#i've been Going Through It (TM)

[y-akkun]

A gift for @ BeeTeeDubya14 through the Persona Winter Exchange event! Thank you for your patience; I hope it was worth the wait! <3

[cold-black-and-infinite]

Trent: "Dead Ringers was a big inspiration for getting me to make stuff that makes YOU FEEL BAD"

Atticus: "I like Beverly Hills Cop :)"

[yellowloid]

(forbidden) love, secrets, memories and regrets in am's 'tranquility base hotel and casino'

[talentforlying]

might go without saying, but rewatching midnight mass knowing you'll finish the last episode less than an hour before your class? not a good idea.

[pilindiel]

when you get this, list 5 songs you like to listen to, publish. then, send this to 10 of your favourite followers ♡

OH MAN I HAVE A MILLION SONGS I LISTEN TO ON THE REG here's just a couple:

faceplant by LØLØ

I'm Not Getting Better by Marianas Trench

Berenstein by the Band CAMINO

Without a Weapon by Marskye

God and the Government by Leanna Firestone

And the honorable mention, since I just quit my job of 7 years:

2 Minutes Notice from Helluva Boss

Also also honorable mention since it's the holidays:

That Scrooge from A VHS Christmas Carol

[shiningstages]

School has been very much kicking my butt mentally lately, but winter break should be soonish...got about a week and a half of the semester. Personal life stuff hasn't helped; but that's mostly calmed down now thankfully~ Maybe in between those days but especially afterwards, I should be a bit more free to properly finish my drafts~ Feel free to send me anything or chat in these DMs or my discord if you have it

[unproduciblesmackdown]

also if only the physical copy of how to disappear completely & never be found i first encountered & read a few years ago (sort of [roughly avg age ten] reader book, not any similarly titled How To) hadn't disappeared completely & not been found since, probably b/c i put it somewhere i intended to be For Safekeeping, which is also how my binder vanished....b/c it's one of those like. those book for late elementary/middle school readers when they just weave in this unrealism which makes for a delightful range & unpredicability? and with a cynical protagonist girl like off to the races like wow her mom is depressed asf & smoking? and it's about A Family History Secrets Mystery so blatantly a haunting that the inciting incident is basically introducing a haunted [family history secrets mystery] house. and spoilers don't matter like it's stemming from there being this missing uncle who grew up so in contrast to the Winsome Winning Sibling Who Does It All Right while seeing his own affiliation with rats that he tried to disappear completely & never be found which led to this Tragedy which led to this more unintended disappearance of his & he haunts this house & wants to be left alone & only goes out at night with this [ambiguous Is That A Giant Rat Or Weird Small Dog (protagonist affected by these family situations who expresses her preoccupation with an awareness of how fate can Strike and Get you with this interest with roving packs of killer chihuahuas. people think she's weird though she spontaneously befriends this other girl struck with this bolt from the blue & a bit weird / outcast & then Insightful who i wish was in it more)] & plays into the hauntedness danger like playing into the [something's Wrong with you then] until having to take yet more action where the urge to express the truth comes out more both b/c living that hidden is more threatened but also b/c now the niece children are more threatened as well. ft. a sort of preternatural blurring of time b/c of only being communicated with through this uncle via his comic pages (that he paints?) of dubiously accurate translations of irl events that are created so quickly it seems to verge on foresight, imagine like "hmm what's this painting. it's me standing in this room looking at this painting??? as someone ominous lurks in the shadows right behind me?" in both [now how could you know this & paint it really fast ahead of time] and [horror]

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

sometimes while going through my fandom stuff i'll find privated/ghost interactions with it, and on the one hand i know there's any number of reasons someone might want some privacy and i respect that 100%. and it's also weirdly flattering! and i'm glad people are able to enjoy my stuff in whatever kind of peace it is they're maintaining. especially if it's something without a lot of other content out there.

on the other hand i am always so so curious. who are you stranger what was it you liked about my thing. who are the other enjoyers out there

[mythicalartisttm]

gosh, the solution to “my eyes are so strained they’re gonna fall out” really is “go lie down or read a book”

[ziracona]

More Metro fic be upon ye. [Metro Last Light - Finale and further from Pavel’s pov: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4.]

Pavel’s body felt so heavy he might as well have been carved in stone. And yet somehow, simultaneously, his head felt light and foggy, unable to think. This beaten, feverish sensation lasted for what he would find out later was hours, him dropping in and out, but mostly out, of some semblance of consciousness.

Finally, everything darkened, and his injured body sunk into a real sleep.

There were faint suggestions of memories—in the dreams, in the fevered time before it, but his weak processing power couldn’t make sense of any of them. There had been an old man, a face he hadn’t recognized. Stopping over him, saying things he didn’t remember. The creature had been there again, in his head. He thought that part must really have happened. And, he knew he’d been moved. No idea by who, or where, but, he had felt it. And…and things got hazier then. Out of order, too, if they’d happened at all. The voice from the radio had spoken The International like a prayer. But that couldn’t have happened, could it? There had been more of those creatures, maybe. They were fading, passing, blurred memories, but it could have been real. And he had seen Artyom, dead, soaked in blood and wounds, but he had been moving, somehow, rushing towards him. That must not have happened.

There were people, voices, arguing. Then, nothing.

The nothing was a relief to Pavel. He was at rest, a deep, heavy, sunken rest. A rest he needed.

There were no dreams. No pain. No thoughts—God that was the real mercy. Just…a break.

A gift.

And it was many, many hours later, when he awoke.

He did not feel better. Actually, he felt considerably worse; his body, upon realizing it would live, had turned back on all those fun nerve endings a body tended to shut off and ignore once it had decided the end was coming no matter what, like a last gift to its inhabitor.

Breathing hurt, in a wet, heavy way. The bullet there had done the most damage, and the pain of it was the first thing he became aware of as he woke. Everything else was heavy and sore, and his head swam with pain and disorientation. When he opened his eyes, even his sight was blurry. 

Still, he was alive. 

As he struggled to understand that, he blinked, and coughed a heavy, stabbing cough. 

“Ow,” he groaned, trying to make himself feel better.

“Pavel!” That had been Artyom’s voice.

Confused, Pavel turned his head, and there he was. Artyom sat in an old chair, at the bedside, looking more than a little like hell himself. What Pavel could see of his chest past the collar of his shirt was covered in bandages, and so were his arms and neck—even one of his ears was padded over with gauze, and his forehead and chin were bruised badly.

“What happened to you?” asked Pavel automatically, lagged brain still in the process of waking up. 

Artyom seemed to find this funny, but he answered anyway. “General Korbut ran a train into me, was most of it.”

A train?? That had been the plan?

“I got shot a few times,” added Artyom thoughtfully, and he smiled and indicated a bandaged spot on his right upper arm. “This was you.”

Right, thought Pavel with disappointment as things began to fall back into place, I was trying to kill you.

With that thought, everything came back at once—the fight at the square, the hall of damned souls, Artyom letting him go, the radio, D-6, the Dark One.

His heart sunk lower. We lost.

“…We lost,” said Pavel, not exactly a question.

Artyom nodded. 

They were both silent, then. He knew Artyom was waiting for him to speak, but it had suddenly become difficult to look at him.

“…What happens now,” asked Pavel finally, eyes on the far wall, “…a court martial?”

It stayed quiet. 

After he had waited out as much time as he could take, Pavel made himself look at Artyom again. The man was watching him, expression sober, but hard to read. 

It hurt to look at him. He felt overwhelming guilt doing it, and then rage at himself for feeling that way, and guilt for feeling guilty about doing his duty, and confusion, and anger at the confusion. He was already nauseous from blood loss, and the sudden whirlpool of emotions increased his urge to vomit. Even more than that, though, he just felt sad. He’d lost—they’d lost. His friends were dead, for nothing. His comrades were dead, and the Red Line was weaker, not stronger. The Nazis would be pushing back hard at the scent of an opening, and he wasn’t there to help them. They were dead, and he had failed them. 

And Artyom was alive, and he had failed him too. He had done the worst thing. He had hovered on the line between choices, and failed everyone.

The world and the ideals he believed in, the general he was loyal to, the men under his command who trusted him. They had all lost today, because the Rangers had won.

So how could he be so glad Artyom was alive. What horrific betrayal was he capable of, that that feeling was the stronger one now? He did not know what to do with it, except to hate himself.

“Yes,” answered Artyom after a bit. He shifted in his seat.

A court martial. Pavel exhaled slowly, and rested his head back against the medical bed. Honestly? That was almost a relief. This way, at least he could dodge ever having to truly figure out any of conflicted feelings swirling around in his head, and he would probably get what he had coming. Unfortunately, he was far from the only person their loss to the Order would affect. And…that mattered a whole lot more.

“…and…the Red Line…?” asked Pavel finally, dreading this answer most of all, and his eyes firmly on the ceiling.

“They are in talks right now, in Polis,” answered Artyom.

Talks?

Brow furrowed, Pavel made himself look at Artyom again. The younger man was still studying him with the same difficult to read expression.

“…Well,” continued Artyom after a few long, uncomfortable seconds, “The situation is not good. We lost hundreds, and the Red Line even more, at D-6. They failed their assault on the Reich as well. The Nazis are calling for blood, Hanza wants territory, all balance is thrown off.”

He’d asked, but Pavel felt the urge to vomit intensify with every syllable. Everything was falling apart. Okay. Okay, what can you do? the thought was frantic, but the answer was ‘nothing.’ Fucking nothing.

“Right now, all factions have met for talks in Polis. Continuing the peace conference from before.” There was an edge to Artyom’s voice when he mentioned the ‘peace’ conference the Red Line had used as the opening for their attack. Pavel did not regret what they’d tried, but he still felt a twinge of guilt at the words.

“So far, what has been decided is that General Korbut will face a court martial very soon,” continued Artyom, “As for the Red Line itself, it helps that Moskrov admitted to being blackmailed by him, and warned Polis of D-6 just before the attack.”

He what—he did what?

The shock must have registered on his face, because Artyom’s expression lifted into a cautious smile. “The Spartans have decided to offer the Red Line an alliance now. I hope they will take it.”

That’s impossible.

Pavel was sure he’d heard him incorrectly. Then sure he was still unconscious and dying on the floor of D-6, and this was his mind trying to dream up a scenario that could save them.

Seeing his face, Artyom cautiously reached over to touch him, then hesitated and drew his hand back. “It’s true,” he said instead, deep brown eyes focused and sincere, “We don’t want things to change. Hanza wants too much power, and god knows we can’t give the Nazis more. We need the Red Line.”

There was a factual simplicity to the statement that was undeniable, but it could not be true, and just Pavel stared at Artyom and shook his head.

“We almost wiped you out, today. The blood has not even dried,” insisted Pavel, “We tried to destroy you.”

“I know,” said Artyom. He smiled sadly. Pavel couldn’t understand it.

“Why…?” asked Pavel hopelessly, “Even after all of this?”

Artyom was quiet, as he was often quiet. Pavel saw him try to speak a few times, and he waited, familiar with this, as his former ally considered the question in silence.

“…You are my friend,” managed Artyom finally. He looked up and held Pavel’s gaze.

What?

Of everything he could have expected Arturo’s to say, this wasn’t even close to a guess.

“…You betrayed me,” continued Artyom slowly, picking words as he went, his voice calm and soft and tinged with regret.

Pavel felt a stab in his chest with the words. Again, he found himself wishing desperately that Artyom was angry. Sad was so much worse. But he was right. It wasn’t that simple—it was so, so fucking complicated, but still…he had done it.

“I wanted to believe you hadn’t. I wanted to believe you in Venice. I wanted…you to change your mind,” continued Artyom, voice almost a whisper. He wasn’t looking at Pavel anymore, he was looking down, at the past. “…I realized in Red Square, you were not ever going to. …But, I also realized that you were playing the villain.”

Pavel looked at the wall.

“I have seen you talk your way out of execution, Pavel. I know you are too smart to encourage me to kill you,” continued Artyom carefully, as if setting pins in a lock, “So, you did not do it for you. You did it for me. …So you did not want to kill me.”

Artyom must already know the answer, but Pavel owed him this much, after everything, and he made himself meet his gaze.

Artyom smiled sadly with recognition. “Yeah. I did not want to kill you either. So I did not. And I still don’t want to. I think I don’t want to kill anybody. I am so tired of killing. So many people are dead, and for what? There were already too few of us left. So what you tried to kill me? So what the blood has not dried? Blood for blood and all any of us are left with is the pile of corpse we have avenged. Don’t you want to try to live?”

Pavel had never heard someone talk like that.

Maybe once in a book, but, not someone real.

Usually, Pavel knew what to say, and in almost any situation. Now, for the first time ever, he could find no words inside to speak at all.

“Can’t it be that simple?” said Artyom, like he was asking for a lot more. Maybe in his own way, he was.

“…I don’t think it can,” answered Pavel finally, surprised to hear his voice choked when he spoke.

“Then you don’t know that it can’t be,” pleaded Artyom. 

Again, Pavel didn’t know what to say. 

Artyom cut such a sorry picture like this, bruised and shot and bloodied, and with all the power and none of it, asking him for something he didn’t have to give. It made his chest ache. It made him want to give it. But it couldn’t be done.

After a minute of heavy quiet between them, Artyom seemed to realize he was not going to answer. He shifted in his seat and surveyed what he could see of Pavel’s wounds, then tried again. “How are you feeling?”

Somehow, that was worse than anything Pavel had thought he might say next. He felt like his head could explode. Pavel was experienced. He was intelligent, and capable, and just the amount of hardened he needed to be to fulfill his post. And yet, this conversation was making him sick. 

“Alive, thanks to you,” he replied. He had started to be friendly and familiar on impulse, because he was a survivor, and he knew the best way to stay alive now was to make sure Artyom wanted him to stay alive. But as he heard his voice, he’d choked on the last word. He already wants you alive, fucking idiot, or you would not be here. But you are being court martialed. With all he’s done, can’t you at least give a decent goodbye? He is…

The silence descended again and was agonizing. Heavy with things unasked and unsaid, things Artyom struggled to say, and Pavel could not figure out how to.

“…I am glad you’re alive, Artyom,” managed Pavel finally, doing his best, “…and I’m sorry. I never—…I really did consider you my friend.”

“Don’t you still?” asked Artyom with worry.

“Of course,” replied Pavel. He finally managed a smile. “I owe you my life. Again.”

Artyom smiled back. This time, he reached over and closed his hand around Pavel’s. His skin was warm and rough; Pavel could feel cuts on his fingers. He wondered if any part of him had made it through all this unscathed. And then, with a delay, he realized there was no shackle by the hand Artyom was holding.

Confused, somehow almost alarmed by it, he glanced at his other wrist, and found nothing but an IV drop anchoring it. Rolling his ankles, he could feel no bindings there either. Looking around the room and taking in detail for the first time, it registered that this was just a room. There was a wooden door at the end, single bolt, locked from this side. A lock anyone in the world with a hand could slide back. It was not any kind of cell. There was a guitar against the wall.

He turned and stared at Artyom, then swallowed, trying to figure out how to even ask. “…Where are we?”

“D-6,” replied Artyom, looking confused by his sudden shift in tone, “The surviving members of the Red Line in D-6 surrendered when the Dark Ones attacked. Most were moved to Polis or sent home for treatment, but the most wounded we treated here.” 

Incredible how little that had answered the question he had actually tried to ask. Wait.

“You truly sent most of the fighters home?” asked Pavel, brow furrowing. 

Artyom nodded.

“You’re all crazy,” observed Pavel, mystified, “…Then, it is just the officers being held for court martial?” The amount of relief he could feel if so. Nothing would undo failing here, but it would make their losses so much smaller if-

There was a look of deep surprise in Artyom’s eyes at the words and he hurriedly shook his head. “-No, Pavel, only General Korbut. -Not any other officers—Not you.”

The words were like being struck. Something in his throat wrenched into a knot, and he could barely breathe. Pavel shook his head and turned away, trying to recover. Artyom did not let go of his hand, but now he wished he would. 

“…Artyom,” he said finally, still turned away and eyes firmly set on the far wall, “Oktysabrskaya… You know I lead-”

“-I know, Major,” came Artyom’s voice.

Pavel waited, but there was nothing else. No ‘but,’ no ‘and,’ no anything, so he made himself face Artyom again, exhausted as he was.

When he did, Artyom was silently watching him with the same hard to place expression he’d had when Pavel woke. After a moment, he continued. His words were careful and slow. “As far as everybody else is concerned, you helped me escape the Reich. Then you tried to warn me over the radio last night, and you returned a stolen bio weapon to D-6. That’s all.”

That was not all.

“Korbut did not act alone,” insisted Pavel. He had betrayed his post for Artyom, but weaseling out of the consequences and leaving his General to take responsibility alone was a level of disloyalty he was not ready to betray himself with. Artyom was asking too much. Korbut was not some monster to throw to the wolves; he was a good tactician and leader. This was wrong.

“I know,” said Artyom.

“I should be with him,” said Pavel.

“Why?” pressed Artyom.

’Why?’ Because I have some modicum of honor and duty left? I don’t know why you want me to live so badly, after everything I’ve done to you, but I can’t turn on my people. Even now, even for you.

“…Artyom, I have done all kinds of things you despise, to protect the Red Line,” said Pavel quietly, “But I have done those things to protect the Red Line. I am not such a snake I would do it to save myself.”

“Who does it help for you to die?” argued Artyom, “Is the Red Line better with you gone?”

Pavel didn’t reply. How can you not see that is not what is at issue.

“If it is, then stay with me,” urged Artyom, “Sparta can use you.”

Pavel shook his head and looked away. “You don’t understand-“

“—I do understand!” insisted Artyom, grabbing his shoulder and jerking him, forcing him to turn back and look. It hurt, and he was glad it hurt. It was anything else to think about. “I know you released the virus; I know you have killed Spartans. I know you used me! I know you would have killed me, if you had won. I know you probably still think everything you did was right, and you may always think that. I don’t care! Even if you come after me again tomorrow, I would not regret it. Understand, Pavel, I am not asking you to do this for you; I am asking you to do it for me!”

…How could he possibly respond, to that? Artyom had leaned in close, and his deep brown eyes were bloodshot and desperate. Blood trickled past a wrapped cut on his arm he must have reopened, and down his wrist, onto the hand of Pavel’s he was still clutching. His grip was like iron, but his hands trembled. 

Why?

When Pavel didn’t answer, Artyom’s expression fractured. “Please,” he said, all the strength from before gone.

“…Why do you care so much?” said Pavel finally, “Enough to let me go, and to lie for me? Even after Teatr. I…don’t understand.”

“Because, you…Ты мне очень...” Artyom faltered. His face had lost the little color he had had left, and he looked so desperate. Why? Why over this? “…We are the same. Musketeers. And…” He trailed off again, heart visibly sinking as he took in Pavel’s expression. “…Isn’t that enough?”

Pavel felt bad for him, but he shook his head. It wasn’t. That didn’t make sense of any of this at all.

Artyom looked crestfallen, and he tried to say something, then stopped and struggled to speak, to no avail. Pavel had seen him struggle like this a few times, so he waited, and after a minute, Artyom seemed able to go on again. His manner was different, though; talking seemed to have become an immense struggle. 

“…You know…” managed Artyom with great effort, “….You know I was the one who…killed the Dark Ones?”

Pavel had not known that. Everyone knew it was the Order, but, Artyom?

“Not…I was a part of it,” continued Artyom, faltering woodenly from word to word, “It…was me.” He looked serious in a way Pavel had never seen on him before, like a man on his way to the noose, who knew he deserved it. “It…was my idea; I went to the Order…and got their help…and…it was me who…launched the missiles. The…Dark Ones begged me, to their last moment, to stop…and I heard them, and I… I did it anyway. I burned them to ash, in an instant. …Because I…was afraid, and I wanted…to protect my home. …My people…”

Pavel had seen Artyom a lot of bad ways—staring down death in a cell, injured, furious, half dead, betrayed. None of them even came close to as bad as the agonizing expression he wore now. He had not known any of that, but he remembered that way the voice of the Dark One in his head in D-6 had felt, and…about the voices in that place of damned souls, in Red Square.

“…and they still saved us, at D-6. After everything. …The little Dark One I found. …I had killed his mother. … He…called me his friend. He knew who I was, and…still.” Artyom choked up, then looked over at him and tried to smile. “You have done so much less than me, Pavel, for the same reasons. If…I believe I can keep going, I must think…you can too.”

He looked so miserable, so sorry. Why the hell had the Rangers let someone so young and inexperienced make that choice. It was something past cruel. And Pavel knew Artyom; he had known him since the moment he saw him looking at the prisoners in the death camp with such worry—he was a good person. That was all only more evident here.

“…Artyom,” tried Pavel slowly.

“-I don’t care if you agree!” cut in Artyom when he heard his tone, “I will protect you anyway!” Little blossoms of red had appeared over the bandage on Pavel’s shoulder, where Artyom’s fingers gripped him. He had never seen anyone hold onto another person so tight.

“You are not like me,” said Pavel kindly, almost gently, and he raised his left arm and carefully moved Artyom’s hand off his shoulder, “Chuvak. You are much younger. You think differently.”

Artyom tried to speak and failed, so he shook his head. He tried to move, and Pavel caught his free hand at the wrist and held it to stop him from gripping his shoulder again. 

“Artyomich,” he said softly, finally managing a smile, “Whatever you think of me, I promise, your fate is note tied to mine.”

This only seemed to upset him more. Artyom struggled to reply again, and couldn’t. Frustrated to anger, he jerked his hand free, and pulled away from Pavel, then stood, agitated, and ran a bloody hand through his hair. 

“We are not the same,” assured Pavel, trying to make him feel better.

“Дурак!” exploded Artyom finally, whirling on Pavel. “We are exactly the same! Muskateers, da, Athos?!”

Oh? Pavel stared at him and blinked in surprise, then finally understood. He burst out laughing.

Artyom gaped at him. 

He was laughing so hard it hurt, but he couldn’t stop, and the laughter turned to horrible wet coughs in his chest. 

“Why are you laughing!?” said Artyom.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” choked out Pavel, struggling and failing to hold back the coughs and laughs that sent spirals of pain along him. Somehow, he felt okay in spite of it now. “—You were right, Друг. I am sorry. I misunderstood; we are not so different.”

Artyom looked confused, but after a moment he relaxed a little and sat back down.

When his laughter subsided, Pavel lay back and gave Artyom a tired smile. He shook his head. “You win, d’Artagnian. Have it your way; I give up.”

Artyom hesitated, then smiled back, relieved.

He was so utterly different from everything else Pavel knew. All of this…illogical, unsafe, utterly hopeless forgiveness. Just because they had been close. …But then, hadn’t he been making terrible decisions all week for almost the same reason? He had done several very stupid things because of this man. …Maybe we are similar. That almost seemed to him like a good thing.

“Artyom, thank you,” said Pavel, “For Red Square, and for this. …I hadn’t said that.”

“…You’re welcome,” said Artyom.

It became quiet again, but the quiet was companionable now. Faintly, Pavel could hear indistinct voices in, and the clang of tools. The voices were calm, and conversational, the tools steady, unrushed. The sound of relative peace. Of rebuilding. Even as bad as things had gotten, even here.

“You know you’re good, right?” said Pavel.

Artyom glanced at him with the face of a wearied young man and the haunted eyes of a frontline soldier twice his age. And somehow, still, there was kindness in them.

“Whatever you think, you are a good person,” said Pavel.

Artyom didn’t reply, and Pavel doubted it had convinced him, but someone had needed to say it to him anyway. So it would take time; Pavel had that.

“Okay,” said Pavel with an exhale, leaning back in the hospital bed to relax and shutting his eyes, “So tell me what all I missed. –And what did you say before about Comrade Moskvin?”

[song-of-the-rune]

what if Kaz and Eshrie invented EDM together. Like Eshrie, being the bard, had the idea but then Kaz, being the crafter wizard, figured out how to actually make it work, and they worked together to make it happen from there. teamwork!

[inun4ki]

Bippity boppity boo bitch. I fucking love you and your ocs. You're so god damn creative, making whole universes spun up with just one brain cell thought. I can not tell you how happy i am we share this hobby my dear.

[disregardcanon]

i've been reading catching fire for the first time this year and i don't, personally, think that the quarter quell was a "smart move" for snow and the capitol even if things went the way that he wanted them to and katniss and peeta and all the rest died and he got a victor he could control. sure, it would have taken out katniss. but taking out katniss wasn't actually going to be the quick fix he wanted it to be.

because even the capitol citizens were upset about all of this. the capitol citizens, who had grown so used to having pretty victors to smush together like dolls and gush over and show that people from the districts CAN do something and make their lives better. it's the american bootstraps ideal made hideously manifest.

yes, they've been fed this propaganda diet that the games are proper retribution for a crime that happened a lifetime ago, but they're also supposed to bring out these Ideals TM the capitol claims to hold to and then the Beautiful Shiny Model Minority winner gets fame and fortune and safety and a promotion into capitol society. because they beat the odds and they won all these things! they *deserve* this!

now all of the privileged masses have these strong parasocial relationships where they thought they'd see their favorite athletes become safe and glamorous and happy. the social contract says that the capitol citizens get to have these lovely dolls to play with and now he's taking their toys away in a way that shows the propaganda never held any truth in the first place. if we don't actually value these people and what they represent, then why do we actually do it? (it's the cruelty. but the average capitol citizen doesn't understand that the cruelty is the point, because it took snow years and years and years of building up that Capacity for Cruelty, and most people never get to that point. there has to be a pretty facade over this for it to run smoothly for those average citizens like the prep team. and now it's not there anymore.)

and that's not even mentioning the different sort of horror this becomes for the districts, as the idea that's been sold to the wealthier districts is that if these children win they get fame and fortune and protection for life. but you're dragging them back into the horror that was supposed to buy their eternal glory? the careers aging out this year don't even have their "chance" in the arena to make their mark and gain their fortune. they'll just be losing some of their mentors in a pointless rehash.

in the poorer districts, perhaps there is some relief because their kids are safe this year but that means their only victors are being shipped off to die instead. and then their kids who won't have a chance in hell next year! because the hunger games are a perpetual motion exploitation machine, and the only way people were able to be numbed to it was figuring out the rules and then gritting their teeth and living their lives. but the rules are out the window, now. those rules that were supposed to make this terrible system something they could navigate and grit their teeth and suffering through are being blown to bits because snow tried to stomp out the tiniest embers instead of letting them burn out.

[esperderek]

I have to have a chuckle at the Screenrant article posted recently about the Galactic Starcruiser, which totally wasn't about Jenny Nicholson's video honest.

In part, because early in Nicholson's video, she talks about how unnatural it is to have your influencers speak in adcopy and copyright rather than the more colloquial nicknames, and how it makes the people speaking about the product seem very insincere and, well, paid off. Because normal humans don't speak that way, but advertising does.

What's the first two lines in this article?

"As a life-long fan of Star Wars, there was nothing quite as exciting as finding out that I would be working on the immersive Star Wars: Galactic Starcruiser experience. Located at the Walt Disney World Resort, the Galactic Starcruiser opened on March 1, 2022, and welcomed passengers to board a two-day, two-night cruise through the stars, during which they could live out their own Star Wars adventure."

No one talks like this naturally. No one writes like this naturally.

This is supposed to be your passioned defense of the place you worked at, the people you worked with, and the memories you made along the way. C'mon! Why don't you open with a story, perhaps an anecdote about the best moment you had working there, or the devastation of the day you lost your dream job. We need to feel your humanity! But there's nothing of that here, to the point where you can just hear the TM behind Galactic Starcruiser.

The first half of this article continues in this vein, reading like a press release Disney marketing put out, just with past tense rather than present or future tense:

"Essentially, the Starcruiser experience was a 48-hour movie that passengers were actually a part of. It was all facilitated through the "datapad," which was accessed through the Play Disney Parks app."

"To facilitate the overarching immersive experience and storytelling, the Starcruiser built a jam-packed itinerary for each and every guest that would consist of a variety of important activities: the captain's toast at muster, a bridge training exercise, lightsaber training, and more. These types of events were essential to understanding what was happening, as they would give passengers the chance to interact with characters and build their story. This is why the Starcruiser could never be just a hotel; every part of it was designed for enthusiastic interaction."

Like, c'mon. I used to work in television. I've seen and used adcopy in my former job, and this is some serious adcopy. It honestly wouldn't shock me if the author dredged up some old adcopy they had lying around about the topic and just transferred it over, changing the tense. You're not here to sell us this product, because there is no product to sell. It's gone, it's been gone for a year, you don't have to sell us on IT. Speak about your experiences.

The next part is yet another topic that Jenny Nicholson pointed out, the bad faith excuses that influencers and advertisers made for the extreme price point:

"What many people don't know, however, is that the price included much more than just a room. The passengers' food, park tickets, recreation activities on board, non-alcoholic drinks, and more were all included - with merchandise being one of the few additional costs on board."

Which is absolute bad faith reasoning, especially when there are plenty of other vacation options that are ALSO all-inclusive, but are MUCH cheaper and offer MORE amenities than the Galactic Starcruiser did! Including Disney Cruises, owned by the same company! Seriously, you can go on a halfway decent sounding cruise or all-inclusive resort somewhere warm for, like, a week or two and spend far less than GSC cost.

Then the last part is essentially: "All the workers liked working there and the bad reviews afterwards make the workers who worked on it feel sad. :("

Which, like, companies have been hiding behind that reasoning for ages. Curiously, the author never offers....any reasons or stories. WHY did working on it impact you so much? What set it apart, what were the people like, what did you like about working there, why are you so passionate about it even a year later? There's nothing, just a generic sort of "We worked hard." and "We're sad it's gone." Why? How? What happened? The video you're obviously writing this in response to is filled with personal anecdotes and stories, it's the backbone of the video! Again, you need to give us something to show your humanity!

Especially when you consider that Nicholson repeatedly points out that the only highlight about her experience, the only thing that kept the damn thing going was the workers.

She had nothing but praise for them, and nothing but contempt for the higher ups who wasted and abused that enthusiasm, to the point where one of her last points was "Hey, Disney is basically exploiting labor."

Much like Jenny, I'm also not condemning anyone who had a good time working there. Good! If you were having a good time at work, that's great. If you have good memories about the people, awesome. But I'll note two things:

a) That doesn't meant you weren't being exploited, and

b) That doesn't mean you have to be a useful idiot for the corporation you worked for afterwards.

I'm not conspiracy brained enough to go "Oh, Disney TOTALLY forced this article into being.", because a cursory examination of the author's prior works and such suggests a lifelong passion for Star Wars, she did work at the hotel, and she's a Star Wars Editor (whatever THAT means in this day and age) for Screen Rant. Apparently one of the heads of Screen Rant says that Disney had no hand in it either.

Though, I can see why people would think that way. It READS like a press release, not something a normal human being would write about an experience they feel passionate about.

[all-the-fish]

Oh, you know, just the usual internet browsing experience in the year of 2024

Some links and explanations since I figured it might be useful to some people, and writing down stuff is nice.

First of all, get Firefox. Yes, it has apps for Android/iOS too. It allows more extensions and customization (except the iOS version), it tracks less, the company has a less shitty attitude about things. Currently all the other alternatives are variations of Chromium, which means no matter how degoogled they supposedly are, Google has almost a monopoly on web browsing and that's not great. Basically they can introduce extremely user unfriendly updates and there's nothing forcing them to not do it, and nowhere for people to escape to. Current examples of their suggested updates are disabling/severly limiting adblocks in June 2024, and this great suggestion to force sites to verify "web environment integrity" ("oh you don't run a version of chromium we approve, such as the one that runs working adblocks? no web for you.").

uBlockOrigin - barely needs any explanation but yes, it works. You can whitelist whatever you want to support through displaying ads. You can also easily "adblock" site elements that annoy you. "Please log in" notice that won't go away? Important news tm sidebar that gives you sensory overload? Bye.

Dark Reader - a site you use has no dark mode? Now it has. Fairly customizable, also has some basic options for visually impaired people.

SponsorBlock for YouTube - highlights/skips (you choose) sponsored bits in the videos based on user submissions, and a few other things people often skip ("pls like and subscribe!"). A bit more controversial than normal adblock since the creators get some decent money from this, but also a lot of the big sponsors are kinda scummy and offer inferior product for superior price (or try to sell you a star jpg land ownership in Scotland to become a lord), so hearing an ad for that for the 20th time is kinda annoying. But also some creators make their sponsored segments hilarious.

Privacy Badger (and Ghostery I suppose) - I'm not actually sure how needed these are with uBlock and Firefox set to block any tracking it can, but that's basically what it does. Find someone more educated on this topic than me for more info.

Https Everywhere - I... can't actually find the extension anymore, also Firefox has this as an option in its settings now, so this is probably obsolete, whoops.

Facebook Container - also comes with Firefox by default I think. Keeps FB from snooping around outside of FB. It does that a lot, even if you don't have an account.

WebP / Avif image converter - have you ever saved an image and then discovered you can't view it, because it's WebP/Avif? You can now save it as a jpg.

YouTube Search Fixer - have you noticed that youtube search has been even worse than usual lately, with inserting all those unrelated videos into your search results? This fixes that. Also has an option to force shorts to play in the normal video window.

Consent-O-Matic - automatically rejects cookies/gdpr consent forms. While automated, you might still get a second or two of flashing popups being yeeted.

XKit Rewritten - current most up to date "variation "fork" of XKit I think? Has settings in extension settings instead of an extra tumblr button. As long as you get over the new dash layout current tumblr is kinda fine tbh, so this isn't as important as in the past, but still nice. I mostly use it to hide some visual bloat and mark posts on the dash I've already seen.

YouTube NonStop - do you want to punch youtube every time it pauses a video to check if you're still there? This saves your fists.

uBlacklist - blacklists sites from your search results. Obviously has a lot of different uses, but I use it to hide ai generated stuff from image search results. Here's a site list for that.

Redirect AMP to HTML - redirects links from their amp version to the normal version. Amp link is a version of a site made faster and more accessible for phones by Bing/Google. Good in theory, but lets search engines prefer some pages to others (that don't have an amp version), and afaik takes traffic from the original page too. Here's some more reading about why it's an issue, I don't think I can make a good tl;dr on this.

Also since I used this in the tags, here's some reading about enshittification and why the current mainstream internet/services kinda suck.

[evilminji]

I've seen references to it in other Prompts?

But unironically? Paulina should Heckle superheroes more.

Like? Look at her AS A CHARACTER. You think she respects Authority? In their Tacky suits and with their weak ass boundaries she's been stomping over her ENTIRE LIFE, largely unpunished? Because she's Pretty and gifted in the Social Grace's department?

Granted, rarely USES them on most of these needs. But she HAS them and CAN. Why do you thinks she THE popular girl? Looks? Please. There are plenty of pretty girls out there. SHE can make you feel like you're the most important person in the whole world. Her BEST friend.

SHE put in the work to have flawless skin and a complexe social network based on future networth and political significance. A cute butt. Socials beyond reproach.

And SHE? Is so, SO fuckin PISSED.

Her Boo (don't judge her, it's a cute pun) is being SHOT at! Is run in to the ground EXHAUSTED. Doing jobs that CERTAIN people should be getting off their asses to do. CERTAIN people keep making pretty little speechs and getting good PR, while out here HER BOO is getting LAZER HOLES punched through him!

He should be of DATES. Laughing and going for flights. Sitting in the bleachers of cheer practice, safe and silly and shouting tips even though he doesn't know the first thing about Cheer. Getting to be YOUNG. In love!

And Paulina? Always on her phone. Their socials are just... RIGHT THERE. Oooh, Mr. "We protect everybody, aren't we such GOOD GUYS~☆" Her favorite flats! And, maybe, yeah, it's the pain from getting THROWN from the top of the pyramid they were practicing by that fucking GIW explosion.

Maybe it's the fact that Phantom hand to shield her with his BODY and those bastards SHOT at them. Could be the squad egging her on, furious and phones out. But how the weather in Metropolis, Supes? Enjoying up in your little ivory tower? Guess only city kids matter, huh?

Fastest man alive to ignore a genocide, HUH, Flash?

Nice Speech, Wonder Hypocrite. Guess "all woman are Amazons" until they're DEAD. Then you can do what you want to them?

Just. These Pretty, Bland, Offend No One, We're Aiming For Good Sport Colleges And Know They Check These accounts? Going NUCLEAR. All pretty, made for TV faces too. The sort of thing that makes for GREAT news segments and terrible PR.

Because? If Paulina is doing it? Well, A Lister solidarity. Jocks gotta have their back. They've been holding back some Opinions(tm). Time to throw um to the web.

And the blockades? Doesn't do SHIT. Because the GIW forgot one simple factor(well, MANY factors).

Cheerleaders have Away Games.

Paulina and Company? If they can't text INSIDE Amity? Fine. They'll cue them up. Release them at Amity VS. Whatever loser they're crushing next. Rah, rah, go teeeeam! Guess who has internet nooooooow!

GIW may have access to high tech devices and authoritarian control... but they're IDIOTS prone to easily avoidable human errors.

Meanwhile? Most of the JLA is metaphorically ON FIRE.