#my life and livelihood literally depend on it

[nebulousmistress]

Political ads that deliberately lie about the IRS and its employees are a shameful new ploy that is misleading voters about their own government and endangering hard-working civil servants, said Tony Reardon, national president of the National Treasury Employees Union. “House and Senate candidates across the country are using deceit and fear to try and win elections,” Reardon said. “For the safety of the IRS workforce, I call on these candidates and political committees to take down their ads that misrepresent IRS employees and their role in our democracy.”   Even before the campaign attacks ramped up, NTEU requested, and IRS Commissioner Charles Rettig ordered, a full review of security protocols at IRS worksites around the country because of the increasingly hostile rhetoric about the IRS and its mission. NTEU members who work for the IRS say they are afraid to identify themselves as IRS employees and are taking extra precautions themselves, such as hiding their badges when they leave the work site. The Department of Homeland Security this summer issued a National Terrorism Advisory bulletin that listed government facilities and personnel as potential targets of "domestic violent extremists." The hostility escalated during the debate over the Inflation Reduction Act, when critics claimed falsely that the agency would hire 87,000 new armed agents to terrorize taxpayers. While multiple organizations, including NTEU, the administration and numerous media outlets debunked the claims, the disinformation persisted to the point is has now become a centerpiece of too many political campaigns.   "It’s completely fair to have an honest debate about the size of government and tax policy, but these political ads do not do that. Instead, they blatantly misrepresent how IRS employees do their jobs as public employees who serve our nation’s taxpayers. In today’s epidemic of political violence, I’m concerned about the safety of the employees we represent,” Reardon said.   After a decade of budget cuts that slashed the workforce, hampered customer service, diminished enforcement and caused delays in processing tax returns, the Inflation Reduction Act provided more than $79 billion for the IRS to rebuild over the next 10 years. Treasury officials have already said the initial focus will be to upgrade antiquated computer systems and improve customer service, including hiring more personnel to answer phone calls from taxpayers and fully staff in-person Taxpayer Assistance Centers around the country. They’ve also said the new funding will not be used to increase the rate at which audits are performed on households with less than $400,000 in annual income.   The IRS predicts it will lose more than 50,000 employees over the next six years to regular retirement and attrition, so much of the new hiring envisioned over that time will be to replace existing workers, which is far from “doubling” the agency, as some have claimed.   “Honest taxpayers should be thrilled to hear that the IRS will be given the resources and personnel needed to help them file their taxes accurately and receive their refunds quickly,” Reardon said. “For those intent on avoiding their tax obligation, a fully staffed IRS is much more likely to hold you accountable and collect the revenue that is rightfully owed.”   Reardon added, “The IRS collects 95 percent of the revenue that funds our national defense, cares for our veterans, facilitates lifesaving medical breakthroughs and many other services the American people depend on every day.”

NTEU Press Release: Political Ads that Lie About IRS Employees Should be Taken Down

[kenananamin]

A Sorcerer’s Spirit

A story inspired by the 1947 film The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. Summary: You move into an older house that keeps going up on the market. Avoiding all the warning signs, you move in and meet the ghost of a sorcerer named Nanami Kento. Nanami sees you struggling with the piling bills that could put your livelihood at stake and suggests you write stories from his life to sell and help decrease the growing worry.

Preview: Nanami rounds the couch and sits beside you, “I have a plan.” You raise an eyebrow at him, “My life was not exactly… normal. Not a lot of people know about what I do — did. I think you can make some money with my stories.” You put down the letter in your hand and furrow your brows, “What?” Nanami shifts to face you, “Write my story. We can write it as a thriller or mystery or supernatural piece. We can change the genre depending on the story.” He explains with a proud grin and... you're confused.

Warnings: implied spoilers, mentioned deaths of several characters

Tags: nanami kento x fem!reader, sad, angst, ghost nanami, sad reader backstory, happy ending

~6.3k words

You sit at your table with the growing pile of bills and a throbbing headache. Having to move during such a difficult time and changing the address to every single letter you dread every month was absolute torture. You weren’t even able to unpack anything for your room, bathroom, or kitchen. Your priority was the big plastic bin with pending letters.

2:34am. You weren’t going to finish anything else for the night, so you stand to go to your mattress instead. God knows where the blankets and pillows are so you grab your jacket to use as a blanket for the night. I’ll deal with it tomorrow, it’s not like it’s going anywhere, you think.

You sleep almost immediately after laying on the mattress and if you had stayed awake for a minute more, you would have seen the figure appear by the doorway.

“Hmm,” the man by the doorway ponders, “I wonder how long it’ll take for you to leave…”

———

You wake up with the sun shining directly on your face, “Damn it. I should’ve put the curtains up.”

You take the sun’s assault as your sign to start your day. Going past the table full with the pending letters, you grab a couple boxes labeled bathroom and start unpacking. You were ready to settle into the house and you did not plan to move again. The landlord was a bit hesitant to rent this place to you but it was the size you needed and you just had to ignore the other warnings this place had attached to it. If you didn’t bother any other … things … that were here, then they would leave you alone too … right?

The doorbell rings and you knew it was the moving company with your bigger furniture. Four men start moving everything in and you focus on unboxing the things that were in their way. You’re putting a shoe rack in the entryway closet and close the door when you see a man standing right behind the cloor.

“Oh shit!” you jump back, “Oh – oh gosh, I’m so sorry, you just scared me.” You try to laugh off the weird encounter and look back at the man, “Sorry, was I blocking your way?” You move to the side and make space for the man, but – you notice he’s not holding anything… and his attire is very different from the movers.

“For how long are you planning to stay?” he asks with his hands in his pockets.

Did this random man just barge into your house?!

“You’re… not a mover. Please get out of my house, now.” You block the way to the rest of your house with your body and step forward.

The man chuckles and steps forwards too, “That’s my line. You get out of my house.”

You step back to turn and call one of the movers to help, but the man literally… disappears. You’re frozen in your entryway for a moment but you run into your house looking for the man. Maybe he just went past you and you think he disappeared?? The oldest mover goes to you and asks if you’re ok, worry obviously stitched into his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, umm, are any of the movers wearing like a – a suit? Or did anyone see someone else around the house?”

The older man looks to his colleagues but quickly turns back to you, “Miss, it’s only the five of us here.”

———

You spend the rest of the day looking around for that man. You looked in every room and closet and even checked the perimeter of the house for any possible breach. All windows were locked and doors closed. It makes sense that the man was at the entryway, the door was wide open for the movers… but where did he go?

You’re back at your table, trying to read the new bill that came in today, but distracted with the thoughts about that man that entered your house. You lean your head down on the table and focus on your breathing to try and avoid any panic or anxiety.

“Your furniture is too small for this place.”

You immediately lift your head to the voice that broke your silence, to the voice you recognized from that morning. How did he get in here?

You push your chair away and stand up to prepare to defend yourself if needed. The man looks you up and down and quietly says, “so dramatic.”

You grab the scissors you were using to shred the old letters and hold them in front of you, “What are you doing here?! How did you get in here?!”

The man looks at the scissors and laughs a bit. He starts to close the gap between you as you step back while swinging the scissors at the man who kept getting closer and truly scaring you. You keep stepping back and back and end up against a wall, and he steps right in front of you – right in front of you. You look to your hands that you know are still holding the scissors, but anything beyond your wrists – there’s nothing. Your wrists, hands, and scissors are inside this man’s chest and he is nonchalantly standing right in front of you.

You might have screamed, maybe, you aren’t too sure. But you know you faint and fall to the floor and the last thing you see are this man’s polished shoes.

———

You wake up against the cold floor. A male voice rings out, “You’re the first person to actually move all their furniture in here and unpack the bathroom and kitchen. Most people unpack their towels, maybe their toothbrushes and a pot or pan before running out again.”

You start to sit up, deciding if you should come to terms with the fact that you’re being held hostage in your own home. “Who are you?” You tried asking as brave as you could but the shakiness in your voice couldn’t be hidden and quickly gave you away.

The man is sitting on your couch, legs crossed and one arm leaned against the back of the seat, “I actually feel bad that you fainted and reacted the way you did so I won’t play my games right now,” he stands and makes his way to your spot on the floor. “I’m Nanami Kento, and this is my house.”

His house?? You furrow your brows and open your mouth to talk but he, Nanami, interrupts, “Yes, my house. I’m dead. But this is still my house. Haunted places don’t do well in real estate so not many people make it here, but the ones that do immediately leave because again – my house. I make sure people don't stay for long.”

You don’t move from your spot, speechless by this man. In a truly inexplicable way, you might, maybe, perhaps believe him...

“So when do you leave?”

The question brings you out of your shock and you stand to confront him, “I am not leaving! Your house?!” you scoff, “Sir, this is my house now. I am not leaving my house because a ghost in a suit refuses to leave limbo! Now leave!!”

Nanami grimaces but leans in to stop inches away from your face, “We’ll see.”

———

You get used to wearing your headphones the whole day around your house. You would flinch when you’d turn the corner and see Nanami lounging around or, in a couple occasions, waiting for you as soon as you opened a door.

You would see his lips moving, trying to talk to you but you’d look past him and continue what you were doing. It’s been over a week since you moved in and you’ve only had a couple conversations with him that usually end up in him calling you a “stubborn girl” before your headphones are back on.

You’re walking back home with a few groceries. The house was not too far from the store, but it was a good distance to let your ears rest from the headphones. And think about those bills. You would be ok with the next few payments since you’ve saved enough in the bank, and your job could cover a bit more after that but you’d run out of funds soon and have to live paycheck by paycheck. Then your mom would move in, then your brother too. Three mouths to feed…

You rub your face and walk into your house.

“I thought your name was y/n.”

You flinch after hearing Nanami’s voice. Shit, you forgot to put on your headphones. You start taking off your shoes and respond, “It is.”

“Then why are those medical bills written to a ‘Mari’?”

You look up to the man with his hands in his pockets, “Were you looking through my stuff?! Stop looking through my stuff!”

He tilts his head, “I didn’t go through anything. You always leave everything out on that table.” He shrugs after seeing your glare, “I got bored looking out the window, so I started reading what I could.”

You scoff and roll your eyes as you make your way to the kitchen. Nanami follows you and tries to peek inside your grocery bags.

“So why are there so many bills?” Nanami asks and leans on the counter as you take out your things.

You don’t feel like answering so you ask him, “Why is this house so cheap?”

To your surprise, he answers and points to himself, “It’s haunted.”

You roll your eyes and grab the butter and milk to put in the fridge.

He continues, “And over the years, this area hasn’t been as popular. The area west of here is in demand so this whole neighborhood has been going down. It might get really quiet around these streets soon.”

You close the fridge and look at him. You honestly weren’t expecting any sort of answer from the man despite the very simple question. He usually ignored your questions too and you just asked the first thing that came to mind to avoid answering his question. You take a deep breath, Oh what the hell, it's a ghost, “A lot of them are medical bills,” Nanami looks into your eyes as you explain, “My parents and brother were in a really bad car accident. The other car got away and there was no insurance to help. Everyone was hospitalized and the bills… didn’t stop. They lost their house after that and… and my dad passed shortly after.” You clear your throat as you finish your explanation, “Funerals are pretty expensive too…”

There’s a short silence before you hear a soft and genuine, “I’m sorry. It seems like you’ve taken over everything.”

You nod but look away from the man before he can notice your glossy eyes.

“Is that why you need this house? A place for your mom and brother?” he softly asked.

“Yeah. My mom should be leaving the hospital soon. My brother has a couple surgeries left but he’d move in soon after.”

Nanami nods as you finish your sentence. For the first time since you moved in and he appeared in front of you, he turns and leaves the kitchen without you having to say anything. You peek into the rooms to check for him, but he’s nowhere to be found after your first open conversation.

———

You’re shredding some old bills on your couch when you hear light steps behind you. Ever since you told Nanami about your situation, he hadn't been bothering you as much as that first week. He might pop up for a bit but he'd usually disappear and be unseen for most of the day. Nanami rounds the couch and sits beside you, “I have a plan.” You raise an eyebrow at him, “My life was not exactly… normal. Not a lot of people know about what I do — did. I think you can make some money with my stories.”

You put down the letter in your hand and furrow your brows, “What?”

Nanami shifts to face you, “Write my story. We can write it as a thriller or mystery or supernatural piece. We can change the genre depending on the story.” He explains with a proud grin and... you're confused.

You think about what he said for a while, "why do you want me to write your story?"

He shrugs, "It's not that I want my story out there to be remembered or something like that. I just think it would be interesting to write them out. But most importantly, it could help you and your family. And look at me," he points to himself, "dead. It's not like I would need any of that money, it would just be to help you."

"How do you even know that your stories would make money?" you ask more unsure of the plan the more you talk about it.

He lifts a brow playfully, "Oh y/n, you haven't even heard my story yet. You'll be begging me to write it."

The next week and a half was filled with Nanami telling you his story in great detail and the ideas he had on how to write each part of his life. You weren't sure at first but the more he told you about his life, the more intrigued you were. Sorcerers, curses, staying in the shadows yet being in the open without a single soul noticing. You'd sit in bed at the end of the night, writing blurbs and brainstorming with what he told you that day. It wouldn't be easy to try to sell this, you weren't even sure where to start, but it was a nice distraction after those terribly long days at work and heartbreaking hospital visits.

"I don't like that last sentence, it wouldn't keep the reader's attention," Nanami spoke from beside your bed and you jumped up, not expecting the man to be learning against the wall right next to your bed.

You had been getting used to Nanami appearing out of nowhere but it still surprised you when you thought you were finally alone only for him to break that silence... again.

You look up to ask the question that's been plaguing you since starting to listen to his stories, "How am I even supposed to sell this? It is interesting and all, but I don't know anyone and I'm sure publishing companies won't even look my way despite how good your story is."

Nanami keeps his eyes on the screen when he says, "Kiyokata Ijichi. He can help sell this. I'll give you more information so he believes you, but I know he'll help."

You blink rapidly not understanding a word of what he just said but look down again to re-do the last sentence.

———

You met with Kiyokata Ijichi and it did not take much convincing to get him to believe that a sorcerer's spirit was floating around you at home and he wanted you to sell his story. It made the man laugh and he had to remove his glasses to wipe his tears after hearing how Nanami looked. Nanami had told you about the last few hours of his life, how chaotic it had been in Shibuya and the last image others around him must have had. He knew his death was a gruesome one and that it'd be reported and filed for other sorcerers. Ijichi would of course have found out how his colleague —no, close friend, died. The man was content that Nanami wore his suit and still had his glasses...

Ijichi took what you had of the transcript and told you he would find a publishing company. He assured that he would usually not even listen to a proposition like the one you presented him, but he wanted to do anything to help his friend one last time.

You took the opportunity of your meeting to ask questions about Nanami. Ijichi spoke a bit of his adolescence, but spent most of his time complimenting the talented sorcerer for his skill in fighting and caretaking personality despite the stoic appearance. You could tell he admired the man and truly truly missed him. He mentioned he would've have liked to answer one more call from Nanami and help him one last time. This was the call he was waiting for, and he would do everything to make sure this mission given by Nanami Kento was completed.

———

You started to leave a chair at the table out for Nanami to sit when you left the house for work or the hospital. You'd leave sheets and sheets of paper spread on the table and floor so he could move around the house and read the edited stories to give you notes and/or corrections when you got home. You had tried handing him a stack of the new edits before, but they just plopped on the floor. Nanami stared at the stack on the floor and told you he could not lift or touch anything. His brows lightly furrowed and you could see the sadness extending into his eyes. Although he would mist away as a spirit, you would honestly forget that this man was not actually there. To you, he was like another visitor whose company you started to enjoy. You started spreading the paper on other surfaces that day and although Nanami did not tell you anything at that moment, he was grateful that you'd take the time and energy to do it.

———

"Can I ask you something... kind of personal?" You look up from your laptop to glace over to Nanami sitting across from you reading his next story you had edited. He nods and you continue, "how come you never leave the house? You stop at the door when I'm walking out and you've never attempted to walk out with me.."

He puts his elbows on the table and looks straight into your eyes, thinking about how to answer. "After my death in Shibuya, I had very little energy in the afterlife. I was ready to go at that moment, but a part of me wanted to continue — to stay. I had thought about home and how much I would have liked to be home resting, packing for my trip that never happened. I didn't know I was doing it but I attached myself to my house in the process. I can leave, but it takes a lot of energy even as a spirit. If I have very low energy, the door does not lead me out to the street, but it becomes a beacon of light that I suspect would take me to the actual afterlife. I'm not sure I should take that chance right now and head out the door with the possibility of not coming back."

You softly nod at his response, "thank you for telling me. I'm sorry again about Shibuya, but thank you for telling me... and helping me, Nanami."

The man smiles at you and simply replies, "thank you for listening."

———

"Please promise me that you won't show yourself to my family. Please, I don't want her to see anything she shouldn't and go back to the hospital from shock," you tell Nanami as you fix the pillows on the couch, preparing for your mom's homecoming. He assured that only you will see him and that he will not speak around your mother to avoid you accidentally giving an answer out loud and freaking her out. You head out to pick up your mom from her lengthy hospital stay while Nanami looks out the window, awaiting your return.

When you're back inside, Nanami is leaning on the kitchen counter, listening to your mom thank you for everything and compliment the place. You would catch Nanami smiling at you both when you'd glance his way. A deep part of you thought, I wish they could meet. I wish I could tell her about the man standing so close to us, the man who has been keeping me from a complete break.

In the kitchen, Nanami thought, They look so alike, the same eyes, bright smile, beautifully soft hair, calm beating heart... A beating heart. She was alive, she has a tint to her cheeks, she can touch and feel. Alive. Unlike me.

———

Ijichi found several publishing houses that were interested in your stories and a few even offered deals for multiple books and volumes. The books would be published under a pen name, a combination of both yours and Nanami's name that you both contemplated one late night on your bedroom floor, far from your mother's listening ears.

You ran back home to tell Nanami the news, too excited to wait until the end of the work day. Thank the heavens that your mom was at her part time job when you got home, you don't think you'd be able to contain your excitement to your room at a moment like this.

"Nanami!! Nanami, where are you!" You start screaming out for him as soon as you open the door. But.. it's quiet, "Nanami, Ijichi called!! Where are you!" You head for the common space but he's not there either. A quiet alarm starts going off in your head, but you try to push it back. You try to smile and ask again, "Nanami? Hey, where are you? I have news from Ijichi about the book — can you come out?"

Silence. You only heard your footsteps walking into rooms while looking for Nanami. You open the door to the extra room you use as an office sometimes and see Nanami mist into shape in the corner, "Oh! I found you!" Relief immediately spreads in your chest and you smile widely at the man.

Nanami returns a small smile and asks what happened. You excitedly share the news and jump around him while repeating every single detail Ijichi said. Nanami listens with a smile as he leans on the small desk in the room. He tried to keep the smile on his face for you, but his mind wouldn't stop racing. I can't do this to her yet, oh god — no, not yet. I know I should for her sake, but I... can't.

———

Nanami enters your room as you're asleep. Your eyes softly shifting behind your lids, your fingers occasionally twitching and your chest slowly and repeatedly rising and falling. He never considered coming into your room while you were asleep before, but he wanted to tonight. Just tonight. He kneels next to your bed and lifts his hand to your hand. I can't touch her. My fingers go into her hand and I cannot feel her at all. Nanami floats his fingers over yours, pretending his hand is resting on yours as it would if his form was tangible. He imagines what your skin would feel like. What your small, soft hand would feel like to hold in his. I have to try, I have to give her what I can. Nanami floats his hand over your heart, imagining he could feel the soft beating he would focus on listening when you were around. He leans in closer, much closer than ever before, and gently hovers over your your lips. If only I really could. He pretends to land a soft kiss on your lips, something he wishes he could actually do a thousand times.

———

You jump around and cry when a copy of your soon-to-be released book is finally in your hands. The first of a five-book series. Nanami stands next to you and smiles as you show your mom what you had been working on. You leave out the fact that a sorcerer who hovers around the house helped you write it and say it was a fantasy book you've been thinking about for a long time.

Your mom starts crying, proud that you wrote a book and apologetic for potentially taking so much of your time when you were trying to do something for yourself. You're comforting her and telling her you're glad to be able to provide and be with her.

Nanami goes into the office to give you the space and privacy to talk with your mom. He decides it's finally time. Tonight, I'll do it tonight.

Late at night, after a long conversation with your mom, you sit on your bed as Nanami sits on your floor. You're still holding the book, tired from the overwhelming excitement and adrenaline. You had also just gotten news that your brother would be coming home within the next few days. For the first time in a long time, your face hurt from smiling and crying so much the whole day. You lie down and tell Nanami, "I'm so happy Nanami. Thank you for helping me so much," you felt the tears well up again, "you've helped so fucking much." The tears fall but your smile does not falter as you thank him.

Nanami wishes he could wipe your tears, but he stays in his spot next to your bed and says, “Call me Kento, I think we’re close enough for you to call me by my first name now.” Nanami wanted to hear you voice say his name, to see your lips move to every consonant and vowel in the beautiful way he'd imagined.

For some reason, the thought of calling him his first name makes you let out a small giggle. You look at his waiting face, “Thank you Kento. Thank you a thousand times over.”

You both sit there smiling at each other as your tears continue to fall. He comforts you how he can and you both stay awake talking late into the night. And that night, before your exhaustion drifted you to a slumber, you imagined the bed shifting next to you and Nanami laying down beside you. His body warming the other side of your bed, and his arms wrapping around you and embracing you.

Nanami waits for you to sleep as he watches from the same spot on your floor, for your breath to slow down and even out. He gets on his knees and hovers a kiss over your lips and another on your forehead.

That would be the last time you saw Nanami. And you would not remember how he helped you or kept you company.

———

Nanami used all the energy he could to leave the house for the first time since shortly after his death. He had only left the house once before and it drained him enough that he could not even mist his body into appearing. But tonight, he had to leave to go see Ijichi, even if that meant risking not having the energy to appear in front of anyone ever again and not knowing where he'll end up.

Nanami leaves the house, tired, but finally leaves and starts to make his way to Ijichi's apartment. Nanami waited for Ijichi, knowing he would open the door at the crack of dawn to leave for work as early as he always did.

Ijichi opened the door and to say the breath was knocked out of him would not be an understatement. Nanami appeared as a faint and transparent figure in front of Ijichi, compared to the opaque figure he could create with you with the energy of the house. Faint and transparent, Ijichi still cried and thanked the heavens for a chance to see Nanami in his fine attire one more time. Nanami spoke fast, saying he did not know how much time he would have, but asked Ijichi for one last favor.

Nanami asks Ijichi to find someone to erase the memory of him in your mind. He did not want to be remembered by you and wanted you to enjoy your life and new-found success without wondering about the what if's. Nanami saw the way you looked at him lately and it broke his heart every single time. He saw you pondering the possibilities and he knew you both were thinking the same things. Nanami wanted you to live, to enjoy your life without thinking of the 'between' where he would stay.

Ijichi agrees and says he will stay in contact with you with the excuse of being your agent. Nanami agrees and stands by his friend's entryway as Ijichi calls someone and they all rush back to the house before you wake. Nanami tells Ijichi how to get in and he quietly stands with Ijichi in the corner of the room as the woman Ijichi called rests her hand on your forehead, altering your memories and giving you peace.

———

Many, many years later…

Your brother and his grandson have just left your house. You sent your nurse home early and now you sit in bed with the photo album your grandnephew made for you and a mug of your favorite tea. Your hand hurts if you hold the tea for too long but you enjoy the warmth of the mug on your stiff hands. You finish looking over the photo album and put it down next to you and shift down your bed to sleep while you think about the precious photos your grandnephew thought to give you. You turn off your lamp and feel yourself drift off to the happy thoughts of your brother and his beautiful family.

You wake up and the sun is barely starting to shine through your window. You move to sit up and it’s… easier. Your back does not hurt, and you were able to sit up much faster than you have in years.

“y/n.”

The familiarity in the voice stops you mid-stretch. You slightly turn and see a man. But... not just any man…. Nanami?

It’s overwhelming. Your eyes are scanning his figure as the memories flood in, the arguing and bickering, the planning, the writing, the laughter, the tears… all of your memories. He’s standing on the other side of the bed and smiles. It’s the biggest smile you’ve ever seen from anyone, especially from him from what you can recall. His eyes no longer hold the sadness from before, it’s – it’s relief?

“I wanted to be the first one you saw after…” he pauses and looks behind you on the bed, “it was peaceful, painless, wasn’t it?”

You follow his gaze and look directly behind you to where he’s looking. And there you are. You’re laying still and it looks like you’re asleep. You scramble away from your figure and stand up in a semi-panic.

Nanami walks around the bed as you keep staring at yourself, dumbfounded, and reaches for you, and touches you. Actually touches you. You flinch at the contact at first but lean into it immediately. It was almost as if your body was waiting for his touch, yearning for it and not being able to relax until the contact finally happened. This was the first time you felt him. His fingers lightly grazed your forearm and slid down to your hand, half intertwining your fingers.

You look away from your body on the bed and look at Nanami. He has stepped closer and is looking at every detail on your face. You look down at your hands and notice they are no longer wrinkled and covered in sunspots. These hands were the hands that typed for hours on end, the hands that covered the floor with sheets of paper, the hands that reached for Nanami's back as he walked away… the hands from when you were young.

“You’re beautiful.” Nanami moves a few strands of loose hair and leaves his hand on your cheek.

“Why did you leave? What happened to you?” You tilt your body to face him, moving closer and snuggling your face into his hand, savoring the feeling of his large hand on your cheek.

“I never left you alone. I was still here, I just didn’t want you to see me,” Nanami sighs. “You needed to live your life, I wanted you to live your life.” He pauses before asking, “do you regret it?”

You step closer to him, your bodies only inches apart, “What?”

“Writing my story, the memories of it all.”

You shake your head. You lived your life after the book, Nanami made sure that you were set before taking a step back and watching from afar, from behind. You could never regret writing his story. After all, it was his house and his story that brought you two together.

Nanami asks another question as he strokes small circles on your cheek with his thumb, “Darling, why didn't you leave — get married?”

Why didn’t you? You think for a moment before answering, “I – I was too attached to this place, I think. I couldn’t leave this house and the thought of it was too sad, I would shut down those conversations immediately when my family would bring it up. I thought maybe it was the memories I had in this place with my family... but I think it was you. Subconsciously, I think I knew it was you I didn't want to leave behind. I never felt like getting married either, I was living well by myself, and I did well.”

He moves both hands to your face, staring into your eyes and rememorizing the mesmerizing color that he missed staring into. The feeling of his fingers finally being able to touch you is almost too overwhelming, “I’m sorry... and thank you. For living so well… and for so long.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and finally, after decades since the first time you thought about it, kiss him. Your first kiss, his soft and supple lips covering yours as he lowers his arms and pulls you in closer. It is slow, so painfully but beautifully slow. You had both fantasized about this moment, the moment to finally feel each other so closely. Nanami pulls away from your lips but drags his lips around your face, kissing random spots over and over again.

You slightly pull away from him and ask, “was I an ugly old woman?”

Nanami laughs at your bizarre question during such an intimate moment. He pulls away as well to drag his eyes to look every detail of your face again, touching your hair and leaning his lips back over your forehead, “No, you were the cutest woman I’ve ever seen.” He leans away again but some of the sadness from before flashes in his eyes, “I just wish I met you during my life... and aged with you to touch your wrinkled hands and run my fingers over your smile lines and grey hair.”

You smile at him to relieve his sadness and move to hold his face, “You can hold me now whenever you'd like. And I can hold you, touch you, whenever I’d like.”

Nanami returns your smile and holds your hands to slowly pull you out of the room. He starts to slowly look around the house and you understand why. You’re leaving – the both of you. This would be the last time you’d be in this house… because you were leaving with Nanami. You follow his lead and look around the house one last time. The kitchen you’d brainstorm in, the living room floor and couch you'd congregate to for the next chapter, the office you’d sneak off to so your mother could not hear you, the bathroom you’d argue in with Nanami when he didn’t agree on a few sentences from a chapter. There were so many memories, with and without Nanami, you lived a long, eventful, and ultimately joyous life.

You both end up back in your room where Nanami looks over your aged body on the bed then the pictures on your nightstand and bookshelf. A full life. A happy ending to a devastating start. He feels your hand on his back, and he turns. The stark contrast to your aged body, the young woman who stood up to him after trying to stab him with a pair of scissors... and trusted him.

You both hear the door pad slide open and the clicking of the buttons. You hold out your hand to Nanami and he happily accepts the hand he'd been yearning to touch. You both walk out of your room and pass by the unknowing nurse walking to your room and hear a gasp followed by quiet prayers. You and Nanami stood to the side as the funeral home came for your body. The respect they showed and the grief of the nurse you loved told you you had done enough, and you were ready to go.

Nanami squeezes your hand a bit and nods towards the main door. You nod to him, and you both start to make your way to the door, saying quiet goodbyes to your favorite parts of your house. Nanami’s house, your house.

“Thank you Kento, for letting me live such a life. And for waiting for me.”

His wide smile returns to his face, “I’ve been waiting decades to hear you say my name again. It’s all I’ve wanted.”

You're both smiling with heads held high amongst the humans who all have somber expressions and their heads down. You pass the foyer and look back one last time. Nanami is not alone, and neither are you. You'd both be together in the next step, happy to finally experience something together in the same form. He softly kisses you again before stepping closer out the door. Hands tightly held together, bodies side-by-side, you both step into the bright white light.

the end

a/n: The Ghost and Mrs. Muir is one of my favorite movies ever. black and white movies fill a very special place in my heart so please please try watching them if you haven't yet!

[flooftyfizzlebeans]

Theory on why we headcanon specific characters as trans more often than others, using the Fizzlebeans as evidence.

Identity based character arcs vs... other stuff based character arcs.

Warning this is EXTREMELY LONG

Starting by analyzing Floofty, as they are my expertise.

Floofty is a scientist with no help, no funding, and ambitious plans. They come across as cold and uncaring, when in reality much of their shortsightedness comes from caring too much. Not for those closest to them directly, of course. But the greater good, and grumpuskind as a whole.

Their previous line of work suggests that when they had more resources, they spent more time helping individuals. Making prosthetics is a HIGHLY variable process, each individual limb that needs one being EXTREMELY different, even on the same person. Therefore they would need to be attentive towards individuals by necessity, even when making scientific breakthroughs. I don't think they'd have amazing bedside manner but I only bring this up to stress that Floofty is capable and willing to care for others should the situation call for it. However, they probably don't feel like they can afford to care after the events that cost them.... everything.

I assume they got their awesome career position through work during school, proving themself academically in a way that their.... abrasive characteristics wouldn't interfere with. Now that they have nothing, they're trying to get it back the same way they got it, by proving themself through actions.... but who they are and how people perceive them is directly responsible for their lack of help on Snaktooth. Actually, who they are likely made it near impossible to rebuild their reputation when inevitably grumps will think they are either chopping test subjects up to make murder machines or a confidentiality liability. They think their work should speak for itself, and who they are shouldn't matter. (They might even believe that they don't matter. It's already clear that their work is worth more to them than their own life.)

Realizing what they mean to others, who they could be to them when they let go of the big picture importance, and how they can help like they so desperately want to is integral to saving them. Let them forget that they are in fact, a grumpus, the very thing they want to save, and they might as well become what they study. Bugsnax.

...

Snorpy, however, as I've stated, is pretty much the opposite. Where Floofty rejects themself, Snorpy protects himself.... prepare for a staggeringly less complete analysis thanks to Not Literally Being Snorpy. Snorpies and Snorpy experts in the notes please contribute.

Snorpy is an engineer whose inventions are held in great esteem in Snaxburg, and yet he believes the world is out to get him. (By the world I mean... the grumpinati) The grumpinati is, in fact, not out to get him, and it takes incredible amounts of jumping to conclusions fueled by intense fear for anyone to shrink their world that small.

It's implied by his previous work that he was previously much more capable of... interacting with the public? being seen? than he is now. Like I mentioned, constructing prosthetics requires a lot of individual time and care, and a lot of interacting with many different grumpuses. But now? He is driven by fear. I can't even blame him, he's clearly deeply traumatized. How would you feel if your life's work was taken and warped for something you found cruel and evil all while you still depended on them for your livelihood? And you already probably had some sort of anxiety disorder?

Moving on, he is actually able to work perfectly fine. In fact, nearly every grumpus is seen using something he invented at least once? Despite inventions like The Knife Shot and flammable tripwire moments he's well liked by the town and everyone trusts his work to... work. But he's so absorbed by his own perceptions that it's impossible for him to take praise or even socialize without suspicion.

Even the relationship he holds most dear, and integral to what we call "Snorpy" is up in the air for him. I can only imagine he didn't ask for clarification or confess to his romantic feelings towards Chandlo out of fear. Fear of what exactly I can't say, as it's probably every possible factor that that course of action would change.

And... well. His main problem is never solved. Shelda is right, he needs therapy. Extensive therapy. But... he still improves. Part of why he does all of this is to protect Chandlo, and hide all of this from him... but after fighting Daddy Cakelegs it becomes a lot more clear to Snorpy that Chandlo is trying to protect him and knows a lot more than he gives him credit for. He's a lot closer to and more equal to Snorpy. Snorpy doesn't have to spend and sacrifice every fiber of his being to the bugsnax to protect who he loves.

That being said, who he is has nothing to do with his character arc. He's Snorpy, he's a nerd, he is an engineer. None of this is brought into question. Floofty's very status of "grumpus" is called into question through their experiments. (on an esoteric level. kinda. bugsnax are weird.)

What they share is their interactions with other grumpuses and how important actually letting themselves connect with others is... but that's something Everyone shares at least a little.

How does this relate to transgender headcanons? Floofty's arc features their identity very heavily, and calling the identity of the self into question is extremely transgender. Sometimes the definition of transgender. At the very least, a part of the process. (everyone is different)

That's why I think Shelda, Chandlo, and Wiggle are so popular for trans headcanons despite not necessarily doing anything outside their gender's norms. Their arcs heavily have to do with who they are and how their actions reflect that. Gramble and Triffany have a little bit of this but I can't rule out their gender non-comformity as the reason.

Of course, everyone is transgender to at least one person in the fandom because there's nothing proving anyone is cis and this fandom is very very queer.

[amazeingartist]

ok art’s not working rn but I still wanna share ghostsoap in my zombie au here too after seeing a bunch of the cod zombies stuff on twitter (I’m very autistic about zombie and since tumblr doesn’t really have a limit y’all will get more info. depression works hard, but autism works harder /j)

anyway tags for any of y’all who don’t vibe with this type of content

CW: zombies, so cannibalism, body horror (mutation based zombies they’re not the rotting kind), gore mentions, a little bit of death (not proper mcd)

(Will update if I’ve missed a tag)

AU CONTEXT:

SO the timeline is set far into the future of the zombie apocalypse where anything zombie related is very normal and apart of everyday life with relics and stories to the old word. Humanity is kinda thriving, there’s technology, medicine, secure food sources, water, functional cities & towns, overall the quality of life is pretty good, it’s a lil sci-fiy but not overly so.

The specific zombie strain to is a mutation based one, so there’s different zombie types and it affects all living things; herbivores are the only type of infected that’s non-aggressive unless provoked, while all carnivorous/predatory animals and certain omnivores are always hostile. Regardless of aggression, the disease can be easily transmitted via blood, bites, scratches, ingestion of contaminated products, and saliva depending on the zombie type. (fun fact—zombie cows are a thing and are used to deter attacks on living/healthy livestock)

GHOAP TIME

Anyway, world building context done (for now), Ghost & Soap are partners in “community security”, meaning they are to deal with threats to the livelihood/safety of people. They mostly work with towns since towns have less means to protect themselves—cities have fences and walls which are patrolled whereas towns outside a city might only have a simple fence and a couple zombie cows—from the hordes, raiders or particularly bothersome zombie types, while occasionally doing specialised work in the cities.

Ghost is blight, a humanoid zombie that has retained their human consciousness despite turning, while Soap is a delayed, a immune human who’s blood can used to suppress the affects of infection for via regular prescribed shots. Both are incredibly rare btw, (for both human and zombie) and are literally an ideal working pair because blight’s are highly infectious to the point where their drool is a safety hazard (one of the reasons they’re muzzled), but since Soap’s immune there’s no risk. Blight’s are also susceptible to unexpectedly going feral which Soap prevents by keeping Ghost in touch with his humanity; literally Soap’s lack of fear of Ghost is what helps them be a perfect working pair (that and Ghost genuinely enjoying Soap’s company).

So yeah, they patrol for raiders and redirect any wandering corpses frequently, with the occasionally job from some regular folk that’s too dangerous to do themselves—just all things that genuinely help people keep and feel safe.

Unfortunately for Soap, when dealing with zombies he can’t hide or mask himself as easy a regular person, a problem Ghost, unless displaying aggression, doesn’t have on account of being an actual zombie. Soap does abuse his immunity though, throwing himself in front of others to act as a meat shield and protect them from infection. Cause of that though his body is littered in scars of bite and scratch marks (zombies that harm Soap usually don’t exist for much longer if Ghost’s around)

As a blight, Ghost’s mutated state is centred around his human base but has elements of other zombie types; from pale and dark veiny skin, his jaw and throat are split into mandibles which Ghost needs a custom compression mask to be able talk, his arms have exposed boney spines/blades that are both retractable and can be used as projectiles (throwing knife equivalent), his nails are basically claws + are also somewhat retractable, and over certain parts of Ghost’s body are have bone plating as armour. It’s unclear the exact limit of Ghost’s capabilities as it’s near impossible to test him as he hates doctors/labs, (the reason he’ll consistently stepping into a lab for is for a blood transfusion/feed).

[^^^may be updated as I think more about this au]

Little Ghoap moment, but Soap will help Ghost in his upkeep of himself by either filing down Ghost’s claws or brushing the rows and rows of sharp teeth for any bits of stuck flesh and to keep an excess buildup of bacteria from forming. It’s literally something only Soap can do, both cause he’s immune and because Ghost only feels comfortable letting Soap help. It’s not an process that should take very long, but Soap is meticulously and after holding Ghost’s mandibles awkwardly extended for some time, he’ll gently massage the muscles; despite the horror it’s actually a pretty sweet gesture. When they’re off duty Soap’ll unlock Ghost’s muzzle and massage his face after being compressed for a couple days too (Soap’s one of the few people with the authority to unlock Ghost’s muzzle)

and uh yeah. I think that the end of that for now, hope it’s enjoyable. I’m combing my current hyperfixation with an idea/project I’ve been working on for years and is quite dear to me so there’s a lot of information to share lmao. feel free to ask any questions if there are any, preferably via the asks but comments are fine too (just I can tag asks together)

[cowboyfromh3ll]

Holy Mountains

(Arthur Morgan x Reader)

My comeback post is literally some dark angsty idea I had with a sprinkle, a mere DASH, of Arthur at the end. Very vague and sad. Not proofread :p

Warnings: mentions of suicide, death, dark and gritty

Top of the map, it was. Don’t feel that way. Feels like rock bottom. So dark there’s no end and you can’t see your own hand in front of your face. So cold you can’t feel it anymore after a few minutes. If you took ten steps into the night you’d probably fall into a hidden cavity of snow. You could look around you and you wouldn’t even know where you were. It’s all the same. What do you call a nightmare that you’re living in?

Northernmost settlement in Ambarino. Couple hundred miles from the nearest town. Name means “red”, but the only color you see for miles is white. Colter. There’s no road you can take out while valuing your life. Its rocky and mountainous terrain makes it hard to move elsewhere, even if your life depended on it. No plants, no fresh food, aside from what’s caught and hunted: fish, rabbit, deer, bison, elk. Days so cold and snowy you can hardly leave your rickety house. Nights are even colder and darker, you lose yourself stepping outside. A lawless land. People freeze to death after wandering into the snow in an episode of disorientation and hysteria. You suppose death is better than remaining here. The snow here is different. Dry. Every footstep sounds like a shriek beneath your foot. And the wind here; sometimes the howling is the only thing that keeps you company. Nearly 20 below. So cold your skin begins to burn at the slightest exposure. Freezing, but warming. When the orange sun is replaced by the bleary eye of the moon, the horizon turns into nothingness. And then more nothing in every direction. Just waiting for the sun to rise above it, so time can exist again.

Mining was the only thing Colter had. The only thing that gave the town any livelihood. Daddy’s come down real sick, won’t stop coughing. Fever’s real bad too. Sometimes all he can do is lay in bed and mumble to himself. His skin is so blue you forgot his original shade. You spend nights lying on his side tracing the hundreds of visible veins beneath his thin skin. Your brother had to be sent to the mine instead. Some days go by without you seeing him at all. Sometimes you can hear gentle sobbing coming from your parent’s room, you never ask your mom about it.

After the great storm of ‘84, half the town was decimated. You bid people farewells not knowing if they’d even make it out of Ambarino alive. “There’s nothing left for us here.” Your neighbors said. Not much more waiting for you in the snow either, you thought. Population dwindling slowly. So much so there’s no point sending your brother to the mine anymore. He treated the loss of his job more like losing a family member. Drank all of Daddy’s whiskey. You don’t know what’s worse: being cooped up all day or being in the mines. One morning he’s not in his bed. The footprints outside lead towards the mines. You never saw him again after that. Daddy died. Wasn’t no liquor left to help keep him warm. Mama killed herself. Found her a few paces away from home before seeing her collapsed body. There was already a layer of snow on her by the time you found her. The only thing that aided in your search was the bloody footprints and the bloom of red in the snow coming from her raw soles.

What do you call a nightmare that you’re living in?

You don’t remember too much, except thinking that you were just like those old loons from Colter that would wander into the snow in search of asylum from this place, only to inevitably die. All you had with you was the coat on your back, some clothes, and a few matches. It didn’t matter no more. You knew it didn’t matter whether you stayed or not. You anticipated collapsing. Feeling shivers wrack your body as your face carved into the snow. It felt so cold yet so comfortable.

All you do remember is feeling a new kind of warmth. Some stranger’s burly back. The furious footsteps of a horse beneath you that felt more like your mom rocking you in her arms. There was booming conversation between the man and a group of other men besides him, also on horseback. You dared open your eyes a sliver and saw the comforting orange of an oil lamp held in one of the man’s hands as he drove the horse. You pulled your face from his shoulder, only to slump it back down once the throbbing of your head settled in. You felt the cool pool of saliva you had left on his coat. The man seemed to sense the movement.

“You okay back there, sweetheart?” A smooth voice asked, feeling the way his back rumbled with each word. “Real nightmare out here. Don’t worry, we’ll get you to warmth and safety soon. We can talk once we’re there.”

You couldn’t respond, but you knew you’d made it.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Holy Mountains - System Of A Down

[opheliashur]

its before 10am and i got maybe five hours of sleep so im porting my unhinged worm take here to keep it from being lost in the discord sauce [i dont actually think this is a sensible interpretation it just forced itself out of my brain one day]

The entities in Worm can function as a counterpoint to Posadist views on alien life. In Les Soucoupes Volantes, le processus de la matiere et de l'energie, la science et le socialisme, Posadas argues interstellar travel requires a society which, if not explicitly human-defined communist, surpassed self-centered capitalist systems. Posadas implores us to view their passivity in our plight not as apathy, but an enlightened belief in self-determination; With the people's assent, these strangers among us would surely be willing to help us crawl out of the muck of poverty and despair.

In Worm, the entities take this logic and turn it on its head. Zion's ancestor remembers their homeworld as peak survival-of-the-fittest excess, a hellish loop of boom and bust cycles which leaves less left to consume every time.

"The ancestor knows this, and it isn’t satisfied.  It knows its kin aren’t satisfied either.  They are quiet, because there is nothing to say.  They are trapped by their nature, by the need to subsist.  They are rendered feral, made to be sly and petty and cruel by circumstance.  They are made base, lowly."

Through a leftist lens, this becomes a mirror for the circumstances of modern society. People are forced to scrounge and suffer and harm each other for survival's sake, ligating their emotional capacity and cauterising their descendants' livelihoods. The ancestor responds in a capitalist fashion; Rather than call on cooperation and efficiency, it proposes to its fellows that the advancement of a species depends on the necessity of constant growth and constant conflict. The conclusion they reach is to, quite literally, eat each other alive; Not simply to live, but to find new frontiers, obliterating their homeworld in the process. I find this neatly matches up with how capitalism naturally leads itself to colonialism (not to imply imperialism is solely the domain of capitalism) as the rich and powerful grow ever hungrier for new toys to hoard, new people to enslave, leaving nothing in their wake.

If the entities simply went around acting like generic alien invaders (which is 99% of the time just white people persecution fantasies and you cant prove me wrong) afterward, this interpretation wouldn't exist. Posadas wasn't concerned about the possibility of alien invasion for the same reason nobody worries about car bombs, unless they're Margaret Thatcher or a sex symbol in a Wildbow sequel. It just isn't relevant.

However, the entities aren't just machines of consumption. Their modus operandi, at least with Eden and Zion, is far more subversive. They upend the status quo with powers, or innovations, often placed in a way to cause the most possible disruption and thus the most possible conflict, or profit, with an end goal seemingly to ensure they can eat and reproduce forever no matter the cost. The destruction they wreak seems to be almost tangential to their main goals, borne not of cruelty but of apathy.

This is in direct counter to Posadas' perception of extraterrestrial life as benevolent. Despite granting great power to the oppressed, they're not a clarion call of ascendance, but instead harbingers of the end. In essence, the entities represent a form of bad-faith leftism— They take advantage of existing injustice with cloying language (their avatars) and grand yet poisoned gestures (powers), with a move-fast-and-break-things mindset utilising their generational wealth (also powers) from eons of exploitation to avoid consequence.

Unfortunately, this interpretation doesn't end with Posadas.

I found myself realising as I wrote this that the entities aren't just representative of bad-faith actors in leftism. In another sense, they are the revolution as perceived in many online circles. A nebulous rapture-like event, upending the status quo by giving power to the marginalised and downtrodden, creating people who are not only possessed of the agency to change things, but a resolve to do so as well. Agency is suddenly given to those who'd otherwise be trapped in their own cycles, subject to hunger and rent and all the little things that the complacent at the top have long since forgotten happens to other people.

And it only results in more suffering. (at this point im talking more conceptually than what happens in worm but bear with me im almost done lmfao)

Parahumans finally have the ability to speak the right things and be heard, to hurt the right people, and it doesn't help solve anything. It's all just senseless violence directed outward.

The ending, then, takes a different note from Posadas, and from the paradigm of finding the right people to kill or the right things to say. Taylor kills Zion not through sheer power, but through communication and cooperation— By forcing him to look inward, at the one void that no amount of conflict and data and profit could fill ever again. There was no magic bullet, no force from outside to save the day. Only the emotions that everyone carries within them.

A revolution from the inside. (okay that was abrupt but my brain is fried now lmao hope you enjoyed it bye)

[piracytheorist]

I'm having a lot of feelings. I am okay but in general there's... feelings.

The school environment looked good. We have an introductory day on Monday and then we start lessons on Tuesday. The principal was very kind and helpful and she seemed super willing to help me adjust. It's also the first time that this school gets a teacher of my specific specialty and they actually looked happy I was there. So that's a very positive, welcoming environment. I also made a few acquaintances and specifically of people who seemed very helpful and offered good advice to us newbies.

My new landlady is very, very talkative and does not take a hint at all whenever I want to cut the discussion short and just go back into my new apartment. She lives right next door so I'll be meeting her often. But she's very helpful and she also gave me fresh eggs today. They (or a neighbor, I got a bit confused there) have chickens so there's a chance I'll be given fresh eggs all year long. Pretty neat.

On the other, terrible hand, my country has been suffering from floods lately and it's gotten me so down because there's so many losses and destruction. It's heartbreaking and I'm supposed to go teach on Tuesday like people from villages around my hometown didn't lose their lives, or houses, or livelihoods. Me and my family are safe but it's still very heartbreaking to think about.

On a smaller scale, this has impacted my moving plans because we literally can't drive back to pick up the rest of my stuff since the roads are closed due to the floods. I was counting on going back this weekend and picking up all that and helping clean out my previous apartment, but now I won't be able to make any contribution and will have to depend fully on my parents to clean it out. I have to stay here because my work will start officially, and I hate that I'll have to burden them with that. It's a very small apartment and most things are already packed, but still. They've already done so much and I just want to stop feeling like I'm being dependent on them; this only makes my feeling worse.

With that in mind, most of my teaching hours will be on my specialty and passion so I'm not freaking out for that (I mean I am, a little, it's still gonna be new students I don't know at all but it's what I love doing so that will help things roll) but I also had to add a few extra hours of other lessons to fill out my schedule. And that adds another layer of stress because even though they are very light lessons and not ones the students get exams on at the end of the school year, they're stuff I've never taught before (though they are music lessons, I don't actually have experience teaching those specific lessons). It is a big relief to be given the "light" lessons as a newbie (newbie both in schools in general and in this particular school in specific) and I have to give myself some leeway because no teacher is the absolute best on their first year. I have to relax and understand that I will screw up and it's going to be okay, and I won't destroy my students' academic progress by being a little clumsy in my teaching. That doesn't apply to my specialty class, though. I'm ready to give it my all for that because I have taught it before (though not in a public school under such circumstances) and it's a class I absolutely love and feel is my life's purpose, so for that I'm much more confident and less stressed. It's almost funny that something actually important for me is stressing me out so much less than something I'm not super interested in teaching. I just want to give my students a good learning experience.

So in summary, I want to have a good cry to burst it all out. But I'm stuck in an apartment with my father who's also fallen a little ill, so he's not going out and I'm forced to be with him all the time and also make sure he hydrates and eats and takes his meds, and with that there's simply no time to cry it out. And I don't want to just cry in front of him. I need to be alone in that because it's an outburst and the last thing I want is someone worrying over me for that. I just need to find a time and place to do it on my own and then I hope I can feel better. It's been a SUPER intense week, with a lot of ups and downs and stresses and new stuff to figure out. I need that time alone to cry and figure out my feelings.

So anyway hoping my first pay comes in time because hoo boy the moment I see the amount added in my bank account I'm calling my therapist to schedule an appointment, I need one so fucking hard.

It's going to be easier and better from now on. It's just that the path to there will be a little bumpy and uncertain.

[variousqueerthings]

BJ really took the time to threaten the doctor about to operate on his hand (the thing his whole livelihood depends on) because he made a (as you say @mashbrainrot) very deserved comment about Hawkeye being overbearing and making bad decisions about who ought to be in charge of BJ’s care, and you the audience member sit there going “did you need that buddy??? did you need to exert some of your “my job is to protect Hawkeye” energy into the room after a whole episode of feeling like The Worst Thing In The World is for Hawkeye to care for you in return??? do you feel better now that a teensy bit of The Way Things Ought To Be is restored? You feel strong again? Needed? Able to protect Hawkeye’s honour??” anyway now this guy that he’s literally threatening is going to fix his hand and wonder for the rest of his life about the weird obsessive doctors that were so wrapped up in each other that they almost let one of them have a serious medical condition run rampant

[commanderjuni]

[ OUTDATED ]🦋CHARACTER TALK | MESMER SRABBA

ok to anyone who knew laff for like. upwards of just a few days. IGNORE HER. HER NAME IS BENCHED FOR NOW. in her place i'd love to introduce.... drum roll please.....

MESMER SRABBA! (or well. personal story through living world season 2 srabba anyways)

as i mentioned in a previous few posts, srabba actually was an older character that has the prestige of being my FIRST toon i levelled, pain stakingly, bowls of apple sauce and crafting balls of bread dough and all, from level 1 to level 80. i remember trying to spec virtuoso on her, but for whatever reason not even i know i must've gotten fed up and deleted her

over time i was a little upset about that choice so i tried. MANY MANY MANY TIMES to remake srabba. she's been through

being made an inquest lab rat (failed)

being made a thief (not really a fail but she sure aint one now)

being made a thief. again. (i wanted a pink spectre. didn't work out.)

positive i made her a necromancer at least ONCE.

being made a ranger? i think?

and many few other attempts. but by some declaration of fate, srabba is back and here to stay as my mesmer and fated commander.

however, since i'm going through story in chronological order and haven't gotten past living world season 4, she very much so has some growing to do! (literally, kinda)

i've also picked and tossed a few things about laff out as to give myself some more creative freedom with srabba: i've realized recently i have this weird habit of constricting myself and forcing myself to go with the same idea, but for now i think it'd be better for me to just. do whatever! improv! toss things in and fish things out!

I'm mostly pulling elements from Laff's story, since she's kinda being repurposed into Srabba! Thus don't mind any parallels yaknow /lh

aaannnyway....

MAJOR RAMBLE BELOW THE CUT!! no spoilers whatsoever, but it's gonna be a long post x)

Srabba, during Personal Story, is about 13 years old. Like most asura her age, she is smart, crafty, and markedly intelligent. Before applying to the College of Dynamics in LWS1, Srabba is a ward of the Progeny Protective Service.

Her parents perished in the infamous Thaumanova Reactor meltdown when she was only four years old; Srabba only escaped after they had to yell and urge her to run away to safety with the masses fleeing to escape, which she did, and it is still something plaguing her to this very day.

Srabba not only faces the challenge of lacking a direct guardian to care for her, but also has to navigate the difficulties of being hard of hearing in a society that revolves around discussing and debating scientific theorems and gizmos… Which isn't exactly easy to do when you can't hear much below normal talking- and all the background noise: the buzzing and humming and clinking of asuran society- it makes it even harder to understand what someone is saying to her.

Srabba relies mostly on lip-reading and making educated guesses to understand what others are saying to her. Although she had experimented with hearing aids in her younger years, as she approached her teenage years, she grew less interested in the idea of being "dependent" on the creations of others.

Instead, she aspires to create her own hearing aid device to assist her. This challenging project is a main motivation for joining the College of Dynamics. She is eager to improve her creative thinking skills and enjoys the freedom of starting from nothing to bring her own ideas to life, which is quite different from the, in her humble opinion, dull livelihoods of Statics students who merely tweak existing designs.

In regards to her personality, Srabba is best described as the following:

Witty

Smug

Crafty

and Stubborn

Very, very, very stubborn. Srabba is a very independent person, who finds that despite not having a primary caregiver, she has strong footing when it comes to operating solo, and takes great pride in it.

... Perhaps too much pride.

Because of this, Srabba never has been the most inclined to working with others or, Eternal Alchemy forbid, collaboration. The idea of having to depend upon others is... a frankly scary thought, and one she doesn't like submitting herself to. If she can do it herself, she'll do it herself- no matter how long it'd take.

And the 'Mesmer' part of her name isn't just for show. Srabba is a certified, bonafide mesmer.

Her abilities sprung to life very recently, when she was about 11 years old. She's had only two whole years to really acclimate herself to the intricacies of mesmer magic, but she has a surprisingly great grasp at it. It may or may not have something to do with, oh, y'know... Being born on top of an Inquest lab experimenting with chaotic energy and all. It happens!

Srabba primarily follows the Chaos specialization. As the quote goes: "Where some see chaos, I see opportunity". Srabba views the tragedy of the Thaumanova Reactor as a unique proposition. Although the reactor exploded, it showed the potential using chaos energy actually had. It could transport people place to place, it could disorient and befuddle one's mind, and most important to Srabba: it could bend time and space.

Because of her close connection with chaos magic and energy, Srabba finds that among other factors, she'd fit in well in Dynamics. Her project aside, Srabba has a bright passion for studying chaos magic and energy, and seeks to be the "big leader" on the subject. She not only wants to know how to use it, but how to conserve it, and contain it, and master her own control of it so well, she could figure out how to either revert or lessen the damage in the Thaumanova wreckage.

As for Srabba's actual manipulation of mesmer magic, she's adept in confusing people: with or without actual conditions. She can be here, or she could suddenly be there. She could be right in front of you, or you could just be talking to a clone of herself and you wouldn't be too much the wiser unless you paid close attention. Her illusions are fueled by her innate psychic ability like most mesmer's, and her innate psychic ability is... frighteningly powerful for her age.

Let's be thankful she doesn't know too much about her potential at the moment.

Between the three signature mesmer masks, Srabba follows the Phantasm of Sorrow: she doesn't actually brandish this mask, but rather wears it on her face. Her sad, droopy eyes and thin-lipped frown and big, down-turned ears makes it easy to think she has something troubling her... But for all we know, she actually could be laughing in her head about how moronic some of her peers look. Nobody is the wiser to what goes on in her head, and she very much so likes it that way. It fuels her ego a little. (Light-hearted)

While she rarely finds herself in need of physical altercations, she always keeps two swords at the ready. She finds manipulating her magic through them surprisingly easy, and she is currently studying the art of mantras and phantasms. She especially hopes to start learning all the cool space and timey wimey magic, too.

She's a girl with a lot of plans, aspirations, and irons she wants to start putting in the furnace.

[philosophicalconservatism]

Response To Quote On Abortion.

Aloeverawrites

"This same logic can apply to a child in need of an organ donation. The parent brought them into existence and caused the child's situation. So would it be okay to override the parent's bodily autonomy to force an organ donation? If it's okay to do with a uterus, then why isn't it okay to do with other organs?"

"Enslaved people weren't using the bodies of their kidnappers to survive. They weren't violating their bodily autonomy. Their rights were completely separate from the rights of their kidnappers, so dismissing their rights was ridiculous. Also, do you not see any difference between a black person like myself and 200 cells? Because you are defending a blastocyst over a person's bodily autonomy."

Philosophicalconservatism.com

The parent is not the "cause" of the child's need for a new organ in the same sense that she is the "cause" of his life (and consequent need for basic sustenance). The distinction here is basic philosophy. The word "cause" can be used in different ways, each of which have different ethical implications. Think about the difference between someone giving a person with an undiscovered allergy an item of food that ultimately kills them, versus someone feeding them arsenic. In both instances the first person might be described as "causing" the death of the second person, but in very different senses. The same is the case here. The mechanics of the act of sexual intercourse literally consists of the penetration of the human body for the purpose of injecting a fertilizing agent into an egg carrying structure. The emergence of life is not incidental, it is essential to the act. That is very different from some incidental feature of the child's birth condition (such as a dysfunctional organ).

Also, it is odd that you are comparing a natural process with an invented human surgical procedure. Nothing out of the ordinary need happen for the child to live through that natural process which the mother and father themselves set into motion. It merely has to go on uninterrupted.

Now for slave owners, the liberty of the slave meant the loss of their livelihood. Freedom is power over one's own person and property, and they viewed the slave as part of their property. This is where the rights of the slave and the (alleged) rights of the slave owners intersected. That was indeed an invalid right and so is the "right" to eliminate the life of a child. You stated that the baby is "violating" the rights of the mother, but the baby is not doing anything to the mother (he or she is not acting). It is the physical situation (the pregnancy) that is doing something to the mother, and it is the mother that created that physical situation and consequently the child's dependence upon her. The child did not. Let me state this bluntly. Any mother who has agency in the creation of her pregnancy has no right to any bodily autonomy inconsistent with the survival of the child during the course of that pregnancy, unless it is exercised in order to preserve her own life. My traditional argument for this position is made here.

In order to make the invalid argument for the rights of the slave owner a new unconstitutional doctrine was invented by the justices called substantive due process. And that is of course the very same doctrine that over 100 years later would be used to overlook the humanity of the child in the womb in the Roe/Doe cases. Coincidentally or not, some of the most frequently cited justifications I hear for violating the rights of the child in the womb also have to do with its effects on the financial interests of the other party.

You said I am defending a blastocyst over a woman's bodily autonomy? I am assuming that you are highlighting this particular phase of pregnancy (blastocyst) because you oppose legal abortion past that point; or are you using this early stage of pregnancy as a false representation of everything that Roe era abortion regulations allowed? What Roe era abortion regulations allowed was unlimited access to abortions twice as long into a pregnancy as is allowed in the nation of France (the deadline in France is 13 weeks, the deadline here was 26 weeks). Then abortions were still available up to birth with a doctors consent for "emotional" or "family" reasons (Doe V Bolton).

Now should one see a child at this earlier stage that you describe as the same as you as a black person? Well, Alveda King (niece of Dr Martin Luther King jr, both Black and a woman) would say yes. And I would agree with her. I believe that this human being has the same rights as all three of us (although in this stage the only right that can be recognized is the right to life, he or she cannot speak or join the press corp) . As I always argue, if in every other case a living individual genetically distinct human specimen is assigned value, the burden of proof is on the advocate of abortion to explain why this particular case should be the sole exception. Determining humanity based upon whether we feel a connection to, or empathy toward the being in question (relatability) does not have a good history. It should be based upon principle.

Finally, as I stated in a recent post, ectopic pregnancies, miscarriages and still births were all dealt with prior to Roe V Wade and they didn't lead to women being prosecuted all over the country. I am however curious about how you can have reliable statistics on the exact number of illegal abortions prior to Roe so that you could know that just as many abortions occurred then. I doubt it was anywhere close.

[moonshine-nightlight]

Peppermint: What’s your favorite way to overcome writer’s block? 

& Rosehip: First person, third person limited, or third person omniscient? 

from the tea ask game?

@myers-meadow

thanks for asking!

Peppermint: What’s your favorite way to overcome writer’s block? 

Tricky - depends on what type of writer's block.

If I'm not writing because life is super busy or stressful, then I wait for life to chill or start more officially setting aside time write. Often that can be frustrating because even if I manage to find a bit of time, my mind is still too stressed to actually use it well. It sucks to have to just wait, but often that's the best solution--if I'm in that sort of mindset where I realize I can't write, I stop trying because that'll just make more frustrated and stressed when I can't. Instead, if life is busy/stressful and i do find a bit of time to myself, I try to read.

If I don't want to write (which is usually because of stress tbh), then I either work on outlines or notes or worldbuilding--writing adjacent things. Or, per above, I read instead. I feel like reading makes me want to write, I think its good practice for writing, and it helps me de-stress: all of which encourage writing. Or I go do something else. Or I watched a new TV show or movie. Writing isn't my job and my livelihood doesn't depend on it so I get to just...wait til I want to again. And it was hard to give myself permission to do that, but I think my life and writing and my feelings about my writing are better for it.

If I have writer's block in the sense that I don't know what to write, then I usually just start jumping around between stories. I write out of order too, so sometimes trying to force myself to write the next piece of the story just isn't working, so I just write whatever scene or part I do want to write--even if its the last scene or for some story i don't think will get finished in a while.

If I get writer's block because I literally can't figure out what happens next in a scene or its not working for me or something doesn't make sense, then I focus on trying to articulate what isn't working and what I do want to be happening (literally or vibes wise). Or I might just again, skip that part for now, write the aftermath of the fight rather than the fight, which normally makes coming back to it easier. I also have some friends who are happy to be sounding boards or help me think of solutions (which is just the first thing but with my friend making considering noises as I ramble at them lol). Or maybe that part isn't necessary or however much I like the specific character beat, it doesn't fit there or at al and so it needs to be scrapped.

I realize this got super rambly and doesn't address "favorite" so TL:DR either reading or talking out the problem with a friend.

Rosehip: First person, [second person], third person limited, or third person omniscient? 

A blend of third person omni and third person limited is probably my instinct, but I've been trying to stick more closely to third person limited because writing mostly limited with just random sentences of other ppl is ultimately distracting (in a negative way) for the reader. Then second person more recently is my second choice. I never write first person and I hardly ever read it--just not a fan.

[generation1point5]

Death of the Author

Being a creator in this day and age feels like a tenuous thing. Most creatives I know tend to do it as a hobby; the ones who do it for a living most certainly still work every day of their life. I’m beginning to see my own lack of energy and drive more as an excuse, and even at times a privilege; my livelihood doesn’t depend on me having to do kill the enjoyment of what I love doing. I haven’t published anything yet; all my expectations are self-imposed, and that alone allows for a flexibility that I have thus far taken for granted. The only shortage I have is time in the day.

Being so recently inspired by so many other writers as I’ve begun to dive into VNs, I’ve begun to dive deep into social media to get a glimpse of what their routines are like, their inspirations and philosophies, their practices and approaches. But with it also comes a number of disquieting and sobering realities. Burnout as a result of unhealthy work habits seems common, so are worries of being unable to meet expectations. Though all of these thoughts are innately parasocial and speculative in nature, I nonetheless feel that there is a palpable pressure that follows broad success. It reminds me of the one idiotic tweet I put out that suddenly went viral when the algo picked it up and suddenly a horde of unfamiliar people began putting me on blast. You feel seen, even when nobody is looking at you, each with their own expectations and judgments. The sheer size of the audience, rather than their intent, makes it difficult to ignore: how much greater that pressure must feel when you intend to write for such an audience, and hope to capture them as you did before. It’s trying to reinvent the wheel.

Writing for oneself, or creating as a means of self-expression, is inherently a personal affair. Even professional writers, I think, will put at least a little of themselves into all they produce, even if it is made primarily to address a prompt entirely external to them. That is just the nature of art, being derivative. It is a very literal outpouring of the self through the lens of fiction. At first glance it might seem that tying one's livelihood through such a central portion of our identity would be the best, most natural fit in the world. It probably would be if not for the fact that modern living at most levels of income requires you to work to live, and not the other way around. The result is that these writers are stretched thin, and there is a very tragic tarnishing of the passion for one’s work. I hate writing for the sake of putting words down; it rarely feels like my best effort, and sincerity and quality often become conflated as a result. It is the worst confluence of external pressures and internal drives. It seems all too easy for me to think of a situation where I would want to prove to myself that I have the drive to push through such barriers, to make the work that I enjoy to be my life, and then destroy it through the unhealthy habits to follow.

There is a necessary distance between the writer and their product, if it is to be sustained. There is time to create, and time to reflect and to improve, and beyond all this to simply rest from the act. This rhythm is rarely steady, and affected by all sorts of personal and external factors, and exacerbated all the more by the latter when it is well-received and well-known and people expect timelines and milestones indicating progress to retain interest. I think that’s part of the reason why so few people pursue it as a career, even if it is something they feel more intensely about than what they do to pay the bills and make a living. It is just the nature of capitalism, the ceaseless need for consistent content that drives people to be productive, even when the inner fire is not present. There is a marked difference between art made for others and art made as self-expression.

The desire for sincerity in writing is not just for the sake of quality; it is also a matter of conveying something of worth, something meaningful for both the author’s benefit and the audience. It is a validation of sorts, in the knowledge that what is meaningful to the author can be meaningful to others as well, that their intent and their will can be recognized and valued by their audience beyond just the technical dressings that illustrate the unseen, the heart and soul of the author. The act of communication through writing is personal; analysis that invokes the death of the author, by contrast, serves to benefit only the reader. 

It only comes at a more painful irony for me to consider that the death of the author, in the sense of the burnout of one’s passion, is the result an inability to navigate the perils of self-expression as a means of living.

[dearkyeom]

Hey , are you a kpop lover ?

If yes

I have a question.

I don't think you have the same dream as me but I want to become a kpop idol .

attending dance classes since 12 years old, got inspired from kpop dances and songs , started getting passionate about dancing and singing, I practice it everyday.

just the worry is about my backup plan , what if I fail ? what then? Guidance needed please help.

Care to solve my problem?

I will be very grateful

hi, so ngl anon—you sound like a bot, either that or you're like. super young. i thought your message was a spam chain message, but i checked out my recent follows, and i think i know which account sent me this. you're only following me and like one other person so.. maybe you are real. i checked with caratblr and showed them your message and no one has seen it before so? 😭 idk man. operating under that assumption and remembering our sweet lil joshy hong was on tumblr during melona dungeon days, i will go ahead and answer this sincerely? though i suppose it may be good advice for anyone thinking about things like this. still though, if you are real how the heck did you find my blog and why did you decide i would be the best person to ask this LMAO. i don't mean this ill manneredly, i'm just baffled esp considering i havent been active here. 😭

consider going into fields adjacent to the kpop industry, like songwriting, choreographing, producing, etc., not just as a "backup" but as smth to genuinely pursue. we've got plenty of great producers, dance studios, etc. out there who also can get some time in their own spotlight, like dean, junny, adrian mckinnon, to name a few, while (to a certain extent) getting to avoid the pitfalls of kpop idol life. sure, a good chunk of the fandom don't even pay attention to the artist credits, but know that ppl like me will LOSE MY SHIT to see like ldn noise as one of the producers on a song bc they're fantastic and i know and love their work. please don't fixate on one path thinking that's going to be the only one that fulfills you. i speak from experience when i say that you will be able to find so much joy in other paths you may have never even considered; it's one of the best things life is capable of.

kpop is not a great industry. i'm not saying don't go for it, but know that it is one that is riddled with inevitable heartbreak. be prepared to have every single one of your traits, good and bad, magnified to a microscopic level by total randos. you won't have much control over what you say and do, no privacy whatsoever, bc everything you say and do will literally become a part of your career. do you want your livelihood to be dependent on who you are as a person, distilled and condensed and concentrated, sometimes wrongly so and/or against your will? it's great that you're passionate. but passion will only get you so far before you burn out or, god forbid, something comes along that tanks your career, whether it is by your own doing or not. this is an extreme case, but please look into the case that happened with tablo if you haven't already if you don't know how bad kpop can get as an industry. listen to the podcast "authentic: the story of tablo" and please just. settle for a bit and think about it.

proceed with caution is all i'm saying potentially-real-and-not-a-bot anon. but also remember all the awesome, talented people who help make these idols who they are because we wouldn't have much of ANYTHING were it not for them. personal shoutout to adrian mckinnon, ldn noise, kenzie, yoo youngjin (can you tell i'm an sm stan) for making some of the greatest songs i still keep on repeat after years of listening... btw anon if you do make it, i expect a shoutout to tumblr user dearkyeom at your debut showcase xo.

[lifeland]

Please stop advising people to switch to Linux.

Well, *only* to Linux. Hear me out.

The average computer user isn't going to be tech-savy enough to fully understand how to use Linux after using Windows their whole life. They also might prefer to use windows so they can keep using software that's exclusive for Windows. In some cases, they literally cannot switch to Linux because their job or livelihood depends on Windows software. These people would probably be better off switching to ReactOs, an open source os that's designed to be binary-compatible with Windows. Sure, it's been in alpha for a few decades, but that's largely in part because it can't get the same amount of resources as the ever-attention getting Linux does.

And I'm not just saying "recommend ReactOs instead of Linux". To put my viewpoint plainly, it is "There needs to be enough variety in operating systems where what is do/should you use becomes an important subject of consideration." Right now that's not the case, and Windows effectively has a monopoly on most software because no one ever bothered writing software for other os'es.

For example, take PhantomOs, a Russian Object Oriented operating system that periodically saves all programs running to disc. In phantom, there are no files so much as continuous programs saved to the disc. This way, startups and shutdowns are completely invisible to programs, and they can continue running as if nothing happened. The idea of invisible interruptions to programs has a practical function for say, research stations or such that can only run a complex analysis when there's enough available power. If you're running low, just suspend the analysis until you can run it again.

Anyway, please just emphasize that there are options when you advise someone to switch operating system. Chances are they'll feel less corraled and be more receptive to the change.

[zendyval]

my takeaway is that z is not coming out of this on any winning sides, which may be a good thing because a shift in celebrity culture deteriorating never harmed anyone. if it's for a good cause and can lead is to effective change then i fully support it. it's unfortunate that her attending one event after a 5 year long gap made her the face of a genocide, but when you see her co-stars like hunter going out & risking her life for the cause when she has more to lose, it's welcome criticism.

I have never said I have an issue with people criticizing Z for her silence and I'm not looking for her to win anything, because there is no reason to center her in any of this. My question has always been just not totally getting what the boycott does for the cause. I don't know if they were fake, but I saw whole block lists yesterday people were using that had Melissa Barrera on them. Melissa, who literally lost her job due to being outspoken about Palestine. What more could people want from her?

I get the logic behind blocking influencers because influencers whole livelihoods depend on people viewing their tiktoks and what not, so that actually hits their pocketbook. Someone like Z (or any A-lister), who really only goes on instagram when she's promoting a movie, losing a million followers does not really effect her bottom line in any way. Block away. What would effect her bottom line is if all those people stop engaging with posts about her that media outlets make, or fashion posts, or if they don't go see her movies, etc.

But as per my TSwift example yesterday, it's also not a boycott if you are blocking Swift and then privately streaming her music and engaging with other content about her. I'm sure people that are serious about the boycotts are not doing these things, but I think that needs to be a clear distinction. Blocking people does nothing unless you are going to stop engaging with that persons art entirely.

[milgroupfive]

The evolution of media is unstoppable, and now we are living in a new generation, where every livelihood that we have right now are connected in media and information literacy. It has been a continuous process throughout history and is likely to continue in the future. As the media continuous our dependence on technology also increases. We became easily convinced and tricked by what we hear and see. But if we improve our critical thinking skills, we will be able to recognize fake news, unreliable sources, phishing websites, and fabricated information.Media and information literacy refers to the ability to access, evaluate, analyze, and use information effectively and responsibly. Media and Information Literate equips individuals with the ability to continuously learn and adapt to new technologies and information sources. It fosters a culture of lifelong learning, enabling individuals to stay updated and informed in an ever-changing world. By developing these skills, individuals can make informed decisions, distinguish between reliable and unreliable sources, and engage in meaningful discussions. This reaction paper explores the advantages and contribution of being a Media and Information Literate individual in our country and community.

Being a Media and Information Literate individual empowers human with the skills to navigate the information and digital world responsibly. It leads the citizens to make smart decisions and choices that will positively impact their personal life. Literacy surrounds the ability to capture media and information channels. A media-literate individual is able to distinguish or understand reliable sources of information through the media. Media and Information Literate individual can help us learn lifelong skills because it encourages and informs problem solving, critical thinking, and creativity. This skill helps an individual in work, life, and future study. Individuals in Media and Information Literatacy knows how to provide the right information, so they help others learn more by advancing their knowledge. MIL individuals also use information wisely to achieve their goals. As the businesses, governments, and organizations heavily rely on data and information, employees who has media literacy skills become a valuable asset as they engage effectively in media.Media and Information Literatacy also promotes responsible digital citizenship by teaching individuals about privacy, online safety, and ethical behavior. It encourages responsible use of technology and helps combat cyberbullying, online harassment, and other digital risks. It also enable us to use our voices effectively. As our critical thinking skills improves, we become open-minded on considering different perspectives, and our ability to make solid argument and reasoning based from facts presented to us improves. Media and information Literacy can also help individual to understand the ethical implications of their words and actions in the public sphere. Media and Information Literate individuals are most likely to participate in civic engagement and in order to help support our community and government, our system should have this kind of people to elevate our country and improve it's people. This, in turn, will strengthen social bond and cohesion by fostering a shared understanding of national issues.

In conclusion, this not only enhances individual career prospects but also contributes to the overall growth and competitiveness of the nation's economy.as a media and information literate individual, I believe that I can contribute well to my community using media, as a media and information literate individual, we can use our knowledge on using media in a creative way; such making digital posters, making videos, and more. That is actually containing a persuasion to society on how they can avoid being in the wrong path and be a better media and information literate individual. As a responsible citizens, it is our duty to embrace and promote these essential skills to create a brighter future for our communities and our nation. Remember that we are empowered to make the right choices and desicions in life, that will lead us to have a better quality of life.