learn the name of, achieve some form of emotional catharsis, and then go about your day or night like this was an average way to spend your time.

I'm really normal about this, actually

[strange-anni]

This is the source El finds in the void and it's twofold. It's the father. In this case it's Neil but he's just a stand-in for Lonnie.

The other source is the Steel Works warehouse BRIMBORN but that's not how it is presented to us throughout season 3.

It reads more like BRIMBORN as a shadow covers up the B pretty consistently, making us unable to read it

Warning for discussions of CSA under the cut

We also get the full address of the steelworks warehouse and it's

Brimborn Steelworks 6522 Cherry Oak Drive

This is how where the MF possessed Billy. Cherry Oak Drive

Lonnie also means oak tree

Max also tells us Billys full address

Billy Hargrove 4819 Cherry Lane

Billy lives on Cherry Lane but he lost himself and got possessed by the father at Cherry Oak Drive. A lane to drive on...

Source

Billy was a Cherry Lane at first until he got corrupted in the Cheery Oak Drive

Billy is short for William and a stand-in for Will

We also learn more about cherries and their availability

Hopper says there is no cherry in the 7-Eleven. Apparently they had only strawberry

That's not entirely true tough as we see with Alexei here. In fact it seems like they have only cherry and cola. But Hopper still drove there even though it was way out of his way. So I'm sure he would have gotten cherry if it were there, right?

Well, maybe it's more like an either/or situation with the Seven and the Eleven in which one number is the cherry and the other is the strawberry . Maybe they are mutually exclusive

As we've already seen though, it's Will who is already associated with cherries via association of Billy which in turn can only mean one thing

Eleven is the strawberry

But

In the end there is no difference. Cherry and strawberry taste the same. They are the same. Just sugar on ice

But what's a strawberry anyway?

Source

First of all of this goes with the Will Byers has DID theory.

For the longest time I was convinced that Will created Eleven on the day he vanished in the woods but I don't think that's what has happened any longer. I think she was there long before. Ready to take over whenever Will needed her to use her superpowers to absorb what he couldn't face.

That's why Eleven is a strawberry. She was there ready to save Will whenever Lonnie sold off his son to buy dr*gs. It's why there is still a cola next the cherry in the 7-Eleven. Coca-Cola or just coke. Other sources also say that a Strawberry is a woman who willingly sells se*ual favors to buy dr*gs. (although willingly is hardly the word I would use here)

In the beginning of the first season El could barely speak and was more like a child who didn't understand anything. This was also done for her protection throughout the years I think. The less she understood what happened, the better it is for her (or so the reasoning goes)

But she still understood the most important part

[kallistcs]

"I don't think it'd get you in trouble," Ganymede denies softly - he can't even quite imagine what sort of trouble it's supposed to be able to get Ben into, really. "But being in your position, and if such a rebirth detector actually existed, if I had the risk of running into it going off again and again and again and each time it wasn't ever any of the people I would be hoping and wanting for it to be---"

Shaking his head, a couple loose curls brushing his cheek, simply too short to be tied up with the rest of his hair in its high bun, Ganymede purses his lips.

"I'd lose more hope, and my heart more injured, by that repeated failure, than simply going through my life not knowing if any given person I passed was someone from the past reborn."

A shrug. He's not - never has been - looking for family members in the faces he sees, whether those be the ones he knew while still mortal, of the few he got acquainted with after he came to Olympus. You have to let go, at some point. Which sure is a fine thing to say, even in the silence of his own heart and mind, the way Ganymede very well knows he has let go not of a single stone or blood of drop spilled when it comes to Troy!

But. In theory.

And if he ever has the chance to meet his father, or siblings, or any of those relatives that came later, it'll be a sweet gentleness, a treat. Perhaps he'd be more desperate about the matter if he didn't have his grandfathers, if he didn't have his mother.

"And who said anything about benefit in observing strangers?" Ganymede asks with a quiet huff of a laugh, eyes sparkling as he looks away from the café in general and back to Telemakhos. "It's about the little expressions, seeing someone they're waiting to meet come up to them, reading something they like or don't like, the way they move past others, lost in thought or all too aware of the people around them, the way they might stop to look at a shop's display... It's about all the little bits of life, you know?"

Another shrug, Ganymede taking another sip of sweet, hot chocolate, humming quietly in pleasure.

"A little, though I've always found it relaxing," Ganymede agrees, but the smile is amused. "Probably a good thing - it helped at least a little for the couple years I watched sheep. But I wouldn't have thought the son of Odysseus would consider it as a waste of time to observe people, to find out as much as possible about them."

He's teasing, and makes no attempt to hide that he is doing exactly that.

"As for reborn souls... I don't know how it looks to others," he says, teasing lightless laid aside for a thoughtful little frown. "I wouldn't be able to sit on Olympus and see such a thing. It has to be close. But it's like a certain weight, I suppose, to the person. And if I've met someone before, and talked to them, I can tell it's the same soul, who they were the first time, reborn. I think, if I hadn't been alive for as long as I have, it'd be more difficult."

Sipping on his chocolate, Ganymede's gaze goes a little unfocused as he thinks, then looks back to Ben, shrugging.

"When I'd first come to Olympus, I couldn't see anywhere without divine aid. After a little while, I could use a surface - a mirror, calm liquid, for example - and see down into the mortal world. So it's probably both practice and something reborn souls accrue by being reborn and living again. Does that count as obvious?"

Hard to know, after all, what Ben means by that. Obvious to a god wouldn't be the same as obvious to a mortal with no other skills and abilities mortals usually have, all else being equal.

[hangingslothcentral]

It's Trans Day of Visibility!

Today I want to talk about being overlooked, which feels like an odd thing to discuss on TDOV, but there we are.

I used to talk a lot about gender things, and I don't anymore. One reason is that it's just not as present a discomfort in my life, now: I went on T and I got top surgery and these things meant that I didn't feel that grating dissimilitude between who I am and what I appeared to be to other people the way I used to.

But it's not that I don't feel it at all. It's that the way it shows up is different. A disconnect between myself as I am and how I'm addressed by the world. Sure, some people misgender me still, but it's usually relatives wilfully resisting respecting my identity. By and large, strangers assume he/him pronouns for me, even if sometimes look at me with question marks in their eyes for a moment.

I'm a writer and I write queer stories. Those stories often have trans and nonbinary people in them because they are a part of the world, and so of course they're there. I also have the privilege of being surrounded by mostly queer people, so when I'm imagining any given group of friends or colleagues I assume they're about. 70% queer people? I think my data is skewed. Oh well!

The thing is, I'm not particularly interested in writing coming out stories or stories about the process of transition, at least not explicitly. Whilst arguably both Not Quite Dead and Spirit Box Radio handle these things thematically, neither is interested in the explicit process as literally experienced. Part of that is that I think queerness, transness, LGBTQness, it's simultaneously highly individualised and extremely broadly relateable. Whilst most people don't experience an extra puberty in their twenties or thirties, that feeling of learning who you are and being brave enough to become it is something that I think most people can find something powerful to relate to in. Especially when stories lean on the consequences of that decision of radical self-acceptance, which often leads to losing people and muddling up other things in your life, and is rarely as straightforward and affirming as it might seem.

Sometimes it feels like my transness swallows up other parts of my identity. Sometimes that happens on a personal level, where I feel like I can't do things or be a certain way simply by virtue of being trans. I felt this for a long time about dressing and moving in feminine ways. I felt they were not allowed for me in the way they are allowed for cis men. But more often its others' perception of me which is most impacted by transness' distorting lens. People make assumptions about the kinds of work I make, the kinds of characters I will write, because of my transness. They overlook my queerness and my stated attractions because of it, switching the labels I might use for myself into ones they deem more appropriate on the basis of my identity. They'll assume that because I have had access to gender affirming care, I come from a background of middle class privilege and stability, and respond with surprise when I explain I grew up mostly on a council estate in a bedroom with a mould problem so bad the back of my wardrobe was physically damp to the touch.

In my private experience of my transness, it's something which is mostly about other people and the barriers between what they see and assume about me, and who I am. It's often a positive thing; for example, it's part of the reason I am able to connect with and articulate my emotions the way some of my cis peers who are men struggle to without huge amounts of hard work.

To other people, though, it seems like it can get in the way of them understanding other things about who I am, parts of me which from my perspective are far more important and far more integral for understanding and grasping my identity and experience of the world. It means there are expectations on me that don't exist for my cis peers. At it's worst, it can lead people to want to distance themselves from me, whether out of conscious or unconscious bigotry or a fear of being seen as 'too political'. I've been passed over for jobs; awards; opportunities.

Most of these discriminations are subtle. They're usually not conscious. This doesn't make them better than out-and-out, mask-off bigotry, but it can make things more difficult to deal with and express to others who are not used to experiencing these kinds of things. It can be harder to criticise the people themselves for their behaviour, too. They're not doing it on purpose and it's not their intent so the response can often be vicious, defensive, and sometimes even violent, in response to a disconnect between how they perceive their actions and what you're telling them the consequences of their behaviour can be.

It is an extraordinarily difficult thing to suspect that your work might be able to reach more people, that your career might've progressed more smoothly, that you could be in a more safe and stable position, were it not for this one, unchangeable part of who you are. I am fiercely proud of who I am, but that doesn't change that it's made my life more difficult. These kinds of prejudices stack, too. My working class accent; my Jewish heritage; all of these things swirl into a pot of reasons that other people use to overlook me and my work. This things would be massively amplified if I were not from an English-speaking country; if I had not had access to higher education; and especially if I were not white.

It is extraordinarily important for Trans Day of Visibility to exist, because we are so often overlooked to the point of invisibility. It's not just about normalising the idea for cis people; it's not just about pointing out there are trans people everywhere. Those things are hugely important too! It's also about us. It's about the impact that lack of knowledge has on us, those in the closet and out, those stealth and those public about their identities, passing or not. All of us. This impacts *all of us*.