#amplifying feedback loops

[capitalism-is-a-psychopathy]

Billionaires destroy more than they create

In a land often championed for its economic opportunity and equality, the American Dream promises that anyone who works hard can rise to prosperity. But for many in today’s middle and lower economic classes, that dream is fading, shadowed by a reality that feels increasingly rigged. At the heart of this issue lies a stark and glaring imbalance: billionaires, a minuscule fraction of the population, wield a staggering concentration of wealth and influence. This is not just an issue of economics but one that touches the foundations of democracy and fairness.

Imagine the economy as a massive machine, built to churn wealth throughout society. In an ideal world, this wealth would cycle effectively, where each part contributes and benefits in turn. But as billionaires amass wealth at unprecedented levels, this machine has come to function more like a funnel, siphoning resources from the broader society and concentrating them at the very top. This dynamic, driven by complex financial structures and tax strategies, isn’t merely an accumulation of personal fortunes but a systematic extraction from the economic potential of others. The capital that could have flowed through wages, education, and public infrastructure is often diverted into private bank accounts and shell companies, rarely benefiting the people who drive and build the economy day by day.

As wealth accumulates at the top, so too does political influence. Billionaires, with vast financial resources, can fund political campaigns, lobbyists, and entire networks of think tanks dedicated to shaping policy. Through these channels, they push for tax policies, regulations, and trade agreements that benefit the ultra-wealthy at the expense of middle- and lower-income families. Politicians, indebted to these donors, increasingly look to billionaire interests rather than to constituents’ needs. This creates a disturbing feedback loop: billionaires influence politics to further policies that reinforce their own wealth and power, leaving the broader populace with dwindling opportunities to influence their own government.

This concentrated power extends far beyond campaign finance and lobbying. With ownership over significant segments of media networks, billionaires control the narratives that millions consume daily. Through these media outlets, they shape public opinion, diverting attention from policies that would challenge wealth accumulation and pushing narratives that frame the ultra-wealthy as essential “job creators” or “innovators” rather than acknowledging their role in widening economic divides. Issues that might threaten their economic stranglehold are often buried, while others, that create division and distract, are amplified.

For the middle and lower classes, this confluence of wealth, media, and political power has a real impact. Stagnant wages, diminishing job security, and rising costs of living aren’t natural outcomes of a complex economy—they’re symptoms of a system shaped to benefit those at the top. Policies that could lift working-class Americans, like raising the minimum wage, universal healthcare, or better labor protections, are often stifled in legislative deadlock, thanks in part to the political influence of the ultra-wealthy who stand to lose from them.

So, as this cycle continues, the gap between billionaires and everyone else widens. The billions accumulated at the top no longer signify mere success but a barrier to mobility for everyone else. The middle and lower classes find themselves carrying the economic burdens, often working harder for less. Meanwhile, billionaires remain insulated, living in a different economic reality, one far removed from the struggles of the average American. This isn’t just an economic imbalance but a distortion of democracy itself, as the machinery of power and influence is pulled further from the reach of ordinary citizens and held more tightly by those whose interests rarely align with theirs.

Without addressing this imbalance, the promise of opportunity, the cornerstone of the American Dream, becomes less attainable with each passing year, not just for the lower and middle classes but for the nation’s future as a whole.

Addressing their manipulation

Billionaires and their advocates often employ a familiar set of narratives to justify their wealth and the structures that enable it. These arguments, framed in terms of the free market, capitalism, or fear of socialism, are not only misleading but often serve to distract from the deeper systemic issues at play. Below is a breakdown of these claims and the counterarguments that expose their flaws:

1. “It’s Just the Free Market at Work”

The myth of the “free market” implies that billionaires achieve their wealth purely through talent, innovation, and competition in a market where everyone has equal opportunity. But in reality, the U.S. economy is far from a genuinely “free” market.

Counterpoints:

• Government Subsidies and Tax Breaks: Many billionaires’ businesses rely heavily on taxpayer-funded subsidies, special tax breaks, and other forms of government assistance. Large corporations frequently lobby for policies that grant them tax advantages, including offshore loopholes and capital gains tax breaks. This creates an environment where they aren’t competing on equal ground but rather with significant state support, distorting the market in their favor.

• Anti-Competitive Practices: Many large corporations, especially in tech and finance, engage in monopolistic behavior, buying out competitors or using aggressive tactics to drive them out of the market. This concentration of power stifles competition, contradicting the notion of a “free” market where anyone can succeed if they work hard.

• Inherited Wealth and Privilege: A significant portion of billionaire wealth is inherited rather than self-made. Generational wealth compounds, giving the ultra-wealthy an enormous head start over those without similar family resources. This challenges the idea that wealth accumulation is simply the product of individual merit or a fair market.

2. “This Is What Capitalism Is Supposed to Look Like”

The argument here suggests that capitalism is an inherently competitive system, where the most successful rise to the top, benefiting everyone through innovation and job creation. This narrative hinges on the idea of “trickle-down economics,” where the wealth of the richest eventually spreads throughout society.

Counterpoints:

• Trickle-Down Economics Doesn’t Work: Decades of evidence show that wealth rarely “trickles down” to the rest of society in any meaningful way. Income inequality has only widened, with wages stagnating for most workers while billionaire wealth has soared. Billionaires tend to reinvest wealth in ways that concentrate their holdings, like in stocks, rather than in ways that benefit the broader economy.

• Wealth Extraction, Not Wealth Creation: Many billionaires achieve and maintain their fortunes through rent-seeking behavior—extracting wealth from existing resources rather than creating new value. Hedge funds, private equity, and real estate empires often profit by cutting costs (like labor) rather than by innovating or producing new goods and services. This dynamic benefits investors but hurts workers and consumers.

• Capitalism Can Take Other Forms: The capitalism practiced in the U.S. today, sometimes called “neoliberal capitalism,” focuses on minimal regulation, tax cuts for the wealthy, and privatization. However, other countries demonstrate that capitalism can function with stronger social safety nets, wealth redistribution policies, and tighter regulations on corporate power. Nordic countries, for example, balance capitalism with robust welfare systems, ensuring a more equitable distribution of wealth and services.

3. “Without Billionaires, There Would Be No Innovation or Job Creation”

A popular myth is that billionaires are essential “job creators” and “innovators” whose wealth ultimately benefits society by funding new businesses and creating employment. This claim positions billionaires as indispensable to economic growth.

Counterpoints:

• Public Funding Fuels Innovation: Many of the biggest technological advances, including the internet, GPS, and medical breakthroughs, were developed with public funding rather than billionaire investments. Government research grants and subsidies often lay the groundwork for major innovations that billionaires later profit from. In other words, society bears much of the financial risk, while billionaires reap the rewards.

• Small Businesses Create Most Jobs: Small businesses, not billionaires or large corporations, are responsible for most job creation in the United States. Big corporations often eliminate jobs through automation, outsourcing, or consolidation. They may employ a large workforce, but they also tend to exploit workers through low wages, precarious employment, and cost-cutting measures.

• Billionaires Accumulate Wealth Through Wealth, Not Innovation: Many billionaires maintain their wealth not by creating jobs or innovating but by using their existing capital to generate more wealth, often through financial instruments that have little to do with actual economic productivity. Stock buybacks, dividends, and passive investments grow their fortunes without necessarily contributing to broader economic prosperity.

4. “Any Alternative Is Socialism or Communism”

When calls arise for higher taxes on the wealthy, stricter regulations, or broader social programs, the response is often to invoke the fear of “socialism” or “communism.” This argument seeks to paint any attempt at wealth redistribution or regulation as a slippery slope toward total government control.

Counterpoints:

• Social Safety Nets and Regulations Are Not Socialism: Social safety nets, progressive taxation, and regulations do not equate to socialism or communism; they’re features of a balanced capitalist system that seeks to prevent extreme inequality and protect public welfare. Countries like Germany, Canada, and Denmark combine regulated capitalism with strong social programs, resulting in healthier economies and greater well-being for citizens without abandoning capitalism.

• Inequality Threatens Capitalism: Growing inequality and economic instability can undermine the foundations of capitalism. A healthy capitalist economy requires a strong middle class with buying power, which excessive wealth concentration undermines. Reforms like progressive taxation, labor protections, and universal healthcare aren’t a rejection of capitalism but rather a means of stabilizing it.

• Historical Success of Mixed Economies: Many of the most successful and prosperous countries practice a mixed economy, where capitalism coexists with social policies that promote equality. The U.S. itself has employed a mixed economy model in the past, particularly after the New Deal, which implemented social safety nets, labor protections, and financial regulations that led to a period of unprecedented growth and prosperity for the middle class.

5. “They Earned It Fair and Square”

Finally, the idea persists that billionaires deserve their wealth because they “earned” it. This argument suggests that any policy aiming to redistribute wealth is fundamentally unfair, penalizing those who worked hard to succeed.

Counterpoints:

• Systemic Advantages and Wealth Hoarding: As previously mentioned, many billionaires begin with advantages—like family wealth or elite educational opportunities—that aren’t available to most people. Additionally, billionaires often employ complex strategies to avoid taxes, lobby for favorable regulations, and capitalize on government subsidies. These factors mean they haven’t earned wealth solely through hard work or merit.

• Billionaires Didn’t Build Alone: No billionaire operates in isolation; they rely on infrastructure, public education, and the work of thousands or millions of employees. A CEO’s wealth is made possible by a web of collective contributions, yet that wealth is rarely shared equitably. While billionaires might be rewarded for their role, their fortune is far from the result of individual effort alone.

In short, these narratives around billionaires often mask a more uncomfortable truth: today’s system is structured in ways that favor the ultra-wealthy at the expense of the broader population. Economic reform, rather than a threat to capitalism, is a necessary step to ensure a more just, equitable society where wealth accumulation doesn’t depend on privilege, influence, or systemic manipulation.

Making a change

Addressing the economic imbalance and the unchecked power of the ultra-wealthy presents a unique challenge, especially given the intense political polarization in the United States. For the middle and lower classes to push back effectively, they will need to build a coalition that transcends party lines and focuses on shared economic interests rather than divisive rhetoric.

1. Build Awareness Through Shared Issues, Not Ideology

The rhetoric around “free markets” and “socialism” often obscures real issues of economic struggle that affect both conservative and progressive working- and middle-class citizens alike. Instead of framing the issue in ideological terms, framing it in terms of tangible, shared grievances can help bridge the divide:

• Focus on Economic Inequality: Income stagnation, unaffordable healthcare, and housing insecurity are felt across the political spectrum. By shifting the narrative from “class warfare” to “economic fairness,” advocates can sidestep partisan language and emphasize the shared experience of economic struggle.

• Highlight the Impact of Corporate Power on Local Communities: Framing issues around how large corporations hurt small, local businesses can resonate strongly with both sides of the political spectrum. This approach often taps into conservative values around community and self-reliance, while also aligning with progressive critiques of corporate overreach.

2. Organize Around Labor Rights and Worker Protections

Historically, unions have been instrumental in improving working conditions and advocating for fair wages, and labor movements transcend political divisions. Many Americans—left, right, and center—share concerns about the erosion of workers’ rights, stagnant wages, and the declining influence of the average worker.

• Expand Union Participation and Labor Movements: Reinvigorating unions and expanding labor protections could give workers a stronger collective voice. New labor movements that focus on economic rights without overtly partisan language could attract support across the political spectrum, particularly when they champion issues like fair wages, workplace safety, and job security.

• Support Worker Cooperatives and Employee-Owned Businesses: Promoting models like worker cooperatives or employee-owned businesses can offer a compelling alternative to the current structure of corporate ownership without resorting to divisive rhetoric. These models prioritize local control and shared economic benefits, appealing to values of self-sufficiency and fairness.

3. Pressure Politicians on Key Economic Policies

A key to bridging the partisan gap is to focus on policies that benefit the broader populace rather than framing them as part of any ideological agenda. The majority of Americans, regardless of political affiliation, support policies like fair taxation, healthcare reform, and increased access to education when framed in terms of fairness and opportunity.

• Promote Tax Reform as “Fairness,” Not Redistribution: Instead of advocating for “redistribution,” proponents can push for tax policies that ensure everyone pays their fair share. Policies like a wealth tax or higher taxes on capital gains can be framed as holding the ultra-wealthy accountable rather than demonizing them, a stance that resonates with people who value fairness and personal responsibility.

• Advocate for Antitrust Legislation: Pushing for stronger antitrust laws to break up monopolies and prevent anti-competitive practices can appeal to both sides. For conservatives, this aligns with the values of market competition; for progressives, it aligns with corporate accountability and consumer protection.

4. Engage in Alternative Media and Independent Journalism

The ultra-wealthy often own or influence major media outlets, which can shape public opinion in ways that protect their interests. For the middle and lower classes to gain a clearer view of economic issues, alternative media sources and independent journalism that aren’t beholden to billionaire interests are crucial.

• Support Independent News Outlets: A growing number of independent news organizations are dedicated to in-depth economic reporting without catering to corporate interests. Supporting these outlets allows individuals to access a range of perspectives that help reveal the true impact of policies on ordinary people.

• Utilize Social Media Responsibly to Build Cross-Party Awareness: Social media, while often a divisive force, can also be used to spread information about economic injustice. When used responsibly to share facts, case studies, and stories of economic hardship, it can cut through the rhetoric and provide people across the political spectrum with a shared understanding of the issues.

5. Prioritize Voting Reform and Campaign Finance Reform

Money in politics is one of the core reasons why economic policies favor the wealthy. Bipartisan support for reducing corporate influence in politics is possible, especially when the focus is on fairness, transparency, and accountability in government.

• Promote Campaign Finance Reform as an Anti-Corruption Effort: Campaign finance reform, which seeks to limit the influence of wealthy donors and corporations on elections, can appeal to conservatives and liberals alike who are frustrated with the influence of money in politics. Instead of framing it as an anti-capitalist measure, framing it as an anti-corruption measure can attract broader support.

• Support Voting Reforms for a More Representative Democracy: Reforms like ranked-choice voting, ending gerrymandering, and preventing voter suppression can help create a political environment that more accurately represents the will of the people rather than special interests. By creating a more representative democracy, policies that reflect the economic needs of the middle and lower classes have a better chance of being enacted.

6. Create Cross-Partisan Grassroots Coalitions Focused on Economic Issues

Many grassroots organizations are focused on economic justice, but they tend to align themselves with one side of the political spectrum, often losing potential support in the process. Building cross-partisan coalitions that emphasize shared economic challenges rather than ideological differences could foster stronger, more united advocacy for middle- and working-class issues.

• Organize Around Issues, Not Parties: Groups like the Poor People’s Campaign, which focuses on poverty and economic justice, have successfully united people across political lines around issues that transcend party loyalty. This approach allows people to focus on their shared struggles, making the movement harder for politicians to ignore.

• Build Community-Level Alliances: Many economic issues are felt acutely at the local level. By focusing on community-level initiatives that address healthcare, affordable housing, and education, people can create practical, on-the-ground solutions that don’t require alignment with national politics. These local successes can serve as models for broader change.

7. Emphasize Civic Education on Economic Policies

Finally, bridging the gap will require education and awareness. Many people accept billionaire-fueled rhetoric because they lack exposure to alternative perspectives. Civic education efforts that focus on teaching economic principles, tax policy, and the influence of corporate power can empower people to understand the real impacts of current policies on their lives.

• Create Accessible Educational Resources: Podcasts, documentaries, workshops, and community discussions can all serve as tools for demystifying economic issues. When people have a clearer understanding of how things like tax policies and wage laws work, they are better equipped to make informed decisions.

• Promote Financial Literacy and Empower Individuals: Financial literacy programs that help individuals understand budgeting, credit, and investments empower people to navigate the economy more effectively. While this doesn’t directly address systemic issues, it gives individuals a greater understanding of the forces shaping their lives and can be a first step toward broader engagement.

By approaching these issues with a focus on shared struggles, fairness, and practical solutions, the middle and lower classes can work together to build a movement that transcends political divides. This movement can challenge the status quo without becoming mired in divisive ideological battles. The real strength of such an effort lies in its ability to unite ordinary people around a common vision for a fairer, more just economic system—one that serves all citizens, not just the wealthiest few.

[sirfrogsworth]

Clinging to sanity

Summary of this post...

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

And the big finale...

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

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

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

Alright, here we go...

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

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

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

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

Insane Froggie Brain ignores this rule.

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

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

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

What I'm trying to say is...

People need their emotional defenses.

People need their filters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It currently has 49 notes.

I'm afraid I did not fix trans rights.

Sorry about that.

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

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

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

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

Also, my phone is falling apart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I let the warranty expire.

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

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

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

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

I felt like I was stuck in a hole.

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

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

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

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

But... my support system fell apart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have been pretending like it isn't happening.

Which is not working great.

I've been trying to hire a therapist.

They all have months-long waiting lists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, what is my plan?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I am pretty screwed now.

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

But I have one problem...

I mean, aside from the myriad problems already described.

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

My uncles don't like me very much.

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

One uncle even accused me of stealing from my dad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So I am writing my uncles a letter.

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

I am telling them everything.

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

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

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

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

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

People say I write good sometimes.

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

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

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

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

It made me cry.

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

And it gave me an idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was successful and I worked hard despite my disability.

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

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

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

I am not a basement dwelling loser.

My website was more than a silly hobby.

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

I did not steal from my parents.

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

I am disabled.

I cannot get a job.

I am a good person.

I am a likable person.

I was a good son.

I took good care of my parents.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just remember your audience is...

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

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

So... kinda running the gamut there.

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

I will be anonymizing your names for obvious reasons.

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

Explaining "The Frogman" is hard enough.

Anyway, thank you in advance.

[dakusan]

📁 ASK D U M P 𓆩🩸𓆪 18 JUNE 2025

🩸 Welcome to the today's Ask Dump.

If you see your ask here: yes, I drank it. yes, it screamed. yes, I moaned.

Today it is messy, horny, heartfelt. So grab a bib, sharpen your teeth, and let’s get feral.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

💞ANON LOGGED: “can they suck my feelings too or just my neck?”

OH BABY. you just fed me a five-course lore buffet with dessert. buckle up. let’s talk EMOTIONAL VAMPIRES in the SKZ vamp universe.

⸺⟡⸺

🧛‍♂️💘 CAN VAMPIRES FEED ON EMOTIONS?

YES. YES THEY CAN.

But only the powerful ones—usually the Abnormals. They don’t need emotions to survive, but they crave them like spice on blood.

Blood keeps their body alive. Emotion? That’s the high. That’s the intoxication. That’s soul fuel.

🩸🔥 TYPES OF FEEDING:

1. Blood-Only Feeders (Normals)

They get what they need from physical blood.

Clean. Simple. No psychic ties.

But it lacks… depth.

2. Blood + Emotional Feeders (Abnormals)

These sick bastards bite your neck and then feel everything you’re feeling.

They get drunk on your fear. High on your desire. Warm off your affection.

Bonded vamps? Even worse. They can sync up with you emotionally and feed off what you're not saying.

😵‍💫 WHAT KIND OF EMOTIONS FEED THEM?

😈 Fear: spicy, electric—like espresso shots. great for battle-mode. also addictive. 💔 Sadness: deep, thick, lingers on the tongue. leaves them melancholic after. ❤️ Love: euphoric. golden-honey rush. makes them protective AF. 😡 Anger: sharp, metallic, burns a little. gives them a power surge. not sustainable. 😏 Desire: sweet poison. strongest during sex or when you're on the edge of begging. makes their instincts go feral. 🤍 Trust: rarest flavour. tastes like divinity. anchors their mind. calms their rage state. only found in bonded pairs.

🛏️ BLOOD + FEELINGS DURING SEX?? OH YES. YES MA’AM.

sex with an emotional feeder vampire is like:

getting fucked physically

getting drained emotionally

and still feeling more full afterward than you’ve ever been.

They’ll sink their fangs into your neck while you’re crying, moaning, trembling—and the combo of blood + raw feelings?? Ecstasy. For them and you.

when it’s your soulmate? it’s a feedback loop. they feed off your love + lust, which makes them more intense, which makes you feel more, which makes them bite deeper.

…it spirals until one of you blacks out or cries.

🤯 HOW IT AFFECTS YOUR BOND:

Positive emotions deepen the bond. Reinforce safety, love, soul tie.

Negative emotions can either strengthen it (through intensity)… or corrupt it if the vamp isn’t emotionally regulated.

Feeding during sex can fuse your auras. Some vampires never feed that way unless you’re the one.

you let them take your blood and your feelings during orgasm? ✨ congratulations. you’re married. ✨

⸺⟡⸺

thank you for feeding me with this question. come again baby 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🌹 anon LOGGED: “ignoring my migraines until i look like a Victorian ghost—how doomed are they?”

🌹 anon, you wanted to know how vampire!SKZ would react to a Blood Doll/Soulmate with debilitating migraines who ignores them until collapse?

buckle in. because they’re not handling it well.

⸺⟡⸺

🧛‍♂️💥 VAMPIRE!SKZ REACT TO YOU IGNORING MIGRAINES

Lore rule: vampires—especially bonded ones—feel their soulmate’s pain like it’s their own. they don’t just sense it. they get hit with it. amplified. distilled. so when you're trying to function with a skull-shattering migraine? they’re over here pacing the floor with bloodshot eyes and barely suppressed panic.

Bang Chan He knows before you do. The second the pressure starts building behind your eyes, he goes tense. You’re brushing it off like, “I’m fine.” He’s already blacking out windows and grinding his molars.

“You’re not fine. Sit the fuck down, sweetheart—I’ll carry you if I have to.”

He gets scarily gentle. Pulls you into his lap in pitch darkness. Holds your temples like sacred things. If you flinch, he flinches harder. If you cry, he looks like he wants to rip your skull open just to relieve the pressure. He will literally lie there, unmoving, barely breathing—because any sudden motion might worsen yours.

Lee Know You ignoring pain? He takes that personally.

“So you knew it was starting, and just… what? Hoped you’d die before doing something about it?”

Not even mad at you—mad at himself for not catching it sooner. He starts shutting down stimuli: lights, sounds, scents. You’re in a full-on Minho-modified migraine-safe nest within five minutes. Then? He just lays next to you. Face unreadable. Jaw locked. You feel a cold hand on your back, and you know—he’s furious at the universe for hurting you.

Changbin His panic is visible. Like a bouncer who just saw his most precious thing get cracked.

“You didn’t say anything. Why didn’t you—fuck, baby, you’re shaking.”

He immediately gets physical: carrying you, pressing you to his chest, massaging your scalp, neck, shoulders—anywhere the pain radiates. He kisses your temple with a desperation that’s almost violent. His voice drops to a whisper.

“Give it to me. I can take it, just… let me help.”

He means it. He’ll absorb whatever pain he can—bleed himself if it makes you feel anything less than agony.

Hyunjin He cries. Sorry. But it’s angry crying.

“You knew it was hurting and you still pushed through? You hid this from me?”

He’s on his knees beside the bed, stroking your hair with trembling fingers, muttering soft, desperate things in between little wet kisses on your fingers or cheek. He hates seeing you flinch from light. Hates not being able to take it away instantly. He will paint you a pitch-black ceiling mural to stare at when it passes.

Han Jisung His brain short-circuits. Your migraine triggers his psychic overload.

“Okay okay okay—pressure behind the eye, okay, sound off, lights off, no movement, cool air, water with magnesium—do you need tea? Ice pack?? I’ll bite you, just say the word???”

He starts rambling solutions, trying to soothe you with jokes but he’s barely holding it together. Ends up curled next to you whispering things like

“I’m right here. Not going anywhere. You’re my whole nervous system, you know that?”

Also makes eight backup migraine kits and hides them everywhere.

Felix Goes full guardian angel. But the moment he realizes how much you’re hurting? His light dims. His aura cracks.

“You poor thing... I can feel how much it hurts. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

He carries you gently, places cool kisses on your brow, runs his fingers through your hair like a lullaby. He hums for you. His voice helps realign your energy. He’s the one who makes you cry from how loved you feel. (also, he’s crying too.)

Seungmin Looks calm. Is not calm. He’s rage-shaking inside.

“You what? You ignored it until it felt like your skull was going to split open? Do you enjoy suffering?”

He immediately starts reorganizing your life. You’re getting on supplements. You’re getting sleep. He’s setting reminders in your phone and his. But under all that sharpness?

“I can’t watch you in pain and do nothing. Don’t make me feel that helpless again.”

He’ll spoon you in total silence, his voice soft in your ear:

“I’ll hurt the world for doing this to you. Just not you. Never you.”

Jeongin You try to laugh it off, and he’s just standing there, shaking his head, all disappointed.

“You always do this. Why can’t you let yourself be weak when it matters?”

He’s gentle, but scolding. Sits next to you like a stubborn cat. Presses an ice pack to your neck. Rubs your hand with his thumb until you fall asleep.

⸺⟡⸺

🌹 anon, you crowned me Ruler of the Shadows and i can't thank you enough. thank you. for the love, for the chaos. your pain tolerance is terrifying. come back any time 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🐰 anon LOGGED: “i begged my vampire for a baby and now i’m feral, in labor, and clenching his hand like a crucifix”

🐰 anon, you just opened the most sacred door in vamp!SKZ lore: “Give me a baby” and “Now it’s trying to kill me from the inside.”

let’s go.

⸺⟡⸺

🧛‍♂️🍼 VAMPIRE!SKZ WHEN YOU:

1. Beg Them for a Baby

2. Go Through Labor (and make them live through it too)

💥 Lore note: In this universe, pregnancy with a vampire—especially an Abnormal—is biological warfare with glitter. The fetus is part magic, part blood oath, and part “oops, the baby just kicked through a rib.”

Bang Chan

1. You: “Please, I want your baby.”

He freezes. Visibly short-circuits.

“You… want mine? My child? You want to carry that inside you?”

Then it hits him. Someone wants his legacy. His blood. His soul.

“You don’t have to beg, angel. I’ll give you as many as your body can hold.”

He fucks you like he’s blessing you. Praise kink in overdrive. Kisses your stomach like it’s already carrying royalty.

2. Labor hits:

He does not leave your side. He does not let go of your hand. He does not stop whispering:

“You’re doing so well. You’re everything. You’re mine. Just a little more, I’m right here—we’re right here.”

He cries when the baby cries. Holds the baby like he's holding a holy relic.

Lee Know

1. You: “I want your baby.”

His eyes narrow.

“Are you sure?” Then darker: “You want something half me? Something dangerous. Something no one else could ever take from us?”

He grabs your throat and kisses you like it’s a promise.

“You’ll carry my blood. And I’ll guard you like the empire you are.”

2. Labor hits:

He is silent but deadly. You scream—he flinches. Not from fear, from rage at your pain. He keeps wiping your sweat. Keeps holding your jaw steady.

“Breathe. You’re stronger than this. Stronger than me. Stronger than everything.”

When the baby’s born, he holds them like a damn prayer.

Changbin

1. You: “I want to have your baby.”

He CHOKES. Then moans.

“Fuck. You want my baby? Like, in you? Like… making you round and glowing and—fuck.”

He kisses your stomach like a shrine. Nuzzles your thighs. Holds you like you’ll break. And then breaks you.

“I’ll be such a good dad. They’ll have your eyes. Please—let me give you everything.”

2. Labor hits:

He’s sweating more than you.

“What do you mean you’re only 4cm? FOUR? Is that good?? Is she DYING???”

He’s panicking, pacing, sobbing quietly while whispering, “You’ve got this, babe.” When the baby’s out? He collapses to his knees.

Hyunjin

1. You: “I want your baby.”

Tears. Real ones.

“You want… a piece of me inside you? For nine months? You want to make art with my DNA?”

Immediately picks you up and carries you to bed like you’re a princess. He writes poetry to your womb. Rubs oil on your belly every night while whispering sweet things.

2. Labor hits:

He cries with you. His hand is shaking. He feels every contraction in his chest like it’s devouring him. Kisses your face between every scream. Tells the baby to “please be gentle with mommy.”

Cries harder than the baby when it’s over.

Han Jisung

1. You: “Please give me a baby.”

He goes feral.

“You want to breed with me? Are you serious? I’ll knock you up SO fast—don’t threaten me with a good time!!”

One minute he’s flustered. The next he’s saying things like:

“Your body’s going to swell with me. Your tits are gonna get huge. Fuck. You’re gonna smell like baby and blood and me.”

2. Labor hits:

He’s praying in three languages and trying not to vomit.

“I read nine medical articles—this is the part where she starts throwing things, right?”

Still never leaves your side. Puts music on. Holds your hand. Cries. Cutest dad sobs when the baby grabs his pinky.

Felix

1. You: “I want a baby with you.”

He glows. Literally. You’ve never seen someone light up like that.

“A little piece of you and me? You really want that?”

He starts talking about nurseries and lullabies. Kisses your stomach before you even conceive.

“You’d be the most beautiful mother. I’d protect you both with everything I am.”

2. Labor hits:

He holds you through every contraction. Rubbing your back. Whispering.

“Breathe, my love. I'm right here. You’ve got me. Always.”

He’s calm. Steady. Loving. But when the baby cries? He sobs like he’s never seen joy before.

Seungmin

1. You: “I want your baby.”

He stiffens. Stares. Then:

“You think you can handle that?”

But his voice breaks. Because the idea undoes him.

“My child. With you. My blood inside your veins, inside your womb. You’d choose that?”

He’s possessive. Worshipful. Obsessive. Already planning everything.

2. Labor hits:

Looks calm. Inside? Absolute war zone.

“No, she doesn’t need more light. She needs silence. She needs water. Now.”

He advocates for you like a general. Holds you like you're fragile glass. Presses cold cloths to your skin. Kisses your temple.

He doesn’t cry when the baby is born born. Just holds them. Looks at you. And says:

“You’re everything. You’re unreal.”

Jeongin

1. You: “I want your baby.”

Panics. Blushes. Exhales.

“You’re serious?”

Then smirks.

“Guess I better fuck you properly, then.”

He talks about parenting like a fantasy—then follows through with complete focus.

2. Labor hits:

Jeongin goes silent. You cry out, and he just cups your face.

“I know, baby. I know. Just look at me.”

He doesn’t stop holding your hand, not for a second. He takes the baby in shaking arms and says:

“You did that. We did that. You’re… incredible.”

⸺⟡⸺

to 🐰 anon— thank you for bringing both the soft and the screaming into the crypt. i think we will need a bottle for the newborn. maybe a muzzle for dad 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🕷️ anon LOGGED: “okay but what happens when her period ends tho?? do the vampires stop feral-mode?”

yes. they go from “mine mine mine she’s bleeding I’m twitching” to “alright baby, let’s get you rehydrated and back on top of me.”

the scent calms down. the bloodlust eases. their brain fog clears. they go from full primal claim-and-devour mode back to their normal brand of overprotective, over-possessive, and still kinda horny selves.

🕷️ anon — thank you for your midnight bloodcycle brain. your loyalty to vampire menstruation theory is noted and honoured 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🦋 anon LOGGED: “she studied too hard so they made her stupid—in the most loving way possible”

🦋 anon, you wanted soft domestic bloodsuckers who can’t bear to see you stressed and feral boyfriends who fuck the exam anxiety out of you? you’re getting both.

⚠️ CONTENT WARNING — 18+ / NSFW This reply includes: overstimulation, dom!skz, soft smut, degradation/praise mix, stress relief through sex, and extremely nurturing vampire boyfriends who lovingly destroy your brain during exam season. If you're not into that — scroll past, scholar. If you are? Read on

⸺⟡⸺

🧛‍♂️📚 VAMPIRE!SKZ WHEN THEY FIND OUT:

You’ve been studying something you love (which makes them proud), but now you’re so stressed your brain is basically bleeding through your eyeballs.

And of course—you don’t tell them. You just spiral quietly until you collapse into the mattress like a Victorian scholar dying of too many flashcards.

The blood doll forgot to eat. The blood doll is shaking. The blood doll tried to rewrite all of human chemistry in one night. The blood doll is in danger.

Bang Chan

He finds you slumped over, muttering formulas with twitchy hands. The second he hears “I’m fine,” he shuts your laptop without asking.

“You’ve reached your limit, angel. Time to let me handle the rest.”

He doesn’t mean the studying. He means you.

Wraps you in his hoodie.

Carries you to bed.

Runs warm hands up your thighs, whispers, “Want me to make you forget everything but my name?”

He’ll overstim you into blankness, then hold your hand while you nap on his chest—notes still open, but you don’t need them anymore.

Lee Know

He doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He knows you’re not.

“You’ve been staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes. That’s not studying—that’s masochism.”

Takes your textbook. Tosses it. Sits you on his lap and kisses your temple while undoing your pants like he’s unwrapping a brain-cracked gift.

“You’re so smart. Too smart. But right now I need you dumb on my fingers, baby.”

He fucks the stress out of you with surgical precision—like he’s removing a toxin. You forget your major. You forget your own name. That’s how he likes you.

Changbin

“You’ve been doing this for how long? Baby, no. Come here. Come sit on my lap. Right now.”

He rubs your back. Kisses your shoulder. Gets you to breathe.

Then?

“You’ve been such a good girl. All week. Let me make you feel good. Let me make you dumb for me.”

He talks you through it. Touches slow and deep until you’re moaning and drooling and saying, “Exams? What exams?” And then he brings you water like an actual king.

Hyunjin

He watches you spiral and breaks before you do.

“You haven’t eaten. You haven’t slept. What are they doing to you?”

He pulls you into a nest of blankets. Lights candles. Rubs your temples with his thumbs and kisses you between whimpers. And when you finally beg for something else to distract you?

“You want me to take your mind off it? Okay. Okay. Just let go. Let go, baby.”

He fingers you slow while reading your flashcards in a whisper, just to mess with you. You cum to the sound of your own study notes. He’s evil.

Han Jisung

He finds you talking to yourself and immediately drops all his shit.

“Are you having a breakdown? Is this it? Is this the final boss of academia?!”

Immediately shoves snacks and water at you. Then immediately shoves himself between your thighs.

“You don’t need grades. You just need my cock in your throat until your neurons reset.”

He makes you giggle mid-fuck. Calls it “emotional tutoring.” When you cum? He kisses your forehead and goes,

“Congratulations. You passed the only test that matters.”

Felix

First reaction: panic. Second: pure nurturing mode.

“You poor thing... You love this subject, and now it’s hurting you.”

He brings you tea. Rests your head on his chest. Rubs your scalp. Then you whisper “please take my mind off it” and he goes feral.

“Let me spoil you. Let me ruin you. Let me make you forget everything but how good you feel.”

He overstims you with such care it feels like love therapy. You’re crying in his arms while he praises your effort and kisses your fingertips. Then hands you a chocolate bar like a trophy.

Seungmin

Sees the signs. Hears your voice tremble.

“You’re shaking. That’s enough.”

No arguments. He closes your laptop and stares until you follow him into the dark bedroom.

“You need to be reminded of your priorities.”

He teases. Denies. Edges you until you forget what studying even is. He makes you beg—then holds you so tightly afterward that you sob into his shoulder. That’s how he wants you.

“Your mind’s a weapon. But right now? Let it rest.”

Jeongin

Finds you looking like a corpse and immediately takes control.

“You’ve been reading this same page for an hour. You don’t need a degree—you need dick.”

Makes you laugh while undressing you. Still gentle. Still reverent. But also knows exactly how to fold you into pleasure until you forget what sleep deprivation feels like.

“Open your legs, baby. Let me tutor your body instead.”

Aftercare includes forehead kisses, water, and cheeky quiz questions mid-snuggle.

⸺⟡⸺

🦋 anon, my softest menace— thank you for this perfect post-exam delusion. rest now. hydrate. let vampire!SKZ handle the thinking for you. you’ve done enough, darling. they’ll take it from here—with mouths, fingers, fangs, and praise so filthy it resets your GPA.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🫧 anon LOGGED: “she draws him like she’s possessed—and he lets her, because he is”

my bubble anon, you asked for vamp!Hyunjin x artist soulmate — and i shall deliver.

⸺⟡⸺

🧛‍♂️🎨 VAMP!HYUNJIN x ARTIST!SOULMATE — DRABBLE

He finds you in your studio again. Barefoot. Shirt stained with graphite. Hair pinned up with a pencil. You're hunched over the canvas like it’s breathing—like it might bite you back if you get it wrong.

And him?

He’s frozen in the doorway. Watching. Starving.

Not for your blood this time. For your focus. Your furrowed brow. The way you stare at him like he’s the most important thing in the room.

“You’re doing it again,” he murmurs, stepping into the glow of your dim desk lamp. “Looking at me like I’m art.”

You don’t answer. You’re sketching the lines of his collarbone. Not stylized. Not romanticized. Documented. Every hollow, every curve—like you’re mapping your favourite ruin.

And Hyunjin? He lets you.

No snarling. No teasing. Just stillness. Worship.

He sits on your floor, leans against your legs, lets his head fall to your thigh while you work. His voice is velvet-tired: “You see things no one else sees.”

“You’re mine,” you whisper back.

His eyes flutter closed. “Then draw me until I disappear.”

You do. You sketch him as shadow and silhouette. As myth and madness. You draw him as you know him—ancient, broken, beautiful. He sees them later. Dozens of him. Soft. Brutal. Hungry. Reverent. Some with eyes blacked out. Some with fangs bared. One of him curled against your chest like he’s found God.

He never breathes while he looks at your art. He stares—jaw locked, throat working—like if he touches it, he might fall apart.

“This is how you see me?”

“Always.”

He pins you to the floor that night, fingers smudging charcoal across your ribs, lips red from biting down moans that would’ve woken the dead.

He fucks you like you’re the one that created him.

⸺⟡⸺

🫧 anon, thank you for this canvas of obsession. your ask was pure pigment and pulse. stay hydrated please 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🫂 anon LOGGED: “read the period fic and my uterus said peace — daku is the cure confirmed”

🫂 anon — first of all: I LOVE YOU. second: if my vampire fic made your period vanish like a cursed mist, then I’m officially writing prescriptions in blood from now on. you being cramp-free and thriving? that’s the real canon.

as for Spotify… let’s just say VX is everywhere and nowhere 👀. joking, i have added the links to both spotify and apple music on my pinned 😗(but if you want to search, you need to search the full name: Vexed Existence).

thank you for the love once again 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

© anon LOGGED: “what happens when someone takes her—or when her own mind does?”

© anon, you gave me one of the most primal prompts. and the answer is: they unravel. violently. lovingly. irreparably. let's dig!

⸺⟡⸺

🧛‍♂️ VAMPIRE!SKZ WHEN:

1. YOU GET KIDNAPPED

2. YOU HAVE A PANIC ATTACK

Bang Chan

KIDNAPPED:

The second he realizes you’re gone, he stops breathing.

His mind fractures into three:

calculating every possibility,

replaying the last time he held you,

imagining what they’re doing to you—and getting feral.

You are his center. His anchor. His reason. They took you? They just declared war. He doesn’t just find them. He tracks. He hunts. He tortures for intel with his bare hands. When he finally gets you back, he drops to his knees and wraps you in silence like armour.

“They touched you. They’re gone. It’s over. I’ve got you now.”

PANIC ATTACK:

He gets still. Hyper-aware. Voice soft. Hands careful.

“Breathe with me. In. Out. I’m here. You’re safe. I promise you—you’re safe.”

He shields you from everything—sound, light, thought. You’re tucked into his chest with his heartbeat in your ear like a metronome.

Lee Know

KIDNAPPED:

He doesn’t snap. He unfolds. Into something cold and lethal.

“Tell me where she is. You have one chance to live.”

He walks into dens like a ghost. No footsteps. No hesitation. He doesn’t speak again until he’s pulling you out, arms cut and bloody, pupils blown wide.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re not leaving my side again.”

Then he burns the whole place to the ground. Just in case.

PANIC ATTACK:

He doesn’t say much. He pulls you into his lap, tucks your head into his neck, and strokes your hair until your breathing slows.

“Let it happen. I’m not going anywhere.”

His stillness is your safety.

Changbin

KIDNAPPED:

He roars when he realizes you’re missing. Like actual bloodlust-noise tears through his chest.

“WHERE IS SHE?!”

He goes off instinct. Follows your scent. Punches through steel. Bends locks. Doesn’t stop until you’re in his arms and crying.

“You’re okay now. You’re okay. I swear, baby, I’m here.”

Then turns around and wipes out every last one of them.

PANIC ATTACK:

Immediate physical touch. Cradles you, rocks you slightly, presses kisses to your temple.

“I’ve got you. Just listen to my voice. You’re safe. You’re so safe.”

Will hold you for hours. Until the shaking stops. Until your mind lets go.

Hyunjin

KIDNAPPED:

He feels it. Before anyone tells him. Like his soul ripped sideways.

“She’s gone.”

Then he breaks. Screams. Collapses. And when he stands up again—his eyes are black, and someone’s about to die artistically. He finds you like you’re gravity. Holds you like a lifeline.

“Never again. I’ll kill anyone who touches you. I’ll kill the sun if I have to.”

PANIC ATTACK:

He cries with you. Feels it with you. Rocking, murmuring, whispering beautiful nothings in your ear.

“You don’t have to be okay right now. You just have to let me stay.”

Han Jisung

KIDNAPPED:

He loses his mind. His hands shake. His thoughts race. He’s sobbing and pacing and already planning bloodshed.

“They took her—they took her—they TOOK her—”

But once he locks onto a lead? Laser-focused. Brutal. Unhinged. He screams your name when he finds you. Cradles you like porcelain. Can’t stop kissing your face.

“I thought I lost you. I thought—fuck—I need you.”

PANIC ATTACK:

He’s chaos on the outside, but for you? He gets gentle.

“It’s okay. Let it out. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

Puts on your favourite playlist. Wraps you in a blanket burrito. Talks until you laugh through the tears.

Felix

KIDNAPPED:

He goes silent. His light shuts off. He smiles like a threat.

“Where is she?”

Then he goes hunting. Cold. Swift. Relentless. No hesitation. No mercy. When he finds you, he breaks. Cries into your hair. Kisses your fingertips.

“They’ll never touch you again. You’re mine. You’re safe.”

PANIC ATTACK:

He lights a candle. Lowers his voice. Holds your hand.

“Breathe with me, sunshine. You’re here. With me. Nothing else matters.”

So soft. So warm. So grounding. You don’t even realize you stopped panicking until he smiles.

Seungmin

KIDNAPPED:

He doesn’t panic. He plots. Calls in favours. Traces phone signals. Tracks heartbeat vibrations through magic and memory. And when he finds them?

“You took her. That was your last mistake.”

He gets you out. Carries you. Cleans your wounds. Holds you until you stop shaking.

“You’re safe. I made sure of it.”

PANIC ATTACK:

He speaks calmly. Firmly. He grounds you. Tells you what’s real.

“You’re with me. This is your hand. That is my voice. You’re in control.”

He becomes your anchor. Unshakeable.

Jeongin

KIDNAPPED:

His panic turns to wrath fast.

“Whoever took her? They’re already dead.”

He gets quiet. Deadly. Efficient. Breaks jaws with one hand. Cuts through security like smoke. When he gets to you?

“You held on. I knew you would.”

Tucks you into his coat and whispers, “You’re not leaving my side again.”

PANIC ATTACK:

Pulls you into his lap. Kisses your forehead.

“It’s okay. Let it come. I’ll hold you through it.”

He doesn’t let go. Even after. Even when you’re asleep.

⸺⟡⸺

© anon — thank you for unleashing this double-dose of feral protector energy and emotional devastation.

stay safe, stay hydrated, don’t get kidnapped. they can’t guarantee the body count if you do 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

✨ anon LOGGED: “tattoo jeongin carved his name into my brain and now i live here rent-free”

✨ anon — thank you for the love, the chaos, and for fully surrendering to the ink-drenched menace that is tattoo!Jeongin. you’re now officially branded with stardust, brat energy, and the right to scream for more anytime. your emoji is officially on the roster.

thank you and love you 🦇💋

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

if you survived this lore-ridden, uterus-wrecking, questionably legal archive of fangfuckery—

you are now infected. 🩸 your brain? compromised. 🩸 your morals? on fire. 🩸 your blood? already claimed.

📻 what are your thoughts on this new K-pop Group ALLDAY PROJECT and their new song FAMOUS???

💀 remember: i don’t do normal.

BLESS YOU FOR BEING HERE. COME BACK BLEEDING 💋🦇

[felikatze]

the silver & whisper dynamic is so fucking funny actually.

first silver starts as a whisper fanboy because Holy Shit a New Hero!! Silver's seeing the rise of someone he's never heard of and that's So Cool. it's proof the world is actually moving forward it's a symbol of hope.

(and whisper is entirely unaware of this and hates the attention)

but when they actually meet. good lord. silver at this point has been waiting for things to Go Bad for several weeks. ptsd and finally escaping his shit environment for good. meanwhile whisper is ALSO on hypervigilance because mimic is Out There and she is just waiting for things to go to shit, also.

same issues. same issues. the paranoia squad. and whisper is blinded to tact by her hatred and trauma around mimic, and silver is blinded to tact by his recklessness, and Both of them lack social skills (autism moment) and they just. get into the Paranoia Feedback Loop where they unintentionally egg each other on without realizing how insane they look to everybody else

resulting in whisper and silver stalking someone for an entire day and then attacking the guy in broad daylight.

it's so fucking good. i hope they sincerely try to kill mimic again and tangle has to stop them. tho i can also see silver stopping whisper from taking the shot considering silver's chill-out vacation and him having learn his lesson about how Things Can Be Fine, sometimes, whereas everything and everyone keeps pressing the retraumatize button on whisper.

absolute disaster duo whose issues amplify each other in terrible ways. do not let these two go on a duo mission alone. or do, and See What Fucking Happens

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

Is telepathy acoustic ? Like if two NightWings tried to read the other‘s minds would they just recursively amplify either dragon‘s thoughts in a feedback loop until it drones some kind of godawful static ? Would they have to stand at a certain trajectory for that to happen ? Or maybe they can tune to radio frequencies with parametric equalization and have like a built in limiter which would clip feedback transmitted on one input line but not the others

.

[drabbletron]

That was INCREDIBLE omg!! Can't wait to see what you come up with for part 2 :))

- 🐟

|| Hey, I didn't forget this ask! I just needed some time lol I still really like the self-cest stuff and will probably do more with it to other bots (Hound and Bluestreak). For now, have a part 2 (and maybe a part 3 in the future). Enjoy! ||

Two is Better Than One, But Three is Just as Fun: Swerve x reader x Holo!Swerve SMUT PART 2

PART 1

🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞

tw: self-cest??

It still makes him shudder with pleasure when he feels the ribs of his own spike against its entrance, and his own aft port tingles with the sensation, something rarely felt for cybertronians. Backdoor is exit only usually. It's not long before he's pulling back enough to catch the tip of his spike on the tight ring of muscles to poke in the tip. They're not as tightly constricted as before, but he can feel it twitch from the idea of taking himself again, being full again.

He teases the head of his spike at the entrance, prodding gently and slipping in a bit before pulling back out again repeatedly. Damn, the teasing is getting his charge up faster than before. Knows it’s because you're watching him. The feeling of something trying to make its way inside makes his holoform gasp and press back into his hips to take more. Swerve knows he's ready and slips his spike in slowly, savoring the stretch and heat that swarms his sensor net. Everything is amplified from his holomatter avatar in a dizzying feedback loop. Static undercuts his vocalizer.

After sinking in to the hilt he rests for a moment, glancing over to see you touching yourself in lazy strokes, slowly building your own heat. You notice him looking and spread yourself farther apart for him to see what you're working with. His engine revs at the look in your eyes and that rumbles right into his avatar making him whine. That sound, the feel, the look, this whole situation consumes him, and he grips the avatars hip with a servo, the other moved to the side like he’s seen in porn so you can see everything, and he's pulling back and shoving his thick cable inside. Over and over and then the yabbering starts.

"Mmm, like that, just like that!" Every word is punctuated by a deep thrust. Swerve is driving home so hard his avatar almost loses his visor. Little hands scrabble for purchase on the smooth berth, and he replies to himself.

"So huge! Filling my ass so good, fuck!"

"So tight on my spike! Better than I imagined, so hot."

His dirty talk tickles your brain just right and fresh waves of heat wash over you as you sink in the chair and add an additional hand into the mix. This is way better than any porn you’ve seen. Swerve fucks like he was made for it and does his best to put on a show of all the features he knows you like.

"Hey, maybe if --frag! -- if you like what you see we can try it like this sometime?"

He turns to see you 3 fingers deep in yourself and desperately trying to keep a straight face as you watch. Excitement washes over him and an idea springs to his processor, but you’re quick to catch onto what he’s thinking and make the offer first.

“How about right now?”

Swerve’s hips stutter and his engine rumbles in response.

“I can do right now.”

PART 1

[reverieshifts]

𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆

𝒔𝒄𝒊-𝒇𝒊 𝒅𝒓

Estimated Frequency: ~1 in 1,000 Velari

Velari Term: "Sha’lurei" 

Offworlder Term: “resonance”

𝒃𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒔

Lumen Node Function: The foundation of resonance-based abilities lies in the lumen node, a specialized neural cluster located near the upper spine, unique to the velari species. In resonants, this node exhibits hyper-synchronous neural oscillation, allowing it to function as a localized psionic amplifier. It contains an unusually dense lattice of iridesium-aligned neurofilaments—a bio-reactive crystalline structure found only in velari tissue—which enhances long-range synaptic cohesion and sensory processing far beyond baseline parameters.

Cognitive Resonance Field (CRF): Rather than emitting force, resonants interface with the ambient energy of space-time through a passive psionic field—an extension of their consciousness that subtly syncs with biological, emotional, and electro-mechanical rhythms in their environment. This “Cognitive Resonance Field” allows them to perceive, interpret, and gently manipulate localized energy patterns without direct contact.

Empathetic Feedback Loop: Resonants process external stimuli through a layered empathic interface, enabling them to “feel” spatial tension, neural dissonance, and even emotional signatures. Many describe the sensation as “walking through thought” or “hearing the world breathe.” This heightened feedback loop enables rapid threat detection, environmental awareness, and non-verbal communication through emotional echo.

𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔

Psychokinetic Manipulation: Through fine-tuned modulation of their CRF, a Resonant can exert subtle kinetic influence on physical objects. Rather than brute force, this manipulation stems from temporary energetic entanglement—an induced alignment between their own neural patterns and the vibratory signature of nearby matter. Movement appears fluid, almost instinctive; objects float, twist, or halt midair as if persuaded rather than forced. Precision scales with emotional clarity and environmental quietude, while range is limited by both psionic focus and spatial density.

Resonant Drift (Self-Levitation): By finely tuning their CRF to the kinetic frequencies of the immediate environment, a resonant can initiate a state of partial anti-kinetic equilibrium—a passive suspension that allows them to float or drift gracefully above the ground. Unlike propulsion-based flight, this “resonant drift” feels more like weightlessness anchored to emotional and spatial awareness. They tend to float instinctively when calm, contemplative, or emotionally overwhelmed. The effect becomes more stable in low-gravity environments or when they are barefoot and in full skin contact with their surroundings. Movement during drift is smooth, gliding, and eerily silent.

Neural Interface Override (“Soft Sync”): By attuning their CRF to simple electronic fields, a Resonant can override low-grade or analog electronic interfaces, such as doors, terminals, scanning systems, and older AI systems without neural shielding. This isn’t hacking—it's resonant subversion: they convince the system it’s already received proper authorization. The process is not instantaneous and requires direct proximity and focus. More complex or modern systems—especially encrypted or military-grade—typically resist this technique or trigger failsafes if improperly tuned.

Emotional Signature Mapping: Resonants perceive the emotional imprint of nearby sentients as complex tonal signatures within their field. These signatures fluctuate with mood, intent, and neural activity, enabling a trained Resonant to distinguish lies, detect concealed aggression, or sense psychological distress before it becomes visible. In groups, they can navigate emotional “weather,” identifying tensions, loyalties, or fractures long before they escalate.

Memory Resonance Touch: With direct skin contact and sufficient emotional synchronization, a Resonant can access echoes of memory embedded in living beings or objects with long-term energetic exposure. This is not a perfect playback, but a fragmented, emotional reconstruction—flashes of fear, joy, grief, or pain layered into the subject like a psychic fingerprint. They typically use this carefully, as overwhelming memories can bleed into their own consciousnesses, leaving them shaken or dazed.

Proximity-Based Thought Echo: While full telepathy is rare and unsustainable, Resonants are capable of passive thought-echo reception within close proximity. This typically manifests as fleeting impressions—unspoken words, images, or urges bleeding across the resonance field. Such impressions are strongest during heightened emotional states or direct physical contact. With deep bonds, this effect can intensify into partial shared cognition, allowing them to communicate without speech under stress.

Environmental Sensory Overlay: The CRF interfaces with a Resonant’s perception as an augmented sensory overlay, mapping environmental tension, motion, and energetic flow in real time. They can detect concealed movement, identify stress fractures in structures, track electromagnetic shifts, or feel malfunctioning machinery before failure occurs. In high-focus states, this field awareness extends through walls, into wiring, and along conduits—turning the space around them into a kind of living schematic.

Energetic Residue Tracing: Every living being and powered device leaves behind a faint resonant signature. A resonant can “listen” to these echoes in a given space to determine recent activity—detecting where someone stood, what systems were accessed, or what emotional state they were in. It works best on unaltered environments and within minutes or hours of the initial event. Older traces become distorted or overwritten. This ability makes them invaluable for post-incident analysis, tracking, or infiltration prep.

Neural Dampening Field (Perceptual Obfuscation): By dampening the outward frequency of their own resonance field, a Resonant can slip beneath the notice of most passive sensors and casual observation. This creates a soft perceptual blind spot, blurring details or delaying recognition in both sentient and synthetic awareness. It doesn't render them invisible—just forgettable. Useful for slipping past scanning systems or lingering unseen in plain sight, especially when paired with stillness and low emotional output. Stronger AI or high-alert targets may still detect them with effort. The effect is brief, typically measured in minutes.

Syncwalk (Micro-Teleportation Glimpses): In moments of deep focus or crisis, a resonant may “blink” across very short distances—instantaneous resonance displacement over a few meters. This is not true teleportation, but a momentary phase-skip, where their field synchronizes so tightly with space that it temporarily collapses and reforms their physical presence along a natural energy seam (such as a corridor, high-voltage conduit, or psionic turbulence vein). Side effects may include nausea, temporal dissonance, or mild electrical charge.

Psionic Disruption Pulse (“Breaker Note”): In moments of acute distress or self-defense, a Resonant can release a burst of destabilized resonance—an involuntary psionic shockwave that disrupts electronic systems, weakens mental shields, and disorients nearby sentients. This “Breaker Note” is not a weapon they control, but a side effect of violent resonance collapse. Systems flicker, glass fractures, and unshielded minds may experience vertigo, nausea, or blackout. Recovery varies by species and exposure.

Energetic Stabilization ("Resonance Sink"): In environments with fluctuating electromagnetic or psionic interference (e.g. hyperspace tunnels, collapsed sectors, psychic storms), a Resonant can act as a stabilizing presence. Their CRF naturally harmonizes nearby fields, creating a calm “bubble” that resists disruptive effects. This function is subconscious and limited in radius, but invaluable for helping allies stay grounded in unstable conditions. In prolonged crises, they often become the centerpoint others unconsciously gravitate toward—emotionally and physically.

Resonance Bonding (Selective): Through sustained exposure and mutual trust, a Resonant can form a biopsionic link with a specific individual. This bond allows for continuous emotional tracking, rapid non-verbal communication, and increased stability of both parties' CRFs when in close proximity. Such bonds are rare, often instinctive, and potentially permanent. Once formed, it is a two-way tether—one that transcends normal distance thresholds and occasionally manifests as shared dreams, dual-state reflexes, or unintentional synchronization.

𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒌𝒔

Energetic Depletion: While the CRF operates passively at low levels, active resonance manipulation consumes considerable neural and metabolic energy. Prolonged or intensive use—especially heavy psychokinesis, neural dampening field projection, syncwalking, or the release of a breaker note—can lead to symptoms of acute neural exhaustion, including dizziness, tremors, blurred vision, tinnitus, and spatial disorientation. In advanced stages, overextension may trigger nosebleeds, loss of motor coordination, unconsciousness, or psionic seizures caused by synaptic misfiring within the lumen node.

Emotional Instability: A Resonant’s power is intertwined with their emotional state. Intense emotions—fear, rage, grief—can amplify resonance uncontrollably. While this may grant temporary surges in power, it often results in field bleed, where the CRF spikes erratically, disrupting electronics, disorienting allies, or unintentionally projecting thoughts and memories outward. Emotional overload may also trigger the breaker note reflexively, endangering nearby personnel. Thus, Resonants are trained to regulate their emotional output carefully.

Cognitive Noise Threshold: Environments with high energetic interference—such as densely populated city centers, military command decks, or battlefields—can overload a Resonant’s sensory field. The constant barrage of emotional signatures, EM fields, and kinetic motion can produce a sensory “hum” that drowns out their fine-tuned perception. In these conditions, abilities may become muted, erratic, or outright disabled unless they can find stillness or an anchor point (such as a bonded individual).

Field Range Limitations: The Cognitive Resonance Field is localized, typically extending only a few meters from the user’s body. Precision psychokinetics and soft-sync interfacing require proximity within arm’s reach or line-of-sight. Emotional and sensory mapping is strongest within a 10–15 meter radius, and drops off sharply beyond that. A resonant cannot affect or perceive distant targets unless a direct bond has been formed—and even then, range is variable and unreliable.

Bond Vulnerability: Resonance bonds, while powerful, are also liabilities. Through them, a Resonant can experience echoes of pain, fear, or emotional collapse from a linked partner—and they from them. In moments of physical trauma or mental instability, the bond may destabilize both parties simultaneously, amplifying stress responses or creating shared disorientation. Severing a bond—voluntarily or by death—can trigger a complete CRF collapse, with unknown long-term neurological impact.

𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂

Ok, so there's a lot of information shoved into here, so sorry about that, but I love making myself overpowered, so yeah. Like with my description of the velari species, I tried to make this sound a little more scientific to fit with the whole sci-fi theme, so again, it may read like a bit of a report. But anyways, all this basically comes down to the fact that resonant velari are able to sync up with the world around them, and sort of convince reality to act as they please. Because resonance isn't control or manipulation, it's a discussion with the universe itself.

@aprilshiftz @lalalian

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

ok here's my half-hearted attempt to figure out the tripolar singularity

[ID: First image is a screencap of Fukuchi holding the space-time sword at his side; the blade glows bluish purple. The second is a colour portrait of Fukuchi from the manga. The last is a screencap of the Holy Sword from the anime, wreathed in blue light against a dark backdrop. End ID.]

The singularity is comprised of three components:

Shintō Amenogozen - The space-time sword, which allows the wielder to cut through time and space in a limited capacity. Created by an ability user to be used in shinto rituals 1500 years ago, Fukuchi used it for combat which made him nigh-unbeatable due to his ability amplifying the sword's range - from around 12 centimeters to a hundred-fold more: 1200 centimeters, or 1.2 meters. Interestingly, the original time limit seems to be the same - a limit of 12 seconds - so Fukuchi does not seem to have enhanced it temporally. An interesting line about it from chapter 86: "A katana infused with both the ill-omened and divine... At that time and place, what was unexpectedly materialized resembled the very law of the universe." Another from 114.5: "The space-time sword, said to have God himself dwelling within it."

Mirror Lion - Fukuchi's ability, which allows him to enhance any weapon he gets his hands on by a hundred fold. From his use of Shintō Amenogozen though, it seems as though he can amplify speed, strength and range but in only spatial dimensions, not temporally.

The Holy Sword Soluz Levni - The sword used to seal Bram, forged from an ability user who died and had their body turned to metal. It both attached to the brain of its victim and placed a Holy Seal on the hand of the one who wielded it, which is what allowed Fukuchi to use Bram's ability. It does this by consolidating "body" and "ability" into one, thereby merging the physical with the abstract. Bram has been stabbed with it twice.

As with any singularity, the key is to find the paradox or contradiction - as the space-time sword was the last component that set off the actual singularity, that's what we need to be looking at most closely. A singularity also takes one of two forms that we've seen so far - one, the clash of two or more similar abilities with no clear victor creates an unforeseen third effect (Odasaku vs Gide), and two, an interaction of ability on the self or with another ability creates a feedback loop that amplifies indefinitely and becomes much more powerful than its host (Rimbaud, Chuuya, Verlaine).

In order, Fyodor stabs Fukuchi with the Holy Sword, fusing body and ability. This may already cause a singularity - the physical and the abstract has been merged. We still don't really know what this means, but if you recall from Dead Apple, abilities can be temporarily separated from their "hosts", and from Stormbringer, abilities require a human or human-like soul/will to exist (with the exception of singularities), so while we don't know the true ramifications of this merge, we do know it's... significant, in some way. This part here is the big question mark to me.

But in this case, the result should be inert. This shouldn't cause anything in particular to happen - but it does, we assume, allow Fyodor to wield Mirror Lion through wielding the blade.

So when he stabs Fukuchi with the space-time sword, this is where, presumably, the feedback loop is created.

Mirror Lion is bound to Fukuchi's physical form and able to be controlled by Fyodor -> Shintō Amenogozen is stabbed into Fukuchi -> Fyodor holds the hilts of both swords, allowing him to amplify both simultaneously with Mirror Lion as the conduit -> ??? evil profit???

My current thought (really more of a shot in the dark than anything) is that Fyodor amplifying the Holy Sword also binds Shintō Amenogozen's ability to Fukuchi's body (so there are two abilities bound to one body now - one space-time cutting and the other constant amplification). This amplification is likely the source of that feedback loop that would amplify the ability into a singularity (so presumably, bye Fukuchi, for good now - he's ceased to be human, most likely), and now that both abilities are bound to Fukuchi on a physical plane... I suspect the time range can now be extended. It allows Fyodor to increase the range of time the sword can jump through far past its limits, and if Fyodor is now in control of how this time-cutting ability is directed, then theoretically, Fyodor may now be able to jump through time and space and alter the outcomes of various points in history. If he wants to rid the world of ability users, this would be a control freak's best means of doing so, I assume.

"Two heavenly blades bring forth unto this land, a miracle."

Essentially Fyodor may want to rewrite ability users out of the narrative, and so in order to use the Book (potentially) to do so, he needs to "prepare" the timeline so that removing abilities makes logical narrative sense (in keeping with the rules of the Book). Alternatively, he cannot use the Book because it may have been created by an ability user, so this would be an unalterable contradiction - he is forced to remove ability users by going back to do things manually, perhaps even by killing the original creator of the Book.

I am definitely going to turn out to be completely wrong on this, but I hope it was fun to read, nonetheless!

[demilypyro]

So after playing the game and turning it around in my head for several hours as I went back over all the info I gathered... here's what I personally think happened in Signalis.

This take isn't entirely comprehensive. There's a lot of elements I don't feel I'm smart enough to fully understand, and I acknowledge that the story being open to interpretation is the point. But this is what I took from the game.

During the war on Vineta, two soldiers of the Nation fight together against the Empire. Alina Seo and Lilith Itou. Spending many years together, the two fall in love.

Lilith dies in battle, and the Nation uses a backup of her personality to create the LSTR units. A heartbroken Alina is transferred to the Sierpinski mining facility on Leng.

On Rotfront, a young painter with latent bioresonant abilities named Ariane Yeong wishes to get away from it all. After completing her compulsory military service, she applies to the Penrose Program and spends many years in space, alongside her assigned Replikant unit: LSTR-512. Elster. Spending many years together, the two fall in love.

However, the Penrose Program was a setup. The ship was never intended to complete its mission. The Nation had become aware of Ariane's latent abilities and had assigned her on a doomed mission, shooting her off into space to die on a ship that would eventually break down. On the 3000th cycle of their mission, the pair learned that they had been abandoned. Unwilling or unable to do it herself, Ariane made Elster promise to end their lives rather than suffering. However, Elster couldn't bring herself to do it. As time passed, radiation began to leak from the ship's engines, and Ariane and Elster both developed cancer. Elster died from the illness before she could bring herself to fulfill her promise.

Strangely, Ariane did not die. Possibly by some mutation from the radiation interacting with her bioresonant abilities, she was unable to die. She would survive at least another 2000 cycles after the Penrose was set to run out of supplies, all the while in constant suffering. The ship eventually crashed on Leng. Ariane's uncontrolled, mutated bioresonant abilities came into contact with the various Kolibries inside the Sierpinski facility, and her suffering was shared and amplified exponentially as it spread and repeated itself along the bioresonant hivemind. A psychic feedback loop spread like a disease. All gestalts died. All the replikants who weren't mutated or destabilized were left fighting for their lives, but none could stay unaffected forever.

Meanwhile, an accident had occurred in which all backups of the original mental template of Lilith Itou were lost. As a substitute, the Nation started creating new LSTR units using the latest backup of a decommissioned LSTR unit belonging to the Penrose Program: a copy of the mind of Elster, decommissioned after 3000 cycles. However, having never read the instructions, Ariane had taken zero precautions to avoid destabilization. All new LSTRs put into service after that time were affected. They were prone to hallucinations, had trouble distinguishing the present from the corrupted memories of their lives as Lilith Itou, and were consumed by one thought: fulfilling her promise.

As time passed, dozens of LSTR units came to the Sierpinski facility. Their destabilized minds were unable to distinguish Ariane from Alina, the two loves of their two lives. Every time one of them entered the facility, their destabilization further worsened the cascade of bioresonant mutation affecting the people within, and Falke in particular found herself affected by Elster's memories. Adler tries his best to stop this, by killing any Elsters who appeared, but it was just delaying the inevitable. Ariane's memories and Elster's hallucinations combine with Falke's supernatural abilities, causing the facility to become warped by images and places from Ariane's past, even turning an entire area into a replica of Rotfront and conjuring apparitions of Isa, a long-dead childhood friend of Ariane's. How much was Elster's hallucinations and how much was Falke's reality bending abilities is unclear.

Finally, one of the Elster units successfully makes it through the impossibly warped facility, kills Falke, and fulfills her promise. By ending Ariane's life, the feedback loop of suffering is stopped, and the cycle finally ends.

[dandelionjack]

house is alive house keeps itself alive. House that perpetuates its own haunting and amplifies it like a feedback loop. ouroboros house . self-cannibalising house, pointless, meaningless, full of stolen souls yet so empty. and it’s christmas eve and there’s a murder mystery stuck on repeat. you can never leave. you are nothing and nobody and you die and work and die and work and die and

[avissapiens]

Bigger=dumber/Dumber=Bigger - Muscle feedback Loop Hypnosis

The more you grow, the less you need to think. The less you need to think, the more you can invest into your perfect growth. It's recursive; constantly amplifying and enhancing its effects in a never-ending, self fulfilling cycle that you would never even want to break free from. Let this feedback loop of size and carefree bliss take your life for a spin. Bigger=dumber=bigger=dumber. On and on forever.

Testimonials

"I've been listening to bigger=dumber like every day since it came out, Avis is right it's a banger

it's relaxing n compelling, and it's so right. I want this and gotta make it an active part of of my, willingly incorporate it more and more. sooo many good suggestions for making bigger and dumber a constant piece of your life lol

between this and good dumb bro, I've started to just, be happy thinking of myself as dumb. feeling relaxed letting myself be stupid around people I used to care about impressing. i just can't even think bout bothering with that pointless stress, being a dumbass bro feels good and makes me happy.

there's still smarts in me, and they're not going away for the times I need them, but I'm realizing more and more that I need them soo much less than I thought I did. I can let myself be an idiot and make mistakes and it's gonna be okay. it's gonna feel good. I don't have to think so hard all the time lotta words but Avis deserves lotta praise" - Dummypup(Discord) 9/10/23

"Feedback Loop is really really excellent

if you want to get lost in a mindless bliss where muscle is the only thing you can think about, this is the file for you. every action and each choice you make will feed right back into the feedback loop. eating. growing. dumbing. it's all part of the same chain that will inevitably lead to the best gains you could possibly make" - @jocksupremacy 10/9/23

And If you want to support the creation of more hypnotic experiences that you know you can trust, then you can do so by subscribing to my Patreon, or to my Youtube channel. And if you want to interact more closely with me and my supportive community you can join my Discord server.

[quotesfrommyreading]

What I came to realise was that these men are actually the losers. The billionaires who called me out to the desert to evaluate their bunker strategies are not the victors of the economic game so much as the victims of its perversely limited rules. More than anything, they have succumbed to a mindset where “winning” means earning enough money to insulate themselves from the damage they are creating by earning money in that way. It’s as if they want to build a car that goes fast enough to escape from its own exhaust.

Yet this Silicon Valley escapism – let’s call it The Mindset – encourages its adherents to believe that the winners can somehow leave the rest of us behind.

Never before have our society’s most powerful players assumed that the primary impact of their own conquests would be to render the world itself unliveable for everyone else. Nor have they ever before had the technologies through which to programme their sensibilities into the very fabric of our society. The landscape is alive with algorithms and intelligences actively encouraging these selfish and isolationist outlooks. Those sociopathic enough to embrace them are rewarded with cash and control over the rest of us. It’s a self-reinforcing feedback loop. This is new.

Amplified by digital technologies and the unprecedented wealth disparity they afford, The Mindset allows for the easy externalisation of harm to others, and inspires a corresponding longing for transcendence and separation from the people and places that have been abused.

Instead of just lording over us for ever, however, the billionaires at the top of these virtual pyramids actively seek the endgame. In fact, like the plot of a Marvel blockbuster, the very structure of The Mindset requires an endgame. Everything must resolve to a one or a zero, a winner or loser, the saved or the damned. Actual, imminent catastrophes from the climate emergency to mass migrations support the mythology, offering these would-be superheroes the opportunity to play out the finale in their own lifetimes. For The Mindset also includes a faith-based Silicon Valley certainty that they can develop a technology that will somehow break the laws of physics, economics and morality to offer them something even better than a way of saving the world: a means of escape from the apocalypse of their own making.

  —  The super-rich ‘preppers’ planning to save themselves from the apocalypse

[leoalvarez-clowncarcommittee]

I've never personally read Chase saying that Leo didn't like guns as "Leo is a liar about everything and was a gun loving republican the WHOLE time!" Instead I read it as, "Oh there is something WRONG going on with Leo that has caused him to go back on one of his core beliefs". With further information and retrospect, I think that was the intention with the scene. It explains Chase being SO shocked at seeing the gun, and feeds into facts we know and themes that can be extrapolated from the text as a whole as well.

IMO, the supernatural is a metaphor for trauma and Leo's is feeling responsible for Sydney's death, because he was supposed to be watching him. Thus we get Leo's desire to protect people and the supernatural feeding off of his desire to do so, which creates a feedback loop of negative emotions and mental agony.

Leo 'needs' the gun to protect people, but owning the gun makes him feel bad. As he feels bad, his negative emotions are amplified by a physical manifestation of trauma to make him feel worse, and makes his 'need' to protect people greater and greater, as his insecurities and fears are amplified over and over

This cycle, or 'circle' if you will, is one of the core themes of the game. The real narrator tells them to the reader moments after you hit start. Leo is hurt, and his hurt is damaging to himself and others. He isn't a monster that deserves no sympathy. He isn't JUST a toxic ex-cautionary 'red flag', he's just as hurt and in need of help as everyone else in Echo.

[proustiansleep]

“Among the accomplishments of the Enlightenment, one amplified considerably by industrial apparatuses, is the dubious fabrication of the atomized human individual, a magical figure separated from the world by his mastery over it. This construct is resistant to implications of Copernican traumas, as it continues to appreciate not only humanity but individual humans at the radiant center of the action. As this figure came to organize systems in its own image, its synthetic replication through micro-economics and social psychology set the stage for its cohesion into what is called, by design, the User. In practice, however, the User is not a type of creature but a category of agents; it is a position within a system without which it has no role or essential identity. The User of this layer is not the universal persona that collapses design research into reductive and manipulative psychologism, a fixed term toward which design must orient its interfaces and artifacts, but as a model that is not given in advance and must be construed by interfaces and constructed for platforms. Its position at the top of The Stack, where driving agency is situated momentarily, is slippery, fragile, and always enmeshed in its own redefinition, an uncertainty that underwrites the formation of subjectivity in general, always a manifest image cobbled in relation to available technologies of self-reflection, from cave walls at Lascaux to Quantified Self Apps.

For anything that is situated in the User layer of The Stack—he, she or it—the interplay between technical delineation and stable self-image is volatile. In that it is entwined with feedback loops up and down the layers, the position of User is obviously in some ways always “cybernetic,” but it does not bend toward any homeostasis or necessary resolution. It is a limited effector of processes bubbling up and down layer to layer. To and from its location, the User is both an initiator and an outcome. I would argue that anthropocenic humanism is not a natural reality into which we must awake from the slumber of machinic alienation; rather it is itself a symptomatic structure powered by—among other things—a gnostic mistrust of matter, narcissistic self-dramatization, and indefensibly pre-Copernican programs for design.” — Benjamin Bratton, The Stack

[feebisart]

The Door You Don't Knock On (3/4)

(( Trigger Warning: Unreality, Transformation, Body Horror, Derealization, Dissociation, Hints of Past Abuse, Drowning, Death, Existential Horror, Emotional Manipulation, Mental Health Struggles, Surreal/Disturbing Imagery, References to Violence, Grief/Loss. ))

A/N: Please keep in mind the trigger warnings. Thank you.

Billy opened his blue eyes, reflecting the stars and galaxies squished into streams of Saturn's spinning disk. He blinked a couple of times, rubbing at the sleep with the back of his hand.

"Oh." He uttered as he gazed into the surreal sky.

Gingerly, he pushed himself up, feeling the pleasant heat of the couch beneath him. He gave the sofa a soft pat—a habit of thanking inanimate objects. Around him, a haze of heat gently rested over a fiery sea, furniture bobbing leisurely throughout the molten tide as tubes drifted down a waterpark's lazy river.

Peering over the side of the comfortable couch, Billy hesitated before dropping onto a stone slab atop the vibrant sand. Multicolored grains shifted beneath the piece as the foot met pavement. It was, of course, a migraine to look at. However, it wasn't lava. He won't look a gift horse in the mouth, after all.

A giggle bubbled out of his mouth, surprising the young boy. The silliness of it all—the marshmallow-soft cushions and the flaming ocean provided the backdrop to his amusement. Billy had slept on dozens of surfaces before—hardwood floors, tile, rock, and even the branches of trees. Now, he could add roasted marshmallow cushions to that list.

In the distance, the molten rock hissed as if affronted by his laughter. The gurgling mass of creeping lava spewed spectral radiant mist that drizzled glitter over the coast around him. The grains collided with a soft yet strangely metallic sound as the mist met the sand. Curious, Billy crouched closer and spotted a glint amid the chromatic, iridescent particles. The sand wasn't just sand—it morphed between tiny sand crystals and larger metallic jacks.

"That's so weird." He muttered as he brushed some ashes off his sweater. Stretching his back, he surveyed the area. Marble slabs scattered across the sand like lily pads floating across a pond.

Did anyone say Leapfrog?

Billy grinned from ear to ear, leaping from slab to slab like a child playing hopscotch, waving his arms to balance himself with each jump. Nearing the end of the path, he teetered on one foot, almost stepping into the sand before catching himself on the rock's edge.

A large gap loomed before him, filled with kaleidoscopic minerals torn between quartz crystals and knucklebones. A faint cling reverberated as a breeze brushed past. Wind chimes as it weaves through colliding metal scraps or, perhaps, mocking laughter.

Beyond him unfurled a black-and-white checkered pattern floor. The boy drew in a deep breath before launching himself across. He landed and slid onto the sleek, slippery floor, emitting a harsh squeal—grating rubber squeaking onto a slick glass surface.

Flapping his arms with a hint of desperation, he glided to a halt in the middle of an elegant hallway, gasping for breath. Doors were lined in uniform repeating patterns along the hallways, and their handles were in particularly unique places—some were far too high, some were two inches from the floor, and some were just floating in the air—just out of reach. Billy blinked, wondering where he should go next.

The tingling crept around Billy's shoulders, wrapped around the boy's shoulders like a white cloak. A faint, high-pitched ringing stalked him—a persistent mosquito honing into the sting. He had thought the further he walked from the sand, the fainter the sound would get. But apparently not. The hallways seemed to turn and twist sideways, looping into themselves in a never-ending Moebius strip. Every turn he'd been there before, every step left a resounding echo.

The ringing amplified, adding the soprano of screeching feedback, the base of discordant laughter, and rhythmic faint taunts using distorted versions of Billy's voice. It wasn't just his ears but also his taste. Every time his voice screamed into his ear, he tasted the stinging, metallic flavor, tasting the noise itself. An earworm that wouldn't leave gnawed at his thoughts, a continuous spiraling loop. Billy knew plenty of earworms—songs that wormed their way into your brain, settling comfortably to never leave, much like Mister-

No, Billy shook his head quickly, cutting off the thought. He needed to find what It Is Not. The boy could not afford to Spiral. He pinched the bridges of his nose as it howled into his ear, dropping all pretense of subtlety. There was no doubt in his mind—It was getting impatient.

Perhaps in annoyance or wanting it all to stop, he grabbed the nearest door handle and pulled it without thinking. His pale fingers curled tightly around the handle, and with a swift, violent force, he yanked the door open. The panel slammed against the wall, and chips of wood fell onto the ground from the pure force. Static surged into a deafening disharmonious crescendo, an ice pick to the head regarding ear-splitting notes.

All of a sudden, nothing.

The door sealed shut behind him, hissing shut with finality in the form of air decompressing from a pressurized chamber. A faint rush of air brushed against his back before all was still. He concentrated on hearing the ringing, which was still there—faint, in the background, waiting.

The room was quite ordinary, if a bit cluttered. Art Deco flair seeped into the gold and black orchid wallpaper, sleek and aerodynamic furniture, and black and white tiles with gold accents. There was a hint of paint and wood shavings in the air. Open and empty cans of paint scattered across the floor. Baskets and containers of pencils, pens, markers, and chalk were piled on each other. Blank Canvases were scattered around the room with palettes of every imaginable color. Brushes were placed at each art stand, overflowing the holder.

It was overwhelming—every medium of art stacked on each other in a gaudy display of choices. He could see perhaps a faded yellow couch propped up by a couple of sketchbooks, but it was dwarfed by the mountain of yarn balls on top of it. Despite the hodgepodge, there was something quite familiar about the place, a sense of déjà vu that piqued Billy's curiosity.

Billy placed his hands on his hips, clicking his tongue as if affronted by the mess before him. He rolled up the sleeves of his sweater, using a piece of yarn he chewed off to tie it up. (He would not look for sharp items in that Mess.) He heaved up a heavy bin of rolled newspapers, nudging an open can of reddish-brown paint aside with his foot as he gasped for breath.

At least, it was silent.

Billy huffed, hands on his hips before he dived into piles of art supplies. He disliked too much mess since it made it hard to think. There was so much stuff—baskets of watercolors, buckets of oil paints, tubes of acrylics, and towers of jars filled with miscellaneous supplies. He began separating the chaos into categories, which made his brain happy—drawing, painting, fabric, knitting, etc.

As he's moving a metal tin of colored pencils, his gaze caught onto something strange: a pair of pointed shoes, brown cap-toe oxfords, still polished with a gleaming sheen. As he moved away a bucket of unopened paint, his breath caught in his throat as he discerned the pant leg of a familiar brown suit.

"It can't be." Billy's voice hitched. "Mr. Dare…"

Dan Dare. The detective.

His stomach sank as he hurriedly clawed into the clutter, his trembling hands scraping against metal tins. Boxes of chalk toppled, spilling pink dust into the air. Bins of sketchbooks teetered precariously—a makeshift Tower of Pisa, while buckets of crayons were knocked over, a few loose crayons tumbling around. Billy's desperate cleaning halted; his breath hitched as he stilled at the sight.

A chair.

It looked normal enough—the sleek, glossy finish of the Beech arms and the soft, supple, genuine leather for the cushion. But the form? Following the curve of the backrest, the cushion flowed into a lower torso with a pair of legs clad in brown pants underneath. They were human. They were Dan.

Where flesh met wood, there wasn't a neat seam or clean cut of timber, but a continuous languid flow. Veins snaked through the beech wood and flawlessly transitioned to the chair's grain in the arms above. The lungs were absent, yet the lower part of the torso continued to inflate as if breathing.

Billy's gaze drew to the legs that twitched ever so often. Feet that stretched and relaxed as if leisurely resting on the ground.

Is this what it means to Become It?

This was not just horror nor the grotesque. This was the annihilation of everything that you are—a complete and total erasure of identity, and for what? To turn you into a tacky chair.

He realized a pivotal point—the Spiral was no longer playing with its food.

In fact, it was Hungry.

.

.

.

What if I stop being me?

Billy choked on inhaling his next breath. His heart fluttered like a hummingbird's wings as he clutched his chest. The Lichtenberg scars underneath his sweater pulled and ached as black crept along the edge of his vision.

The world tilted—skewed and slanted.

Billy's chest tightened further, and he thought his heart would crush his chest with the weight of Everything.

This wasn't about him.

He inhaled a deep, painful breath.

He breathed again to solidify himself, the darkness receded as he took continuous deep breaths in and out.

Back before his job at Whiz Radio, He remembered Mr. Dare.

Blonde, slick-back hair, a sunny smile, and an ear to listen to. "Do you have any allergies, kid?" The man warmly asked, handing Billy a brown paper bag from a sandwich shop. The smell of Cuban cigars and Hawaiian roast on his breath lingered in the cool, wintry air.

It's not fair.

He hadn't seen Dan for a couple of weeks. The kid figured Detective Dare was off helping TV moguls or multimillionaires. Not this.

Never this.

Crouching over Dan with his knees on the floor, the boy's hand wavered over the brown pants leg, hesitating over the fabric. Yanking his hand away, He placed it on his lap.

Billy's voice cracked as he crouched over Dan Dare, "Mr. Dare, I- I don't know if you can hear me, but you were a good person." His fingers scrunched up his jeans, balling into fists.

"I'm sorry you got turned into... this." A quick glance at the leather cushions wrapped between brown beech wood lurched the orphan's stomach. He reverted his gaze to the human part—the familiar half.

"You were a great detective. I'm glad I got to interview you." The small reporter sniffed, remembering the man's animated tales of intrigue, stakeouts, and close calls with Carol over Whiz Kid radio.

"It doesn't get to take that away from you." The boy wiped his eyes. "I'll remember you and make sure Fawcett remembers you, too."

At first, staring at the chair made him disgusted; nausea rose to his throat, threatening to empty into a paint can. But he pulled back; the disgust simmered and bubbled within him into something else—something hot and sharp. A spark ignited within him.

Was this funny? Did it make the Distortion tickled pink from warping Dan Dare to this?

The boy's gaze flicked to where the spray paint cans scattered near Dan's legs. "Fine," he spat, throwing the cap off as it bounced off an elegant black and gold orchid on the wallpaper. "Let's see how you like it." The spray can hissed out a streak of neon yellow across the flower and several phrases such as "STUPID" and "UGLY" right on top of a particularly offensive spiral.

He held the can out as he punted the aerosol container and jettisoned it into the sky with his foot. Anger burned deep within his stomach, churning a whirlwind of anger, grief, and something Else—something that Distorted. The tinkling of bells echoed in his ears, a constant ringing after a concert.

His hair grew longer, dangling over his face in tangled loops as he heaved a couple of breaths.

Shifting his eyes to the left, he glimpsed a hint of black amongst the plastic containers. The ringing sounded like pulsating beats of his heart with every step. Billy grabbed the box, flipping it open to reveal perfectly intact charcoal sticks.

His heart thundered as he held a handful of them to his eye.

The sight of it irritated him for some reason he couldn't explain. Charcoal—dust and ash, all left of a cloudless blue sky.

He crushed the charcoal sticks in his hands, his nails digging in deep. Black dust etched into every crease and line of his palms, leaving dark stains on his skin.

Suddenly, his eyes teared up. He wiped his eyes with his knuckles, only making it worse—staining charcoal smudging into his eyes, a blindfold of stinging tears and ashes. Blue and black melded and flowed as if a thumb coated with soot ran across the eyes of a watercolor painting.

Swaying across the room, Billy's dangling arms knock over paint cans and water cups as they absorb into the boy's fluid structure. His hair drips down a waterfall of purple, blue, and yellow pigments. His heartbeat takes on multiple tones as if played over a speaker underwater—muted, warbled, and barely recognizable.

He can't see. He can't see. He can't-

The high note and screeching tingling that hits his ears has his hands brush over a basket. It was powdery, smooth, and circular. Chalk. Where there were colors and almost overwhelming imagery, there was nothing but darkness. Red and yellow dripped over him as a cape, and he felt crushed by the immense pressure.

The lack of control over his body and form was too much. He retaliated the only way he knew how. He flipped the basket.

It erupted. Pounding, migraine-inducing bass vibrating the very ground, the facsimile of a boy stood. Reddish-brown powder and chalk dust reached the ceiling, unfurling into the shape of a mushroom with an expanding ring of dust and debris that rippled outwards; pieces of crayons and pencils rolled away from the epicenter—ripping his life into pieces.

Strangely enough, he sees with touch. Sensing the colors and shape, the liquid seeped into the pile, bringing up a floating piece of equipment. A microphone was connected to a wooden broadcast console. He wrapped a tendril of water around it, bringing the mic up the last recognizable part of his body—his mouth. He could feel that water was entering his lungs, making it hard to breathe. He was drowning in his own liquid.

He opened his mouth and uttered, "SHA-"

The lips hesitated, closing as if swallowing.

"Go on, finish it." The smug, gloating voice whispered in a sing-song tone reminiscent of a lullaby.

It was inevitable.

The mouth took one last breath and exhaled a word.

"No."

The static rose to a crescendo; it could feel the vibrations coursing through everything, inside and out. An earthquake shaking the very foundation of being. Baskets of arts and crafts tumbled and tossed in a salad, a blender ripping into every sense and meaning.

The water crashed, overturning the mouth, melding it to its giant amorphous fluid. There was no mouth, not anymore.

The shaking gradually ceased, and a stray chalk fell to the ground near the puddle of water within a bucket—streaks of watercolors, paint, marker, and ink swirled.

The Distortion waited for it to finally digest.

.

.

.

It thought it was erasing him, turning him into a fluid to easily digest.

Water can't be erased.

It adapts. It endures. It Becomes.

Transformation was nothing new to him. From street rat to Demigod, from kid to adult, and from life to death—he had faced change, and every change was a journey he would take—a responsibility he would shoulder.

He took a hypothetical breath.

Five things to see. The sense of vision was curious when it was seen through taste. The painted water flowed through the remnants, seeing the flavors amidst the entropic landscape— salty ink pooled into itself as it absorbed, gaining mass; sour paint flowed into thin, vibrant streams, sweet markers bleeding onto canvases; bitter oils floated on the surface, creating an iridescent sheen, and savory, metallic flavor of the colorful mist from a dented spray can. Four things to feel. The gurgling flow of water filling up a container, the drops of water dripping down onto the canvas below, the chaotic splash of the overflow, and the plop of liquid mass pooling onto a fractured ground. Three things to listen to. The plastic aroma of a fresh coat of acrylic as the water rippled, the harsh, sharp odor of spray paint gases mixed into the atmosphere, and the sweet, musty smell of watercolors spilled across a table. Two things to smell. The coolness of the slick surface, the roughness of the jagged edges of broken tiles. The water seeped through the cracks to pool near a slanted tile. One thing to taste. A yellow chalk teetered on a precarious edge of the ground, as water wrapped around it, the rushing force bringing it to the tile.

The Distortion watched as a child would drown an ant in a puddle it created—its fragmenting, twisted body filled with ever-changing fractals and shapes loomed over the body of water.

A chiming, crackling laughter escaped its body, glass shattering from the ocean's depths. The sound echoed, a sharp, discordant symphony of cruelty.

The sound reverberated through Billy. He may not have been able to hear it, but he felt it in his very being. It was a grating, uncomfortable feeling that rippled through his waters.

Still, he awkwardly fumbled a stray chalk to swirl in a faded-yellow spiral.

"Go on," it crooned sweetly, smug with indulgent malice. "Try your best."

The spiral began to take shape on the black tile under his makeshift, fluid-like hand. With each wave, he etched more of the spiral until it was recognizable.

He pushed against the tile with every lapping wave until it stood upright. Vertical with its spiral, menacingly observing the water before it.

He was not going to go through it.

He was going over it.

Expanding his mind, he concentrated on each piece of water. It was like peering around only Not. He could vaguely feel specks of warmth scattered around, or perhaps he tasted their colors.

Stray droplets leaned against the edges of the scrambled room before, fragments of color scattered about the surface. The leaning tower of sketchbooks stood proudly, having survived the tempest of the Distortion's anger.

Erosion.

At the base, a precarious point lay in wait in this game of Janga. All it would take was one move and the entire structure would come tumbling down.

And that was precisely what Billy needed.

The waves lapped at the tower's base, testing it as a school of piranhas circling their prey might.

Water crashed into the structure, prodding at one of the books. It wiggled, teasing the sketchbook loose from the stack with its alternating crest and troughs.

Soggy pages curled up in the edges, torn off by the constant ebb and flow. Water absorbed into the pages, smearing the black ink into a gray shadow.

It Is Not What It Is laughed, mocking the boy's efforts—a discordant melody of metal scraping onto cherry petals.

It only took one slip—a push against a particularly slippery journal binding, and the cracks propagated throughout. It started to sway like a skyscraper in the first tremors of an earthquake—sketchbooks and journals fell like a sudden deluge.

Pyroclastic flows of ripped pages and book bindings descended upon the water, creating deep amplitudes and displacing water in violent shifts.

The distance between the waves stretched further, rippling outwards.

As the crest approached the shallower water, the seabed of paint tubes and crayons slowed the approaching wave—faster water flows and built the wave higher and higher.

Then, the water began receding from the tile. Static churned in the air—a pressure drop and the oncoming storm's sharp, metallic scent.

Red tubes of paint lay scattered like uncovered seashells. Broken paint brushes stuck out of the glittering sand, drenched seaweed poking out. Interference intensified to howling winds through a tunnel.

Suddenly, a prominent crest rushed towards the black slate in a whirlwind of multicolored water. Billy's consciousness was on top of the wave's crest, surfing right on top, perched in the fierce, foaming waves. The Distorted, fractured form grew darker, tasting of soot and ozone.

As he neared the tile, Billy leaped over the upper border, soaring over the bar with droplets glinting like pearls. Fractals overhead roared in thunderstorms, and streams of yarn dangled like string cheese.

Like the bar of a long jump,

Billy felt absolute elation as he made it past the surface,

mere inches from the top.

The skim of liquid fell towards cracks and through the broken foundation before the roaring water broke the tile with the force.

A scream pierced through the air, amplified through the water, blood-curdling absent of the Distortion's nauseating imagery.

It was deeply human.

Desperate, almost.

.

.

.

Billy slipped through the gaps in the foundation, falling into darkness. Heat wrapped around him like a suffocating blanket. Droplets of water hissed as they evaporated, glistening like diamonds. They formed rivulets in the sky—blue, red, violet, and orange rivers.

The water that made up his current form began to foam and boil. Steam rose, transforming into trails of light behind him, like the tail of a comet. Above, the checkered sky framed his descent, starkly contrasting the flowing colors.

As he fell, the boiling water left behind dried remnants of color: red, black, white, yellow, and blue. Slowly, his form simplified, reducing into a watercolor figure. He tumbled through a surreal animation, flipping between frames of black-and-white paper.

The small orphan stretched out his arms, desperate to gain control over the rapid tumble. He slowed, his vision sharpening on a distant sphere—black or white, an inverse of the background behind him.

It wasn’t just a sphere. It was a hole. And he was falling straight into it.

As he drew closer, the sphere grew, consuming the entire frame. Now a speck against its vastness, Billy could feel time slipping away. It moved strangely, bending and warping in ways even the performative chaos of the Spiral couldn't achieve. Wonkier than anything he’d ever felt, not even the peculiar doors of The Rock of Eternity compared.

He tried everything to stop himself. Jumping, swimming, kicking, flying, running—none of it mattered. The pull was relentless.

The numbness began in his legs, spreading upward as they sank into the abyss. Then his stomach, his heart, until the darkness swallowed his eyes. It devoured his memories, form, and every piece of what made him him.

And then—

Nothing.

︵‿︵‿୨𖦹୧‿︵‿︵

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