#neurodivergent echo chamber

[gaycavendish]

this has happened to them and im certain of it btw

[the-acid-pear]

Mental illness is insane I'm just having dinner w my father eating this a little too spicy pasta enjoying the Yeowch on my throat and the silence and suddenly I'm like yeah I'd kill myself.

[swagyna]

gonna throw smth.

i can't clean w/o getting angry. because it's always me. there has never been another person I've lived with who's cleaned.

and the people i move in w/ weren't necessarily super gross b4 hand. but as soon as i moved in? messes. everywhere.

actually, any time i sat my friend down and was like, "look. ik you're stressed from work, but so am i. i can't live in this mess, i need help. i know you've got adhd but that's a reason, not an excuse for you not to help. if you need help managing symptoms i can help you look for a therapist."

only for her to break down in tears and be all, "ik you're doing all the work around here, it's just really hard for me to do any cleaning."

OK YEAH AND ITS ALSO HARD FOR ME TO CLEAN. ohhh it's just so hard to not do something. ohhh no. are you an addict?? are you addicted to not cleaning???

[cybernaght]

The fandom echo chamber: fanon, microanalysis and conspiracy brain 

As someone who has been in fandom spaces, on and off, for 20 years, I find some fascinating trends popping up in the last decade that I thought to be fandom-specific but clearly aren’t. So, I would like to do a little examination of where those things come from, how they are engaged with, and what it says about the way we consume media. This is a think piece, of sorts, with my brain being the main source. As such, we will spend some time down the memory lane of a fandom-focused millennial.

This is largely brought about by Good Omens. But it’s also not really about Good Omens at all.

Part one. Fanon.

The way we see characters in any story is always skewed by our very selves. This is a neutral statement, and it does not have a value judgement. It’s simply unavoidable. We recognise aspects of them, love aspects of them, and choose aspects of them to highlight based entirely on our own vision of the universe. 

Recognition comes into this. There is a reason so many protagonists of romance novels have a “blank slate” problem. Even when they do not, we love characters who are like us or versions of us that we would like to be. And when we say “we”, I also mean, “me”. 

(I remember very clearly this realisation hit me after a whole season of Doctor Who with writing which I hated utterly when I questioned why I still clung so incredibly hard to Clara Oswald as my favourite companion. Then I looked at myself in the mirror. Oh. Well. That would do it, wouldn’t it?)

Then, there is projection, and, again, this is a neutral statement. Projection exists, and it is completely normal and, dare I say it, valid way of engaging with — well, anything. Is the character queer? Trans? Neurodivergent? Are they in love? Do they like chocolate? Are they a cat person? Well, yes, if this is what the text says, but if the text does not say anything… You tell me. Please, do tell me. Because, in that moment of projection, they are yours. 

And then, there is fandom osmosis, and that is the most fascinating one of them all, the one that is not very easy to note while you are inside the echo chamber. It’s the way we collectively, consciously or not, make decisions on who or what the characters are, what their relationships are, and what happens to them.  

(Back when I was writing egregiously long Guardian recaps on this blog I actually asked if Shen Wei’s power being learning actually was stated anywhere in the canon of the show. Because I had no idea. I have read and reread dozen of fanfics where that is the case, and at some point through enough repetition, it became reality.)

We are all kind of making our own reality here, aren’t we? 

Back when things were happening in a much less centralised manner - in closed livejournal groups, and forums of all shapes and sizes - I don’t remember there being quite as much universally agreed upon fanon. Frankly, I don’t remember much of universally agreed upon anything. But now, everything is in one place: we have this, and we have AO3, and it’s wonderful, it really is so much easier to navigate, but it’s also one gigantic reality-shifting echo chamber, with blogs, reblogs, trends, and rituals. 

Accessibility plays its part, too. If you were, say, in Life on Mars (UK) fandom between seasons, and you wanted to post your speculation fic, you had to have had an account, and then find and gain access to one of the bigger groups (lifein1973 was my poison, but ymmv), and then, if you feel brave you may post it, but also, you may want to do so from your alt account if you wanted to keep yours separate, and then you would have to go through the whole process again. And I’m not saying that fan creations then were somehow inherently better for it than fan creations now (although Life on Mars Hiatus Era is perhaps a bad example - because some of the Speculation Fic there was breathtaking), but there is something to say about the ease of access that made the fandoms go through a big bang of sorts.

(I mean, come on, I can just come here and post this - and I am certain people will read it, and this blog is a pandemic cope baby about Chinese television for goodness sake.)

The canon transformations that happen in the fandom echo chamber truly are fascinating to witness as someone who is more or less a fandom butterfly. I get into something, float around for a bit, then get into something else and move on. I might come back eventually when the need arises, but I don’t sustain a hiatus mind-state. This means that when I float away and return, I find some very intriguing stuff.

Let’s actually look at Good Omens here. Season two aired, and I found it spectacular in its cosy and anguished way; deliberately and intelligently fanfic-y in its plot building; simple but subversive, and so very tender. (I will have to circle back to this eventually, because, truly, I love how deliberately it takes the tropes and shatters them - it’s glorious). And, to me - a person who read the book, watched the first season, hung around AO3 for a few weeks and moved on - absolutely on-point in terms of characterisation. 

So imagine my surprise when the fandom disagreed so vehemently that there are actual multi-tiered theories on how characters were not in possession of their senses. Nothing there, in my mind, ever contradicted any of the stated text, as it stood. This remained a strange little mystery until I did what I always do when I flutter close to an ongoing fandom.

I loaded AO3 and sorted the existing fic by popularity. And there it was, all there: the actual earth-shattering mutual devotion of the angel and the demon; willingness to Fall; openness and long heart-aching confession speeches. There was all of the fanon surrounding Aziraphale and Crowley, which, to me, read as out of character, and to one for whom they became the reality over the last four years, read as truth. 

Again, only neutral statements here. This is not a bad thing, and neither this is a good thing, this is just something that happens, after a while, especially when there are years for the fandom-born ideas to bounce around and stew. I can’t help but think that so much of what we see as real in spaces such as this one is a chimaera of the actual source and all the collective fan additions which had time and space to grow, change, develop, and inspire, reverberating over and over again, until the echoes fill the entirety of the space. 

Eventually, this chimaera becomes a reality. 

Part two. Microanalysis 

Here are my two suppositions on the matter:

1. Some writers really love breadcrumb storytelling. 

Russel T Davies, for instance, on his run of Doctor Who (and, if you are reading it much later - I do mean the original one), loved that technique for his seasonal arcs. What is a Bad Wolf? Who is Harold Saxon? Well, you can watch very very carefully, make a theory, and see it proven right or wrong by the end of the season. 

Naturally, mystery box writers are all about breadcrumb storytelling: your Losts and your Westworlds are all about giving you snippets to get your brain firing, almost challenging you to figure things out just ahead of the reveal. 

2. We, as humans, love breadcrumbs.

And why wouldn’t we? Breadcrumbs are delicious. They are, however, a seasoning, or a coating. They are not the meal. 

Too much metaphor?

Let’s unpack it and start from the beginning.

Pattern recognition colours every aspect of our lives, and it colours the way we view art to a great extent. I think we truly underestimate how much it’s influenced by our lived experiences.

If you are, broadly speaking, living somewhere in Western/North-Western Europe in the 14th century, and you see a painting in which there is a very very large figure surrounded by some smaller figures and holding really tiny figures, you may know absolutely nothing about who those figures are, but you know that the big figure is the Important One, and the small ones are Less Important Ones, and the tiny ones are In Their Care. You know where your reverence would lie, looking at this picture. And, I imagine, as someone living in the 14th century, you may be inspired to a sense of awe looking at this composition, because in the world you live in, this is how art works. 

If you, on the other hand, watch a piece of recorded media and see the eyes of two characters meet as the violins swell, you know what you are being told at that moment. You don’t have to have a film degree to feel a sort of way when you see a green-tinged pallet used, when cross-cuts use juxtaposing images, or notice where your focus is pulled in any given shot. This stuff - this recognition of patterns - has been trained into us by the simple fact that we live in this time, on this planet, and we have been doing so long enough to have engaged recorded media for a period of time. 

As humans, we notice things. Our brains flare up when they see something they recognise, and then we seek to find other similar details and form a bigger picture. This often happens unconsciously, but sometimes it does not. Sometimes we do it on purpose: finding breadcrumbs in stories is a little bit like solving a mystery. It allows us to stretch that brain muscle that puts two and two together. It makes us feel clever. 

So yes, we love breadcrumbs, and, frankly, quite a lot of storytelling takes advantage of this. It’s very useful for foreshadowing, creating thematic coherence, or introducing narrative parallels and complexity. It’s useful for nudging the viewer into one or the other emotional direction, or to cue them into what will happen in the next moment, or what exactly is the one important detail they should pay attention to.

Because this is something media does intentionally, and something we pick up both consciously and not, it is very hard to know when to stop. We don't really ever know when all of the breadcrumbs have been collected. It becomes very easy to get carried away. There is a very specific kind of pleasure in digging into content frame by frame, soundbite by soundbite, chasing that pleasure of finding. 

But it is almost never breadcrumbs all the way down. They are techniques to help us focus on the main event: the story. I truly believe those who make media want it to reach the widest possible audience, and that includes all of us who like to watch every single thing ever created with our Media Analysis Goggles on and those who are just here to enjoy the twists and turns of the story at the pace offered to them. And I think, sometimes in our chase to collect and understand every little clue we forget that media is not made to just cater for us.

One can call it missing a forest for the trees. But I would hate to mix my metaphors, so let’s call it missing a schnitzel for the breadcrumbs. 

Part three. The Conspiracy Brain. 

If you are there with me, in the midst of the excited frenzy, chasing after all those delicious breadcrumbs, then patterns can grow, merge together, and become all-encompassing theories. Let’s call them conspiracy theories, even though this is not what they truly are.

So, why do we believe in conspiracy theories?

One, Because We Have Been Lied To. 

All conspiracies start with distrust.

If you are in fandom spaces - especially if you are in fandom spaces which revolve around a queer fictional couple - especially-especially if you have been in such spaces for a period of time, you have most certainly been lied to at one point or another. 

We don’t even have to talk about Sherlock - and let’s not do that - but do you remember Merlin? Because I remember Merlin. Specifically, I remember the publicity surrounding the first season, with its weaponised usage of “bromance” and assertions that this whole thing is a love story of sorts, and then the daunting realisation that this was all a stunt, deliberately orchestrated to gather viewership. 

And, because we were lied to in such a deliberate manner for such an extensive period of time, I genuinely believe that it forever altered our pattern recognition habits, because what was this if not encouragement to read into things? Now we are trained to read between the lines or see little cries for help where they might not be. Because we were told, over and over again, that we should.

(Yes, I think we are all existing in these spaces coloured by the trauma of queer-bating. I am, however, looking forward to a world where I can unlearn all of that.)

Two, Cognitive Dissonance.

The chain reaction works a bit like this: the world is wrong - it can’t possibly be wrong by coincidence - this must be on purpose - someone is responsible for it.

Being Lied To is a preamble, but cognitive dissonance is where it all originates. In so many cross-fandom theories I have noticed a four-step process:

A) this is not good

B) this author could not have made a mistake 

C) this must be done on purpose

D) here is why 

(Funny thing is, I have been on the receiving end of the small conspiracy spiral, and it is a very interesting experience. Not relevant to this conversation is the fact that a lot of my job revolves around storytelling. What is relevant is that my hobbies also revolve around storytelling. And one of them is DnD. Now, imagine my genuine shock when one of the players I am currently writing a campaign for noticed a small detail that did not make a logical sense within the complexity of the world, and latched on to it as something clearly indicating some kind of a secret subplot. Their thinking process also went a bit like this: this detail is not a good piece of writing — this DM knows how to tell stories well — this is obviously there on purpose. It was not there on purpose. I created a clumsy shorthand. I erred, in that pesky manner humans tend to. And, seeing this entire thought process recited to me directly in the moment, I felt somewhere between flattered and mortified.)

This whole line of thinking, I think, exists on a knife’s edge between veneration and brutal criticism, relentlessly dissecting everything “wrong”, with a reverent “but this is deliberate” attached to it like a vice, because it is preferable to a simple conclusion that the author let you down, in one way or another. 

Three, Intentionality 

I believe that there is no right or wrong way of engaging with stories, regardless of their medium, and assuming no one gets hurt in the process. While in a strictly academic way, there is a “correct” way of reading (and reading into) media, we here are largely not academics but consumers; consumption is subjective.

However, this all changes when intentionality is ascribed. 

The one I find particularly fascinating is the intentionality of “making it bad on purpose” because, as open-minded as I intend to always be, this just does not happen.

It certainly does not happen in long-form media. Even in the bread-crumb mystery box-type long-form media. 

When television programs underdeliver, they also underperform, and then they get cancelled.

If all the elements of Westworld Season 4 that did not sit together in a completely satisfactory way were written deliberately as some sort of deconstruction for the final season to explore, then it failed because that final season will now never come.

(There will likely never be a Secret Fourth Episode.)

And look, I am not here to refute your theories. Creativity is fun, and theorising is fantastic. 

But, perhaps, when the line of thought ventures into the “bad on purpose” territory, it could be recognised for what it is: disappointment and optimism, attempting to coexist in a single space. And I relate to that, I do, and I am sorry that there is even a need for this line of thinking. It’s always so incredibly disappointing that a creator you believed to be devoid of flaws makes something that does not hit in the way you hoped it would. It’s pretty heartbreaking. 

Unfortunately, people make mistakes. We are all fallible that way. 

Four, Wildfire.

Then, when the crumbs are found, a theory is crafted, and intentionality is ascribed, all that needs to happen is for it to catch on. And hey, what better place for it than this massive hollow funnel that we exist in, where thoughts, ideas and interpretations reverberate so much they become inextricable from the source material in collective consciousness. 

Conspiracy theories create alternate realities, very much like we all do here. 

So where are we now?

I am not here to tell you what is right and what is wrong; what is true, and what is not. We are all entitled to engage with anything we wish, in whichever way we wish to do it. This is not it, at all. 

All I am saying is… listen.

Do you hear that echo? 

I do. 

[sant-riley]

[Ghost with a reader who is mentally ill/neurodivergent]

[could be considered part of gen z! teddy]

▪︎ Disclaimer/A/N: this is my personal take on Ghost and how he’d be in this scenario and my personal experiences with my mental illness. This may not line up to your experience and that’s ok! I encourage you to write your own and share it <3

~

Hot take, Ghost may at first may not be able to handle it but the people who say he would leave you alone and let you fend for yourself? Wrong. Look at that man’s home life and growing up, he knows how bad it can get and will never let you slip that far down. He loves you and he’s gonna put in effort.

Ghost isn’t a stranger to mental illness, he’s in the military and has his own that he would never admit openly. However, sprinkle in neurodivergence and he’s kinda stumped.

You infodump him alot about your interests, like a ridiculous amount but he genuinely enjoys it and finds it relaxing to see you so passionate about something.

God help the asshole who interrupts you and asks “who cares?” Bc ghost is gonna stand up quicker than anyone realizes and fucking grabs the dude by the collar and shakes him around. He is extremely protective already but any blatant disrespect??? He absolutely will not stand for it.

Stimming is fun because he lets you grab his hands and mess with his fingers, tracing your fingers across his along with tracing his tattoo. He finds it soothing and will glare at anyone who side eyes you.

He likes when you both lay in bed, with you playing with his dog tags when you lay on his chest. It’s his favorite thing in the entire world and will blush if you bring it up.

He finds himself repeating back your phrases that you take from the internet, he doesn’t even realize he’s quoting some trend bc he doesn’t use social media.

In return you start to repeat HIM and now it’s an echo chamber. Why the fuck are you developing the Manchester accent now and why does it sound so authentic-

One of the best people to be around when you’re having a depressive episode, while he won’t make you talk, he won’t let you wallow by yourself. It isn’t a strange sight for Ghost to be in your room and just sit in your proximity. He’ll hold you if you want and tell you shitty puns but if not, that’s fine.

He knows your tells and when you start to get anxious or overwhelmed and will subtly press some kind of body part of his to yours, helping you ground yourself. It’s not strange to see him sit next to you everywhere with his legs spread out, his thigh up against yours while he talks to Soap.

He doesn’t take it to heart when you start to get snappy or bitter, he acknowledges that it’s the illness and will stare at you til you’re done and then ask if you want to go somewhere.

On days where you won’t leave your bed, he’ll make sure to bring you easy meals and water to make sure you’re at least taken care of before he leaves for the gym. Kissing you on your forehead and telling you to call if you need anything.

Ghost fucking spoils you, will buy you anything your little heart desires even if you have the money yourself. Bro will go on Etsy and find things he think you’d like and will buy it for you

He doesn’t understand the obsession with these fictional characters but hey if they make you happy

Ghost is your person, the one you go to when you’re feeling good and the one you go to when you’re at your lowest and he doesn’t care which one you’re feeling, he loves being that person for you. It makes him feel loved and important in ways he hasn’t felt in a very long time, if not ever.

You apologize so often about being a burden and he’ll always gently shake you by your shoulders and will remind you that “I would not be doing this if I didn’t want to, yeah? You’re my partner. We’re a team sweetheart. You’ll never be too much for me.”

Taglist:

@devilsfoodcake22 @simon-rileys-princess  

@stupid-ninja @milkmily

@lune-la-chanson @tamayakii

@teacupcollector @sweet-as-an-angel

@perilous-pasta @ihatethisappsomuchitpains

@marsbar127xx @baddump

@hailstrum18 @pretty-little-bunny382728 @mzfandom @solarslushee @areislol

@xncasi @king-cookiex 

@palomaxaxaxa @amatchasky   @wolfyland07 @diejager  

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@beyondblissxoxo @uwu-i-purple-you

[bongwooder]

having my "transgender journey" begin at 11, peak in middle school, and continue into my early adulthood, combined with being chronically online, has truly and unfortunately probably irreversibly stunted me for the rest of my life. I am now spending so much time and energy trying to claw my way back into the pace of my friends and peers with goals in line with my own because I spent so long building the echo chamber of toxic TRA ideology around me to appease the people I thought were my friends. peaking in my radfem ideology, being officially diagnosed as neurodivergent, reflecting on the childhood neglect and abuse I faced from so many adults around me, and desisting from the choices i had made as a child-teenager in an attempt to escape misogyny (external and internal) and gain control over a life that I was convinced I had no control over .... all of these things have allowed me to now begin to love myself, truly grow up, and be excited to grow my identity as an adult bisexual female woman. transition was NOT the solution to treating my gender dysphoria and we need to make sure more young girls (especially abused, especially autistic, especially GNC) know that transition isn't the only option to treat their gender dysphoria

[ree-duh]

This is probably going to sound extremely insensitive (and it likely is), but all the white autistic people projecting onto the Laios/Toshiro fight because of something that happened to them growing up kind of need to get over it. We're not in 6th grade anymore, and Toshiro didn't go to their grade school, so I think maybe we should unclench a little and work through our childhood trauma in a more productive way that doesn't involve demonizing a brown man for the sake of their golden boy. (1/2)

I think because of how overwhelming white tumblr is a lot of people who are relating to Laios in that situation have kind of got themselves into a bit of an echo chamber situation because they’re all kinda reaffirming their own very specific experiences of living with autism when Laios and the way he presents is impacted by his identity as both being white and being socialised as a man.

People can present very differently depending on their surroundings and there’s so many factors that can cause people to change or adjust their behaviours so insisting that toshiro couldn’t be autistic is just kinda pushing the narrative that there’s a correct way of being neurodivergent which isn’t true?? And as you’ve said can be really upsetting to people who may actually present that way

At the end of the day a lot of people are just stuck in a loop of seeing themselves as Laios and I can’t fault people for finding themselves in the media they consume but projecting too heavily to the point of misunderstanding the source material is only gonna make your understanding of the narrative weaker overall.

While I do discuss this I think it is important to say that while nobody can fault you for not being able to pick up on subtle social queues if that’s something you find difficult because it can be hard you need to also keep in mind that if you do inadvertently upset someone you can’t hand wave them off by saying you just didn’t understand without first address that you have upset them intentionally or not

[ndcultureis]

neurodivergent culture is you and your nd friends getting stuck in an endless echo chamber of copying each others stims, hyperfixations, and mannerisms

.

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter two: a father’s praise

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 4020

Upon arriving at her chambers, her heart warmed at the familiar sight of Ser Eddrin Tollett guarding her door. He had been sworn to her since the royal wedding of Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor, when she was merely a single year in age. He had been one of her mother’s knights, telling her once that he and her mother grew up together as he was a ward at Runestone in his youth. He had squired for her mother’s brother before his death. Ser Eddrin was perhaps the most noble knight there was. Princess Maetilda breathed a sigh of relief as she came face-to-face with him. He smiled down at her warmly before greeting both her and Prince Jacaerys at her side. It was hard for Maetilda to contain her joy around Ser Eddrin. She smiled widely at him as if he were a father to her. His presence brought her a deep sense of peace and security that she had felt all her life. For as long as she could remember, he had been diligently and dutifully at her side. The knight’s sandy hair had grayed over the years. His face had scruffed and wrinkled. Regardless, it never lost its familiarity. His warm brown eyes never lost their gleam. The crows feet next to his eyes always dug deeper when he smiled. His laughter never lost its brassy bark. Now in safe hands, Prince Jacaerys bid his stepsister adieu, bowing to her politely before excusing himself to his chambers. Ser Eddrin opened the chamber door for the Princess to enter, which she immediately did.

“I will let your maids know it is time to get you ready, mi’lady. Ser Gunthor will be your escort to dinner. He’ll switch off with Ser Wyllam in the night.” the knight informed her briefly.

The Princess nodded in appreciation, “Thank you, Ser Eddrin. I hope you rest well. This place is…”

“Compensating for something?” He tried to finish for her.

She nodded, “Keep your eyes and ears open, will you?”

“Not to worry, mi’lady. They always are.”

“With the Velaryons too.”

“Of course.”

Without another word, the door was shut and the knight’s footsteps echoed off down the hall. Even while alone, Maetilda could not shake the tense feeling from her shoulders. She tried to roll them, reach her arms around and massage them, but nothing seemed to help. She felt like a sitting duck. She paced in the orangely decorated bedroom. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Nothing seemed safe. Part of her felt shameful for thinking her father was exaggerating his disdain for the Hightowers all those years before, but she could no longer deny it. They were in the middle of a wasp nest in a high tower. Soon enough, there was a knock at the door and two handmaids scurried inside. They both curtsied and smiled softly at her. They reminded her nothing of her handmaids back at Dragonstone, who had stayed home with their families. The taller one was broad shouldered and curvy. She had to be around five and ten years of age. She was dark blonde haired, beige freckles dusted her nose. She had amber brown doe eyes that screamed with hesitation and uncertainty. The shorter one was boney and sharp-featured. She had to be around seven and twenty. She had curly dark brown hair and piercing dark eyes, with a far more determined and self assured gleam. They wore the same uniform, but they somehow looked entirely different just in the way they stood. The younger slouched while the older stood pin straight.

“Good evening. It is lovely to meet you both. What are your names? Will you be serving me for our entire stay?” Maetilda tried to smile as if nothing was wrong, but she couldn’t help but feel like she was asking too many questions.

“Yes, we’ll be here the whole time, Princess. I’m Noarysa. This is Adelyn.” The older one stated with a reassuring smile. The younger one nodded next to her.

“Was it some sort of demotion to have to serve me?” The princess attempted to joke.

Adelyn giggled, but Noarysa quickly pinched her side, “Not at all, Princess.”

Maetilda could not help but frown at the older maid’s actions. She hated that they were expected to be so stiff all the time, especially behind closed doors. Regardless, she gave a slow nod, “Very well. I’m thinking about one of those cascading updos that the Queen used to wear when I was younger. Do you remember what I’m talking about, Noarysa? Get it out of my face and off my neck, but I still want it curly and long. With braids, of course! Like a true Valyrian.”

Just like that, the two maids went to work. The princess’s silver honey hair was decorated with braids that pulled the front out of her face. The three, four, and five strand weaves circled around her head, some of them serving to lift the rest of her hair off of her neck. Allowing the bulk of it to cascade down the back. The style showcased the thickness and length of her hair, as well as her curls. Yet, Maetilda always appreciated the functionality of it. Noarysa and Adelyn were masterful braiders. They worked quickly and eagerly. The uncertainty in Adelyn’s eyes slowly melted. After the princess’s hair was done, Adelyn oiled, perfumed, and powdered her while Noarysa went over to Maetilda’s unpacked wardrobe. Maetilda watched as she thumbed through her gowns with a pensive look on her face. Noarysa pulled out a wool burnt orange gown with a squared neckline, long batwing sleeves, and bronze runes embroidery. Maetilda could still remember the look on her father’s face when she had it commissioned. He grumbled about it for days, but the princess insisted that she needed to display pride in her house as heir to Runestone — whether she had been to the keep since she was a babe or not. Sers Eddrin and Wyllam had selected the specific ruins themselves.

“Do you know what these symbols mean, Princess?” Noarysa looked pained as soon as she realized her thoughts had slipped out her mouth.

Maetilda giggled before admitting, “No, my knights do, but they won’t tell me. They want me to read about them myself. But I have such a hard time with books, my thoughts are too loud.”

“Forgive me, Princess. But could you not command them to tell you anyway? They are your knights.” Adelyn responded.

“If I did, that would ruin the fun of it. They enjoy teasing me too much.” The princess smiled in admission, “That dress is perfect. Good pick, Noarysa.”

“‘Thought the orange would suit the little bit of blue on your eyes.” Her cheeks tinted pink.

“I think we’re going to get along quite well over this coming fortnight.” Maetilda smiled brightly.

“It’s in the details!” Adelyn interjected, “That’s what Noarysa always likes to say.”

The three girls giggled together as they worked together to dress Maetilda. The burnt orange dress had many bronze buttons, and Adelyn was overjoyed to decorate the princess in stacks of bronze jewelry — rings, a necklace, bracelets, hair pins, a belt with dragons and tourmaline stones. They kept her shoes simple as they could not be seen beneath the hem of her gown, but Adelyn wrapped a bronze anklet around the right shoe’s ankle for good measure. Maetilda thanked the girls before she dismissed them and stared in the looking glass one last time. Her reflection made her smile. The girls had done wonderfully on her hair. With her head held high for the first time since arriving to King’s Landing, the princess exited her room.

Ser Gunthor Stone stood on the other side of the door, just as Ser Eddrin had said. Ser Gunthor was born in the same year as Maetilda, a bastard son of the master-at-arms at Runestone. When they were six and ten, he left his father in the middle of the night to seek out the princess he had been told so many stories of in his youth. He had arrived at Dragonstone in a fishing boat. Sers Eddrin and Wyllam recognized him immediately, stating the resemblance to his father was uncanny. The knight had dark auburn hair, a sharp jaw, and eyes that had a ring of sage green around the pupil and a darker hazel ring on the outside. His eyelashes were long and mesmerizing. His stubble was a lighter ginger when he didn’t shave. His lips were pouty and pillowy, the top one fuller than the bottom. He was tall and built like an ox. The princess would be lying to herself if said she didn’t find him attractive. The knight was utterly beautiful. She smiled at him and began to feel hot as she thought that perhaps she had been staring at him for too long.

“You look ruinously beautiful, mi’lady. Get it? Ruinous, runes.” Ser Gunthor teased.

Maetilda laughed, “Yes, I got it! It ruins it when you explain the joke.”

“My apologies,” Ser Gunthor smirked, “‘Didn’t think you laughed hard enough.”

Maetilda giggled more before half-heartedly scolding her sworn knight in a whisper, “You best hold your tongue, you oaf. You have to be careful around the wasp nest. Best behavior.”

“Of course, mi’lady. From this moment onward.” He smiled.

“Shall we go?” The princess teasingly rolled her eyes.

The corridors were like a maze. The princess found herself utterly lost as the knight more or less led the way to her parents’ chambers. She wondered how he could possibly know his way around, but she didn’t want to risk more jokes and teasing. They passed by too many other lords, ladies, and servants on their path, and the princess did not want to risk their whispers lest they overheard something they did not understand. Thankfully, Ser Gunthor had always been good at following instructions. She kept her head held high and her back straight as they walked. Her family was to be a symbol of unity and excellence. Princess Rhaenyra had warned them correctly. There were two guards on each side of the door when they reached the future Queen’s chambers. They bowed upon her arrival, knocked, waited for a response, and then each opened a side of the double door. Ser Gunthor bowed to Maetilda as he was to wait outside for her. With a curt nod to the knights, she entered the bedroom.

Inside, the fireplace was lit as well as several candles on every surface that would have them. It was warm and light. The sound of her brother’s laughter hit her like a bell toll. Her father sat at the head of the table while Princess Rhaenyra sat across from him. The table had been turned so that her chair would be the closest to the fire. Jacaerys and Lucerys sat next to each other on their mother’s right while Joffrey sat to her left. Maetilda bowed to each of her family members before she filled the empty chair between Prince Daemon and Joffrey. The three boys each held a hand to their mouths as they failed to contain their laughter. Regardless, they each nodded their heads back. The future Queen briefly smiled at her before returning her gaze to her husband. He, on the other hand, did not break his trance to acknowledge his daughter. Awkwardly, the princess cleared her throat, but it was in vain. She resorted to staring forward blankly, folding her hands perfectly in her lap. Dinner was served without another moment. Spiced mutton, buttered bread, freshly cooked potatoes and greens. The smell made their stomachs growl and their mouths water. The boys were about to dig in like they would back home before the future Queen cleared her throat. Stopping them in their tracks.

“Remember that if we are at an official meal, you wait for the ruling monarch to eat first. Then you may dig in.” She instructed with a soft smile.

The boys eyed her eagerly as she sat at the table with an empty plate. She smiled at them innocently before taking a slow sip from her wine. Little Joffrey let out a pained groan in anticipation. The other two giggled at their mother’s antics. Even Prince Daemon snickered.

“I do believe you’re torturing them, my ruling Monarch.” He chided playfully.

“Very well,” Rhaenyra smirked before grabbing a roll and a leg of mutton.

Before one could blink an eye, the boys had launched out of their chairs. Their hands greedily grabbed at whatever food they could. As if sharing a brain, Maetilda and her father sat back and watched them, waiting for their frenzy to die down. The three boys stuffed their catchings into their mouths, moaning with delight at the flavor. Once Maetilda and Daemon finally dug in after the rest of them, a silence settled amongst the table. Nothing but the sound of chewing and cutlery scraping on plates. The Rogue Prince’s stare remained fixed on his wife while his daughter watched him. She remained observative as he took his simmering anger out on the food he cut into smaller and smaller bites. He did not always eat like such a royal. He spent too many years at war and in pleasure houses to hold onto his manners. When he was in better spirits, he ate with his hands.

“How are you all finding the castle so far? I suspect we shall be calling it home before winter comes.” The future Queen’s shoulders slumped at her latter statement, the realization that her coronation meant her father’s death hanging heavy upon them.

“It’s, uhh, different.” Jacaerys tried.

“The dent from the morningstar incident is still there!” Lucerys exclaimed.

“Oh please, don’t remind us.” Rhaenyra held back a breathy chuckle.

“The morningstar incident? I don’t know if I’ve heard of that one.” Daemon teased.

“No, please! Anything but that.” The future queen pleaded again, “Please, something else!”

“Well, uhh, my handmaids are sweet.” Maetilda spoke the first words that came to her mind.

“Wonderful! I’m pleased to hear you approve of them. They had big shoes to fill.” Rhaenyra smiled.

“Yes, I see they found the gown I have — is it thrice now? — ordered to be burnt. Way to show your unity, daughter. Qogralbāre rōva ribazma.” (Fucking brilliant) Daemon grumbled, taking a large gulp of honeywine. “Issi īlon mirre isse se sigils hen īlva muña sir?” (Are we all to wear our mothers’ sigils now?)

“My belt has two dragons, one on each side. Just because your parents—” Maetilda spit back.

“I must say, that color suits you, sister.” Jace interjected.

“You look very pretty, Til!” Luke joined in with a joking tone and a genuine smile.

“Very, very, very, very, VERY pretty!” Joffrey added.

“Very, very, VERY sweet of you boys. Your sister does look beautiful. As always.” Rhaenyra smiled. Joffrey giggled uncontrollably at her mimicry.

“‘Got that from our side, didn’t she?” Daemon smirked, finishing off his cup.

“My mother was pretty enough for me to happen, father.” Maetilda retorted sharply.

Jace and Luke simultaneously choked on their drinks. Joffrey continued to make a mess of his food, not being one to eat when the room was tense. Rhaenyra’s body froze as her head whipped around to see her sons’ reactions before her eyes finally landed on Maetilda. The future Queen’s eyebrow hiked upward as if to question how Maetilda knew of such matters. Daemon merely laughed into his cup as memories ran passed his violet eyes, “Iksā paktot va bony.” (You’re right on that one.)

“Did you all see anything else in the training yard?” Rhaenyra quickly changed the subject.

“We did!” Maetilda answered hotly while the two others were still recovering from the last time she opened her mouth, “The Cargyll twins were sparring together, along with Prince Aemond and Ser Criston Cole. With just a sword and a shield, the prince bested Ser Criston with his morningstar.”

Her father visibly tensed. Only then had she realized the sensitive subject she stumbled upon. Ser Criston had bested him at the Heir’s Tournament. Her father had never gotten over it, although that is not what he wanted the Realm to think. Whenever he got drunk in Pentos, he would rant about the occasion extensively to Lady Laena, who pretended to care. She could not count the number of times she had heard him aggressively ramble about how he was incredibly disadvantaged. How he had spent all his energy on the Hightower cuck. How he had been blinded by the sun. How Cole had spooked his horse.

“You should have seen it, Daemon! Ser Criston wailed his morningstar at the prince’s shield until it completely fell apart!” Lucerys recalled, completely unaware of the salt he was pouring in Daemon’s wound.

“The prince didn’t even flinch! ‘Had the kingsguard by the neck in only a few more strokes.” Jacaerys further explained.

“He, uhh, wears an eyepatch now too.” Luke added, voice dripping with hesitation and guilt.

The two at the heads of the table shared an unreadable look. It was broken by Princess Rhaenyra who pulled away to look back at the children. Maetilda could not help her itch to continue speaking. That was not all they saw, “Lord Vaemond Velaryon had made his entrance through the gate in the training yard as well. Lords and ladies were even present to observe his arrival. I must say, having never spent much time at this place in my life, this Keep seems upside down.”

“Sȳrje ūndegīon hen ao, tala.” Daemon rolled his eyes. (Very observational of you, daughter)

“That sounds like quite the sight! I must have a word with the Queen. A royal arrival shall not be overlooked in favor of Lord Vaemond.” Rhaenyra tutted.

“It is interesting he entered through the training yard gates, you know,” Daemon conceded a bit quietly, “That entrance would have a direct route to the byka rhaenagon tistālion. We shall see qilōni iksis dārys isse jēda.” (small council chambers; who is king in time)

“What does that mean?” Joffrey inquired, only half listening.

“You’ll know when you’re older, Joff.” Daemon teased.

The Rogue Prince stared at his wife with a new sharp intensity as Joffrey began to descend into his cries of ‘why.’ Maetilda watched her father’s stare intently. His look held a thousand words. A thousand silent words that Princess Rhaenyra missed as she gazed down at the table lost in thought. The princess-by-title suspected the worst. Perhaps the Hightowers already had Lord Vaemond in their purse. What she had told her parents was valuable, she could see it in their reaction, yet neither of them moved their mouths to acknowledge it. Her insides twisted at her father’s utter refusal to admit she had done good. It was as if the Gods would strike him down dead on the spot if he were to tell her ‘well done’ even a single time. She hadn’t heard it since he had taught her High Valyrian as a girl. He knew she could understand what he was saying. With a silent huff, the princess-by-title broke her stare from her father. She allowed her eyes to scan the table only to meet those of her two stepbrothers. Their eyebrows were raised in surprise as their blinking significantly decreased. It was as if they were surprised by her observations, like they had not witnessed the same training yard, yet this had not been the first time. Perhaps the two had been taking too many pages out of her father’s book. Not being able to lose attention for long, Daemon sighed as he clapped his hands on the table.

“Children, you should all stay away from Princess Rhaenyra’s siblings… for the time being.” He spoke resolutely.

“Stay away?” Lucerys gasped, “As in avoid them or shun them? Are you joking?”

“You can’t be serious!” Jacaerys echoed.

“Avoid them at all costs. We all have noticed how freakish this keep has become. ‘Don’t want to catch whatever disease they have. We must trust no one.” Daemon doubled down.

Rhaenyra seemed to be at a loss for words before she could finally let out, “Mijegon másino, se riñar issi daor qrinuntyssy, Daemon.” (Certainly, the children are not guilty)

“Mēre-Laes pyghagon se qogralbar azantys,” He growled. (One-Eye beat the fucking knight)

“Se valītsos iksis iā sȳz egros. Ilagon hen ziry,” She countered. (The boy is a fine sword. Lay off it.)

“Ȳdra daor sagon doru-borto, Rhaenyra.” He sneered back. (Don’t be stupid)

“Hae hembar jentys hen Sīkuda Dārȳti, kesan sagon skoros jaelan.” (As next ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, I will be what I want)

Maetilda crossed her arms grumpily as the future Queen and King Consort went back and forth in High Valyrian. Jacaerys and Lucerys were nowhere near fluent enough to keep up while Joffrey didn’t speak the language at all beyond a few sprinkles of keywords. Of course, this is how the two would often argue – in spats of their ancestral tongue. As if no one else could understand them and they were the only two people left in the world. Her father continued to down his cups as he banged his fists against the table. Yet her stepmother did not flinch, she did not back down. She never did, always seeing him for the boy he was. Most others were afraid of the Rogue Prince, the alleged murderer of his own daughter’s mother, but his third wife was not. One could not simply intimidate a dragon.

In the back of her mind, Maetilda had already begun to spin plans for what she was to do for the next days leading up to the trial. Despite the expanse of the castle, there was not always a lot to occupy one’s time with. Visiting the library was of no interest to her and wondering about the halls sounded beyond tiring. One could pace the gardens only so many times, and no brown garden would ever compare to the gardens of the Free Cities in her childhood. Hunting down Princess Helaena would have naturally been at the top of her list. Not to mention, the two princesses had gotten along well the last time they had seen each other at Driftmark. Their friendship had only seemed to blossom. After their meeting as children, they would often send small cuttings of their embroidery back and forth between each other. Allowing them to see the other’s progress, and add little motifs to the corners if they so choose. Maetilda would send her royal cousin all sorts of designs – dragons, flowers, quotes from poetry books, insects, and animals. Yet Helaena would only ever send back different stitchings of the same bug, a silverfish. Sometimes it was accompanied by beetles, spiders, and other small creatures. Most recently had been a silverfish and an earwig. She had kept them all together in a chest. Not one piece sent to her was missing the little bug, there was always a silverfish. The princess-by-title never knew what it had meant, but she admired how they increased in intricacy over the years. Certainly they were not Helaena’s favorite as the King’s second daughter did not keep one in her collection. Maetilda longed to ask the princess about the stitchings and their meanings in person as she was always so vague in her letters. Perhaps she knew something too, the girl was certainly smart enough to code her messages or at least never write something that may give away suspicion. The princess-by-title could not quite put her thumb on the feeling that prickled inside of her. Her heart hurt and her stomach ached. Certainly there could be nothing dangerous about Helaena, not anything that the princess-by-title couldn’t handle. As she continued to turn over the silverfish embroidery in her mind, Maetilda concretely decided to disregard her father’s warnings. He was overly paranoid and bitter from war, being widowed twice, and old rivalries. He was being irrational. She was going to visit Helaena on the morrow, whether the Rogue Prince approved of it or not. The worst he could do was try to stop her.

A/N: so this is gonna be a more dark!daemon fic. i’m still deciding how dark/grey! aemond will be. i spammed these first few chapters, but i may start spreading them out as i don’t actually write this fast. but posting these has gotten me super excited so we’ll see!

xoxo messy

[ottogatto]

Friendly reminder that hating Severus Snape doesn't entitle you to employ harmful ableist language, call the person who points this out ableist just because you can't deal with the fact you're using oppressive language, and then block that autistic person before they can answer just so you can perpetuate anti-neurodivergent discourse and spread ableist dogwhistles.

Maybe don't hate. Maybe listen when someone is kind enough to call out your ableism while being nice about it (guessing it comes from your fav character's mindset and the echo chambers of your side of the fandom). Tagging your post anti severus snape doesn't mean you're entitled not to be called out for bigoted behavior, because it's not a matter of being pro or anti Snape anymore, it's bigger than that.

And friendly reminder that "severus snape critical" means having a balanced and constructed opinion about him with fair arguments to back this up in the spirit of literary criticism, not snater-style slander that's intolerant of divergent opinions.

[fourwindghost]

Woke up to another fit of displaced anger that is going to hurt all but J. I tried to help Nesey, but my sympathy has run dry at this point. I will vent out my disappointment and hope it reaches the ears of the silent, the ones who know better than to touch fire.

It’s not easy to communicate with a narcissistic person who uses their neurodivergence as a shield against criticism. If you don’t cut ties and villainize your friends (who, mind you, are unrelated to J) and pay next month’s bills for them, you are deemed transphobic or a “pdf file” apologist. You have to choose your words carefully and even then, they will nitpick on one sentence, and challenge you to argue with them, all for the sake of fabricating screenshots that will force you to come out of your (in their words) "drey" to defend yourself. You are never an ally. If you don’t pay for their children’s diapers you are compared to their family who abandoned them.

I’m not blind to what they’ve gone through, I tried to be there for them, but they are patronizing and abusive. They are at war with everyone. I feel bad for those close to them who want to reach out, but know their public image and careers are one false label away from being scarred.

I have wonderful memories of Will Cullen Hart. When I close my eyes, I can still see him sitting on that porch, smiling, talking with me about Albert Camus. He is a magnificent person. Everyone has the right to grieve him — I don’t agree with anyone who denies Nesey that right.

I was however shocked when Nesey attacked Certain people for paying tribute to their friend. Calling Will a “living corpse” in reference to his multiple sclerosis in any context is too much. Saying Will’s imagery of the eternal is childish and pedophilic because you don’t like someone who relates to it is also too much. I felt a punch reading that. It was the final straw for me.

I’m finally accepting that I can’t help them. I have to distance myself from this echo chamber and hope this series of self-destructive behavior stops. I still wish for them to find the closure they need despite everything that happened this month, but I hope no more people are hurt in the process.

"There's no need to fear all those things in your histories when putting down words is just like putting things away."

[spiralling-spires]

If he hadn’t been sacrificed, I feel like Michael would have been more a victim and/or avatar of The Web.

I highly doubt Michael was stupid. To be honest, he strikes me as neurodivergent of the “if I just go with what they say, they won’t hate me” variety. He trusted gertrude to not… y’know. Kill him. I feel like that’s a pretty low level of trust, all things considered. He probably knew she was planning *something*, though he grossly underestimated the scale. Consider also that Gertrude was trying to intentionally deceive pretty much everyone so that she could go around obliterating Rituals and being a general pain in the ass to Jonah. It’s not a mark against someone to have been tricked by Gertrude. Hell, he was in an echo chamber designed to keep him ignorant!

Point is, Michael wasn’t stupid. He was scared. He was scared of being hated and left behind and not being enough for others. He was scared of failing people. He’d fall into anyone’s schemes, take any number of hits, whatever it would take to have people stick around and hopefully, maybe, protect him in return.

If it hadn’t been Gertrude and her assistants specifically, if it hadn’t been Fears and supernatural entities and attempts to end the world, he would have been manipulated, rather than lied-to-and-manipulated. He could break the Great Twisting because he *had* been lied to, not because it was the core of his fear. (Ignore for now that the Twisting wouldn’t have worked anyway, if 160 is to be believed.)

And every fear has a bit of manipulation in it, Gerry’s colour analogy rant and all. But The Web relishes in manipulation, in telling you true things that will lead you to the wrong conclusions to do what it wants. Michael was told he could stop a great evil. True! Sort of!

Anyways, Web!Michael when

[the-siberian-wolf]

Self-diagnosis isn't valid

I'd also like to make something clear about neurodivergent online spaces: self-diagnosing doesn't exist. You can't self-diagnose, you lack the medical and psychological knowledge to properly evaluate yourself. Not even medics are allowed to self-diagnosed themselves.

Yes, I'm aware of all the arguments in favour, but they're meaningless. I recognize not everyone can afford it, but that's not excuse to go around saying you have autism, ADHD, bipolar...etc.

If anything, you may say 'I suspect I have x thing', and even then it shouldn't be taken as an affirmation.

I'm talking about all online communities, not only tiktok. They all have that hurtful conception of 'self-diagnosis'. And no, it isn't valid.

Suspecting and self-diagnosing are two different things. And as I already said, a random person can't diagnose themselves, no matter how many online quizzes they did, how many articles they've read, how many people they relate to (sometimes, to other 'self-diagnosers, which only makes it worse, creating an echo chamber of self-validation) or whatever.

[svnnykokoro]

Where Tf is my dad getting this from??? 😭

Around 2 days ago I had a discussion with my dad over if I had adhd or not because of my (VERY OBVIOUS) adhd symptoms, for context he was calling me an idiot, a dumb person, stupid, and lots more things to indicate that I am dumb like he usually says whenever I get one thing wrong (he is an echo chamber like that), but I don't believe any of what he's saying about me being stupid and I said that I have adhd (I have come to this conclusion after lots and lots of research) anD YOU KNOW WHAT HE SAID??? I AM BEING 100% SERIOUS WHEN I SAY THIS HE DENIED I HAD ADHD WHICH MAY NOT SEEM ANYTHING CRAZY OF THE SORT JUST REGULAR ABLEISM BUT YOU KNOW WHAT HE SAID AFTER THAT??? HE SAID HE KNOWS MORE ABOUT ADHD THAN ME AND HE *TOOK A COURSE ON ADHD* HE HAS ACTUALLY SAID THAT HE TOOK A COURSE LIKE THAT AND *THE THINGS HE SAYS GETS CRAZIER FROM HERE* HE SAYS THE CAUSE OF ADHD IS THE MOBILE PHONES AND IPADS AND TABLETS AND THE CURE FOR ADHD IS NOT MEDICATION BUT ITS FREAKING M E D I T A T I O N ADHD AND NEURODIVERGENT TUMBLR I NEED HELP WHERE IS HE GETTING THIS INFORMATION WHICH PSYCHOLOGIST SAYS THIS DOES A COURSE ON ADHD ACTUALLY EXIST AND ***HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GET AN ADHD DIAGNOSIS WHEN MY DAD KEEPS DENYING ALL THE PROOF OF MY ADHD I NEED SOME HELP TO PROVE MY ADHD TO HIM GUYS WHAT SHOULD I TELL HIM*** 😭😭😭

[bix-bom]

Marble hornets crew but as random things i do on the daily (you cannot stop me from self projecting)

Tim: wiping his nose with his hand even if his nose isnt runny, makes him look like hes on something but its just a stim or something swear. Also mouthing words/ talking to himself without actually saying anything and it makes people give him weird stares

Alex: Biting his nails/ constantly fidgeting with his mouth. Like biting his lip, flipping his tongue, chewing on a toothpick, running his tongue over his teeth, anything. Hes also a clothing fidgeter and runs his fingers across the seams of his clothes or buttons or something (anything easy to get his hands on)

Jay: Flapping his hands/ shaking them or just holding them out all stiff and awkward when hes overwhelmed or upset. Also flips his pencil an unnecessary amount when he switches from writing to erasing, like turning it once to use the eraser then flipping it 5 times before he actually starts writing

Brian: zoning out hard while eating food (hes so adhd coded to me) and constantly zoning out to the point of complete brain deadness. Also i think hes a finger tapper, will tap his fingertips on anything hes resting his hands on (jay also does this)

Jessica: messing with her hair, constantly twirling a strand or running her fingers through it with seemingly no control. Also runs her thumb across the back of her other hand when shes sitting with her hands clasped together

Seth: Cracks his neck a lot, like, a lot. He also messes with his earlobes a lot. Just grabs them between his pointer and his thumb and messes with it constantly. He also 100% puts his hand under his shirt a lot and its entirely subconscious it just happens

Sarah: constantly readjusting her hair when she puts it up in a ponytail/ claw clip or whatever. Like if one strand feels out of place its the end of the world and give her 3 minutes so she can fix it. Also squeezes her eyes shut really tight randomly, sees those worms you see when you rub your eyes ykwim

Amy: Humming a LOT. Also very fidgety with her shoes, if the tongue of the shoe feels wrong or the back is rubbing her ankle the wrong way she will fix it immediately. You were walking across the street? Damn thats crazy her shoelaces felt slightly uneven so she squatted right then and there and fixed them

I think as a group they all echo off of eachother. Like theyre a real echo chamber and its completely subconscious too. Alex will say a direction then everyone repeats it either as loud or quietly to themselves. Same inflection and tone and everything

They are so neurodivergent. Allofem.

[peachjagiya]

https://www.tumblr.com/peachjagiya/758444605951918080/hi-peach-first-off-i-havent-had-a-chance-to

I became an ARMY in 2015. It took me good four years to enter the fandom and I left it in 2021 after two years solely because of the high level of its toxicity. It shattered me and I left myself there. Three years have passed and I still haven’t moved on properly that’s why I have temporary relapses from time to time like now.

I just want less toxicity in the fandom. Shipwar ruined it ALL for me. Made my experience bitter as hell.

The ARMY fandom has long needed a proper purge, yet engagement comes directly through toxicity!

I just want the old fandom back. Those were better days. Less shipwar and fanwar.

Look at Y/oongi’s situation on Twitter. It’s been trending for days! And now AYS! Shippers are at each other’s throats!

I’m so fucking done with HYBE and its marketing policies/strategies which lead to narratives around BTS members and their interactions. So fucking done.

I'm not sure what it was like in the earlier days because I wasn't here. I'm probably not best placed to answer you here.

All the advice I have is find the people with the same kinds of vibes and attitude as you and curate your space. I find Tumblr quite nice for people with a good sense of humour, thoughtful opinions and rationale. Also probably most importantly to me, safe space opinions about the things that are make or break for me ie; LGBTQ+ issues, neurodivergency, sex positivity etc. I'm aware army twitter isn't that safe space for me so I don't spend much time there.

Block or unfollow liberally! Someone being a dick? Someone with dubious opinions? Someone who you just don't agree with? Block! Unfollow! It's not a crime!

I know people can be like "ooh so you just want an echo chamber? You only want to read the same opinions?" but I'm appreciating a musical group, not trying to solve world politics, you know? It's not that deep.

I hope you can find a nicer space to be in. 💜