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so… im trans a girl my pronouns are she/her i came out on cgd Something about it makes me really want to post in this blog this feels like something one of you would post meaningful poetry about but i am not a poet, so I will just dump some words here … *can’t find any* *decides to recycle past words for some reason* hmmm I’ve been staring at that quite a bit. it feels… really good *recycles again* Yes, that is very wrong formatting. Quoting is… weird on my device. so I am a girl. that feels really good… *continues* ummm as I’ve said, I never have conclusions *tosses in more recycle*

People say I’m a teenager. Am I? Sometimes I still feel like that wide-eyed child That looked at the world with hope And wonder Who didn’t care about ‘grades’ or ‘society’ Who didn’t fall asleep with those dreams Who didn’t want to not want what he wanted Who still preserved his innocence. In Romeo And Juliet, There’s quote And I can’t quite remember what it says But it goes along the lines of ‘Kids shouldn’t wake up early with worry, That should be saved for adults.’ I still feel like that wide eyed kid. And yet I feel like I’ve grown all up. … I walk through life with distance. Never quite feeling my feelings. I want to feel But the moment I do It’s shallow happiness that lasts for a moment Or stress and worry the bog down my days. Sometimes I feel like I’m all grown up And never quite fit what I was supposed to be. People say I’m teenager And I look around and see them. From the outside I must look like one Socially inept Closed off Uncaring But from the inside all I can do is care And yet I can’t bring myself to care All I do is care about my life But I can’t bring myself to feel Sometimes I feel so lonely So rush for some quick happiness Sure, it may be meaningless But it might be the only respite I get I go to bury myself in a world Or maybe make 1 or 2 Anything to stop feeling Because all I can do is feel And yet I can’t bring myself to feel I look at the world from the outside. Want to know who I am. I rush to express myself To see a plastered fake part of me Shown on a screen I want to be remembered, to be known. But humans aren’t just as simple As what they show They are full of contradictions And with, I am human They work to live on through memory But will that ever truly be them? Can you ever really see someone? And know them truly? Can you know all about them? What they thought and why? People say I’m a teenager. And yet, I don’t believe them. … All I can do is write on your wall Hope someone will see it. I live fueled by a special part of me That people dismiss with a swipe. “A book can’t actually change your life” But it certainly changed mine. I want to do well, be who I want to be But can I stay human doing that? What even is a human? And why do they do what they do? Why even is a human? And most importantly, Who Am I ? … Maybe I don’t need to know.

I find it horribly ironic and honestly kinda fascinating just how far my voice has shifted from what it was when I originally joined Like, initially I was chaotic and childish and kinda stupid. That was for a variety of reasons, but that tone is just…not here anymore? I want to present like that. To yap and be energetic. It’s fun, and I assume that’s what people relate with me. For some reason tho, I just can’t Sorry if you miss that person. Honestly, I don’t know if she’s coming back (this is stupid and angsty, I know. I just needed to say it)

author unknown

Hey ya'll! Some of you may know I'm very passionate about getting adequate sleep. It's been proven to be vital for both physical and mental health. But many of us (myself included until several months ago) just get 7 hours (or less) and say we're good, but wonder why we're tired, struggle to get out of bed, and deal with so much fatigue and mental struggles. You've probably heard the estimates that teens should get 8-9 hours of sleep, and adults should get 7-8 or so. But that doesn't do as much good if it's not quality sleep. There's a whole crap ton of factors that can worsen your sleep. One of the worst culprits is blue light, which I'm sure you've heard of. While blue light glasses or the "night shift" settings on devices certainly help, that light still affects your sleep quality. In addition, even just a bathroom light on in your room or a night light can affect your melatonin release, meaning that even after you close your eyes to go to sleep, your brain may not want to for quite a while longer. Though most indoor lights are warmer than screens, so those are still the worst for your sleep. While you don't certainly have to do this, one good solution (and what I do) is to cut off almost all light 2-3 hours before bed, and only allow the reddest of red lights. There's ways on most devices (apple for sure) to make your color filter completely red (if you want help finding the setting, lmk), and that's much better than the basic slightly warmer night shift filter. This is ofc a bit extreme, but I've found that it works amazingly for my own sleep quality. Whatever extent you can do is good. Another key factor is sleep consistency. Research shows that sleep consistency is actually more important than sleep quantity for longevity. Try to generally go to sleep (or attempt to) and wake up within 15 mins of the same time every day. Caffeine. It has a half life of 4-5 hours, which means that if you drink a Dr Pepper at 6 pm, half of that caffeine is still in your system at 10-11pm. Even if you "can still go to sleep after having caffeine", your brain still has to process it, and it'll worsen the quality of your sleep Try not to eat any heavy meals or intense exercise 3 hours before sleeping, and not drink anything an hour before sleeping As alluded to before, try to make your room as dark as possible when trying to sleep. Ideally, an hour before sleeping, turn off all devices and light whatsoever. You could use this time to do whatever, but I personally like to stretch, meditate, and listen to music, a podcast, or an audiobook. Again, that's over-optimizing a bit, dimming lights is also good. Pick whatever time you want to wake up throughout the week you want to wake up, and try to go to sleep 8-8.5 hours before then. You can also fiddle around with the timing to see what your body naturally prefers when you're following the proper steps. I always thought I was a night person, but when I'm following this routine, my body starts getting sleepy around 9, and I wake up with no alarm at 6:30-7 Lastly, I know that this routine isn't always feasible. Some people work late, and lots of activities occur late at night. I've certainly spent many nights not following this routine. But when I do, especially consistently, I've personally found that I have way more energy that lasts throughout the whole day, I can retain learned information way better, and my mood is just better. Thank you for reading my ramblings, and go get some good sleep Disclaimer: I'm not a sleep doctor, but most of this is based on things I've learned from the book Why We Sleep by Dr. Matthew Walker, which I'd highly recommend. This is stuff that's just worked extremely well for me, and I hope it helps for someone else.

I say I’m one thing Im really two I call myself one thing I realize I’m two It would be so much easier to be insane I look at those with voices And yearn for that security I have problems, we all do But it would be so much easier To call me crazy To say I’m insane There’s a reason I’m like this 2 voices, that’s the reason I wish I could be insane I pretend to be I want to have voices But I don’t Maybe that’s really why I’m insane I see 2 paths, One well kept and logical Full of happiness and reason One faded and worn Full of soul and pain I want to be a poet A writer A wordsmith But I love spreadsheets And math And coding I feel two things Battling and fighting I want to be both But they feel so different I wish I was crazy I wish I could be insane Then I could find reason, Pin the blame. I’m like this because of the voices I wish I could say None of us are okay But I wish I could say The 2 are voices Different from me Neither are me But both of them are I wish I had did Maybe schitzo I know this is offensive But I wish I could say This is the reason This why I am I am crazy, Here’s the name My insanity has label I’m not normal, That’s why I am this was But deep down I know I’m not I know it’s all a facade But I wish I could say Look at this I can hear the voices Look at me I can hear the voices The 2 aren’t me Their my insanity But I can’t Cause they’re both me And maybe that’s worse Cause I feel them both And definitely can’t choose print(“Error: purpose not found”) for i in purpose: print(i) - - - Error: purpose not found Spreadsheets and coding and data science Poetry, writing, and stories I feel a rush of joy as I’m typing my code I feel accomplishment when I see the spreadsheet But at night when I go swinging I imagine a world A world of my creation A world of my own Storyweavers and dreams Poetry and confusion I write my story And feel the divide I wish I was crazy I wish I was insane It would be so easy If I could pin the blame There’s a reason I’m like this A reason for all this It’s because of the voices Because my mind is amiss I can point at a diagnosis And tell myself why There’s a reason I’m like this But is there really? I want there to be a reason But maybe I’m just human We’re all fed up, Maybe I’m not special Maybe I’m like everyone else Maybe I don’t have a problem But then why? I feel these 2 things Both living inside my soul I feel both these things Fairly equally They are both me Feelings not voices I’m not insane Just kinda crazy There is something wrong with me It doesn’t have a name I want to write my feelings And escape in code console.log(poetry(“Unum est duo”)); “One is two” “Is there a reason I’m like this?” “But does it really matter?” “I wish there was a reason” “But maybe I don’t need one” “Maybe I’m just me” “And that’s crazy enough” “Maybe both of me” “Maybe all of me” “Maybe I can work together” “Maybe I can walk down both roads” “Maybe I don’t have to be crazy” “For me to decide what to do” “I can write and I can code” “Maybe I can do both…” “And that’s beautiful.” I’ve talked about this before And I’m glad I went down this path The path in the middle With the joy of both Maybe I, the one Can be both 2 Maybe I can be both More than one thing

Hello, hello, hello! I, the brave adventurer, have heard of the deep interest in Plotblades, and have returned to give you this comprehensive*, accurate**, and helpful*** guide! What are the Plotblades? I'm glad you asked! The Plotblades are fragments of an ancient entity slain in ages long lost**** by the combined efforts of almost every Narrator in TLT. But Plot was, as you may have guessed, an entity of immense power. And Narrators, as powerful as they may have been, were unable to completely destroy him. Instead, they merely splintered him apart, destroying his consciousness^ and forming the Plotblades. The most powerful^* Plotblade is Vengeance. This Plotblade, currently wielded by Platypus, holds its power not because Vengeance was naturally an important part of Plot, but because of Plot's intense desire for Vengeance against the Narrators who killed him. But don't worry about that, it will surely never be relevant! Instead, let's talk about what Plotblades can do! Plotblades are made up of Plot's essence, and as such, hold near-total power over the aspect of Plot they are aligned with. Theoretically, a Plotblade exists for each and every different plot trope. Examples include: Happily Ever After, a Plotblade wielded by the Priest, used by him to help others attain the happiness that was so cruelly stolen from him. (Oh wait. Forget I said that. Spoilers.) This Plot'blade' takes the form of a huge book, which, I have it on good authority, contains every Happy Ending ever written in TLT. Another Plotblade is Conflict, held currently by the ex-Narrator Sequence. This Plotblade allows its wielder to fight evenly with any opponent, no matter how powerful they may be. These Plotblades are only two examples, and there are many more. You get the point though. Plotblades are based on plot tropes and give powers related to those tropes. Now, let's get into the really juicy stuff. How might you, a prospective Author itching for a cool thematic power up for one of your characters, or a character itching for said thematic power up, get your hands on one of these Blades? Well, it's (relatively) easy! There are a couple ways, but the basic idea is that you have to align to the Plotblade's intent somewhat. The more core the Plotblade, the more important and necessary that becomes (with a few exceptions). How do you do this? For one, you could try to take a Plotblade from a character who already has one. This won't be easy, but so long as their Author allows it, it is possible. You'll probably have to get them to agree to a contest of some sort to prove your superior worthiness. Another, more common method of claiming a Plotblade is by going on a quest related to the Plotblade's intent. For example, if you wanted to claim the Plotblade of Forging, you could apprentice under the Dreamsmith. These quests aren't always strictly related to the Plotblade's intent, but hey, it's kind of cool to stick with a theme, right? This last method is only for Authors, I'm afraid. If you really want a character to have a Plotblade, but don't have time to make them go on a quest, then I've got good news! You can just give them one! My Author's done it, Platypus did it, and plenty more Authors have taken this path. Just make sure there's some explanation for how such a Blade came into their possession, and that it's well-suited for them. An example from my Author is the Priest. He was made specifically with the idea of Happily Ever After in mind, hence his wedding-centered profession (and dark backstory, but that's a story for another day). Well, that about sums it up! Hopefully this guide was helpful, so get on out there and claim the Plotblade of your dreams! Until next time, I'll be wandering the endless world of the afterlife. Yours truly, The brave adventurer *Absolutely not. **Mostly, although the lore has evolved over the many pages since the concept of Plot's blade first germinated. ***Subjectively. ****Page 2254, to be exact. Back when ancients like yours truly still wandered the lands of the living. ^Mostly. ^*Well, in most circumstances. Plotblades aren't necessarily always about 'power'. Even 'weak' Plotblades hold near-total mastery over their respective domains. But this one is actually more powerful than the rest, and if wielded by a competent user, is able to exert limited influence over the rest of the Plotblades.

Tchaik six my beloved so simple and true every time that I listen i shed a small tear for you You make me so sad and fill me with joy tchaik six my beloved so simple and true every single sharder reading this should listen to you all four movements they cause much joy and make Tchaikovskys heart flutter despite his depart anyways go listen to Tchaik six @Kansas Stormcursed @Through The Living Glass @kajsa @Keke @Theory @SpiritOfWrath @KnightSkye Reforged @ChipsAHoid @mippo @Rynturning_Light @Edema Rue @Hmmm lies @Aeoryi @CoderDrag0n8 @Akimikoisthecutest @SpartanBrigade @KaladinsSenseOfHumourSpren

Okay so there's this guy and I came across this video of his. Now even if your not tge biggest ally I want you to stay just to hear what I have to say? Cause I think there's a few points here i wanna hit. https://www.instagram.com/reel/DTdm-BljfoQ/?igsh=czE4dmxmMjFqN2Zz Where he states that he wants to be a better ally. I LOVE IT. Even if your struggling on believing due to being confused or religion or whatever. What is important is you dont stay blind. I love that someone is putting in effort to learn and explore everyone and all the different people and their identities. This brought me joy because I feel alot of the hate is due to misunderstanding and lack if knowledge. So even if you dont like it at least understand it so we all can be on the same page! Just putting in effort to know is a way to show you care!! Heres links to the videos so far. https://www.instagram.com/reel/DTlJkQ8jXW6/?igsh=eWkzYmtjZ2RpeTVl https://www.instagram.com/reel/DT0tJWmDfyL/?igsh=MWxzeWRxZWtlMHhtdQ== https://www.instagram.com/reel/DTs8sLxjYzB/?igsh=MWViYTgwdmY1cHJr

*Note* So, originally this poem was my attempt at writing a song, but a) I can't play any accompanying instrument, and b) I had no idea what anything besides rest of the song should be, so I decided to post it here. I hope you guys enjoy! (Also, I know the title has nothing to do with the poem itself, but it actually would have tied in if I ever finished the song) Every day is a challenge A mountain you have to surpass And you go about trying To measure up at last Some days you feel golden Like you've won a great big prize And you feel the love And feel the strength inside But then it all changes And nothing is the same But then it all changes And you feel like you're the one to blame Your world is spinning out of control And you know that you're broken But you want to look whole So you hide all your pain All your sorrow and heartache And you carry it alone Letting it push until... you... break.

Measure up, they say “Be like the others, it’s not that hard” But I see the others And they’re dying as much as I am, heart, body and soul Measure up, they say To the ones who work now, relax later To the ones who we have lost, long ago Work and die now, be dead later Measure up, they say When the cup has no bottom and each accomplishment, each success falls into the void Measure up, they say As a projection of self As if saying that will solve all their problems as well as mine As if they’re not perpetuating a loop that has existed as long as we have

it's me :3

The waters prevailed over the mountains, covering them seven meters deep. life is death we struggle to find who we are and see so clearly who we were by then we have died the old drowning in empty time to stay the same is to give up rebirth a walking grave, static and stagnant a corpse moving with the current drowning in a world of water Don’t let yourself be pulled under listen to your conscience fly above the water and find an olive tree to rest and watch the rainbow some fly away and never return dark and independent those it has left wait forever don’t forget to fly but be a dove

*Note* This is a beginning to a possible story. Feedback welcome and appreciated! *End Note* Atee stuck to the shadows as he crept through the alleyway. The whole point of stalking someone was to not let them know you were following them. His cloak helped him hide- it was one of the fourteen items, after all. The Forgotten Cloak. All of a sudden, the person Atee was following dodged around a few people, making Atee lose sight of them. “Sights!” Atee cursed, starting to jog. They were nowhere to be found. “Come back!” he hissed under his breath, checking over his shoulder before crossing the street. A few wagons clomped by lazily, but he was able to avoid those without much trouble. “Where’d you go,” he mused thoughtfully, pausing by an old abandoned building. “I’m right here.” Hands grabbed at Atee, covering his mouth. His scream stopped short and his eyes were quickly blindfolded. His cloak was ripped off, and he felt himself become… different. “Knock him out,” a different voice said. Atee thrashed, but quickly another set of hands pinned him down, and a sweet smelling rag was placed over his nose. He tried as long as he could to hold his breath, but it wasn’t long before it all faded to black. — “Wake him up.” “He’s coming around, boss.” Atee blinked slowly, the light setting off a painful headache as it hit his eyes. He thrashed, struggling to think through things. What? What had- yes. Everything came back to him in a flash. He had been following Knaa. Then… then what? He… he had been caught? How? He was wearing the Forgotten Cloak. The Forgotten Cloak! Atee tried to lift his hands, but they were tied tightly to the chair. “Where?” Atee asked. Or rather, thanks to the gag in his mouth, he asked, “gheair?” “See! I told you he was coming around, boss!” That came from a man off to the side. He was wearing a short brown trench coat and hat with a peaked brim. Atee glared at him. “So you did,” a man said, stepping forward directly into Atee’s line of sight. Tall and masculine, the man had a black mask covering his nose and eyes. His monochromatic outfit really set off the look, highlighting his pale blue eyes. Grabbing Atee’s chin, the man tilted Atee’s face from side to side, looking at him. “Thsssoppt st,” Atee hissed. “Remove it,” the man said coldly, releasing Atee. The man with the brown trench coat stepped forward, then took out the gag. Atee spat, clearing his throat. “Now what was that?” the man asked pleasantly, folding his hands in front of him. Atee scowled, saying nothing. “Hmm, nothing to say?” The man took a step back. “Well, that’s okay, I can do all the talking. My name is Kiil, and you are clearly Atee, the holder of the 12th object.” “How do you know that? How did you find me?” Atee blurted out. He never had been good at holding his tongue. It was part of why he needed the cloak. “It was pretty obvious,” Kiil said in response to his first question, turning slightly to the side to show that he was wearing Atee’s cloak. “You realize you can’t control it, right?” Atee said, straining against his bonds. “You don’t have the Code.” Kiil twisted to look eerily at Atee. “Not yet I don’t,” the man said ominously. Oh sights no. Please no. Every fiber of Atee’s being wanted to hide, to run. But he couldn’t. He was stuck. “You won’t break me,” Atee said weakly, his voice faltering. “Oh,” Kiil said. “I will. I have.” “What do you mean?” Atee flinched as Kiil put his face in close. “It means I know how to do this.” Kiil said, taking a finger and laying it lightly on Atee’s neck, right where the scar was. Then he pressed down. Agony flared through Atee, white and hot. Lights flashed across his vision and he constricted, muscles tensing. The pain lessened for a moment, and Atee inhaled sharply, gulping air. “W-what?” he sputtered. Kiil, a fuzzy blur to Atee, took a step back, seeming pleased with himself. “I know things,” Kiil said. “And, to answer your question, you can’t be forgotten if we never lose sight of you.” Atee was shaken. They knew about his Point, and they knew about the Flaw of the Twelfth item. How? “Now,” Kiil said. “Tell me the Code.” “N-never.” Atee braced himself, but nothing could dull the flash of pain that tore through him as Kiil pressed down on his Point again. “Let’s try this again.” Kiil’s voice turned cold, and he met Atee’s tear filled eyes. “What is the Code?” “I won’t tell you,” Atee hissed. Kiil pressed down on Atee’s Point once more, and Atee forced himself to go limp after a moment, feigning unconsciousness. “What?” Kiil said, his grip on Atee loosening. “Why did he go limp?” “He must have passed out from the pain, boss.” That would be the minion. Atee slowed his breathing and just listened. “No! I need that Code!” There was a clatter- likely Kiil tipping over the table that was in the corner of the room. “Just go back again, boss. Use the item.” “This will be the fourteenth time. We can’t use it now.” “It only has side effects to those who know about it being used. He’s unconscious. He doesn't know anything, boss.” After a moment, Kiil spoke. “Fine. Put your hand on it.” Taking a huge gamble, Atee peered out through his eyelashes, squinting to make it less obvious. In his hand, Kiil held an antique watch. The servant placed a finger around the edge, and Kiil slowly cranked it back, rewinding the hands a bit. Wait. What was that? Atee noticed a small etching along the side of the clock. His eyes opened completely as he realized it was in the shape of the number eleven. That meant… Kiil released the winding of the clock, and everything dissolved into colors and light. — Atee stuck to the shadows as he crept through the alleyway. The whole point of stalking someone was to not let them know you were following them. His cloak helped him hide- it was one of the fourteen items, after all. The Forgotten Cloak. All of a sudden, the person Atee was following dodged around a few people, making Atee lose sight of them. “Sights!” Atee cursed, starting to jog. They were nowhere to be found. “Come back!” he hissed under his breath, checking over his shoulder before- Wait. He had done this before. A sort of awareness came to Atee, jolting him and bringing him to a stop. What was going on? He remembered… he remembered… he remembered the pain. The flashes of agony. He remembered the man, Kiil, and the object. The eleventh object. He had to go. Whispering a silent command to his cloak, Atee faded away into the shadows.

Double Day? author: ? author: ?

Ice is cold snow is cold sledding is fun i hate my brother

“When you shine a light into the darkness, the observable effect is immediate, stark, and contrasting. But when you shine a light into the brightness, even though it doesn’t seem like it, there is a change.” - ‘7’ . . . Prologue I don’t often take on apprentices, but when I do, they end up quite useful. Evading captivity, exploring the universe and messing up timelines is quite entertaining, but it gets lonely sometimes. So, every now and again, I’ll find someone, some soul, to spend some time with. As the universe expands further and further out, as loneliness embeds itself into ourselves, our souls, more and more each passing second, friends become precious, relationships worth more than gold. Because when you fall, you want the whole universe to know.

This was a thing I wrote last year at a writing camp. We were given a prompt to show a reversal of who typically has power in a situation. It's pretty mid, but I like it still.

In our corner of the internet, we spend an incredible amount of time dissecting the internal lives of characters. We analyze their growth and how their self-perception shapes the world around them. But this week, I decided to turn that analytical lens inward. I took a break from the theories to focus on a more personal project: The Pronoun Test Drive. The concept was simple: spend seven days using a new name and pronouns in a controlled, safe environment to see if they actually felt like me. While many people start this journey online, I decided to take it straight to the real world. Here’s how my first week went: I knew that for this to feel real, I needed to hear the words spoken out loud. Digital spaces are great, but there’s a specific kind of resonance that happens when a name vibrates in the air instead of just appearing in a chat box. I didn't want to make a massive announcement yet—that felt like too much pressure. Instead, I reached out to one of my best friends. This is someone I’ve spent countless hours with, someone I knew would offer grace if I felt awkward or changed my mind. I simply asked: "Hey, can you try using [Name] and She/Her for me this week when we hang out? I'm just seeing how it feels." The first few days were... intense. The first time my friend looked at me and said, "Hey [Name], what do you think about this?" my brain did a double-take. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it was a loud one. I think we often expect a lightning bolt moment of clarity where everything suddenly makes sense. In reality, it felt more like trying on a new pair of shoes. They were exactly what I wanted, but I still had to get used to the way they changed my stride. I felt a bit of imposter syndrome—that nagging feeling that I was somehow breaking the rules of my own identity. According to resources like The Trevor Project, this initial anxiety is completely normal. We’ve spent years being called one thing; it takes more than forty-eight hours to rewire your brain so that it feels right. By the middle of the week, the novelty started to wear off, and that’s when the real magic happened. We got back into our groove, and started making pride stickers, that we always decorate our school hallways with. The name stopped being an experiment and just became my name. It started to feel less like a costume and more like a comfortable hoodie. This is the goal of the Test Drive: to see if the identity can survive the boring moments of daily life. When someone calls you by your name while you're just talking about normal stuff, and it feels right? That’s your answer. When my name was used, my chest felt lighter. I hadn’t realized how much energy I was spending "performing" my old identity until I stopped doing it. Hearing it spoken in the real world confirmed things in a way a screen never could. It made the identity feel three-dimensional. For those who aren't ready to ask a friend yet, I’ve found that even low-stakes IRL testing helps. We often say that the most important step a person can take is the next one. For me, this week was that step. It wasn't a grand, cinematic transformation—it was a series of small, quiet moments of being seen for who I actually am by someone I trust. To anyone else on the forums who is questioning, doubting, or just curious: your journey is valid. You don't owe anyone a "finished" version of yourself. You’re allowed to test, to tweak, and to change your mind.

Feelings, feelings, where did they go? I want to feel, to care, to love an absence my laughter false, I wish to feel Death, Death, a heavy weight but no tears I can’t Quite breath when I think about him but no tears a heavy weight on my chest, but no tears I hear my sister sobbing songing the praises of crying I sit in my room, heavy but no tears. - - - “I had friend once” I burst into tears ”This story hasn't ended yet, Kim Dokja” Sadness innumerable why is it that fiction hurts more than reality Extreme Apathy apathy-the absence of an emotion extreme-the highest version of something oxymoron-a contradictory statement all that I feel, I feel extreme including apathy but I’m getting better ”you can’t compare the bad days to you’re good days” ”You have to compare your bad days to how they used to be” ”and they’re better”

Hi everyone! This is my first post in my story of how I realized I was trans! Alright, let’s get right into it. So, it was during the COVID-19 pandemic for me, which meant the strange, isolated world of online school. Like many people during that time, I found myself with basically unlimited internet access and a lot of quiet hours to fill while the world outside seemed to stand still. I was spending my afternoons watching YouTube, like anyone would, just trying to pass the time between Zoom classes and homework. That is when I came across a video of two women—a trans woman and her wife—talking about their lives, their transition journey, and how they eventually got married. I was quite interested, so I kept taking in more and more of this content. At first, I didn’t quite understand why I was so drawn to their story. I told myself I was just being a good ally or that I was simply curious about a life experience different from my own. However, the more I watched, the more I felt a strange, fluttering sensation in my chest. I wasn't just interested; I was captivated. I began searching for more creators, falling down a rabbit hole of transition vlogs, "coming out" stories, and educational videos about gender identity. Through this digital exploration, I learned about the concept of gender dysphoria—that nagging sense of misalignment between one’s mind and body—and, more importantly, gender euphoria. I watched people describe the overwhelming joy of being referred to by the right pronouns or seeing a version of themselves in the mirror that finally felt “correct.” Before this, I had always felt a sense of "otherness" that I couldn't quite put into words. I had spent years trying to fit into the box society had built for me, assuming that the discomfort I felt was just a normal part of growing up. But as I sat there in my bedroom with the glow of my laptop screen illuminating the dark, I started to realize that the life these women were describing resonated with me on a level I wasn't prepared for. I remember one specific video where they talked about the "click"—that moment when you realize that the life you’ve been living is just a costume. That hit me like a ton of bricks. I looked at the clothes in my closet and the name on my school assignments and realized they didn't feel like me. They felt like a character I was playing to make everyone else comfortable. The internet, which felt like a void of static for so many during lockdown, became my lifeline. It provided the language I didn't know I was missing. I spent hours on forums and social media, reading about the experiences of others who had navigated these same waters. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. For the first time, I wasn't just watching someone else’s story; I was starting to draft my own. This was the beginning of a long, often difficult, but ultimately beautiful journey toward self-discovery. It started with a single YouTube recommendation and turned into the realization that I didn't have to stay in the box I was born into. -Akimikoisthecutest (I didn't realize I was trans until this year though. There might be another post similar to this btw. I lost that one, and it should have been posted at noon, but it just disappeared so I rewrote it. yay)

I realized I had posted this somewhere else, but not here, so here you go. *WARNING* Well, I'm not good at poetry, so just be aware of that. Also, I wrote this when I was super frustrated and feeling kinda depressed, so be aware of that as well. *END WARNING* Do You Know What It’s Like An attempt at poetry Do you know what it’s like To sit alone at lunch every day for three years Do you know what it’s like To be lonely, even in a crowd Do you know what it’s like To pray every day for a single friend who won’t leave you like the rest have Do you know what it’s like To not be able to remember the last time you received a genuine compliment from one of your family members Do you know what it’s like To wish you were invisible because that would be better than the apathy Do you know what it’s like To spend so long being down that you don’t remember what it’s like to be up Do you know what it’s like To wonder if anyone would notice if you left Do you know what it’s like To be shamed for doing the things you love Do you know what it’s like To smile as your world comes crashing down Do you know what it’s like To fail at the one thing you were told you were good at Do you know what it’s like To be expected to spread hope even as the world only gives you hate Do you know what it’s like To wish you could say you were okay without it being a lie Do you know what it’s like To be talked about behind your back Do you know what it’s like To wonder if anyone cares Do you know what it’s like To have everything you do never be good enough because you are the one who did it. Do you know what it’s like To be me?

Two today. Or something

this is cool

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Do you remember? When we talked about the future, like we had any idea of what was to come? When the days seemed to never end? Like time slowed down Do you remember? When we thought it would all end up alright Me something professional, you something creative Like we had any control in the matter Do you remember? It was so long ago, so I doubt you do But I do Like it was just yesterday…

Having thoughts not my own Having doubts not my own Having opinions not my own Having experiences not my own Every day not my own Every second not my own It started as a moment, a moment of weakness Moments turned days, and days turned weeks, and weeks turned months, and months turned years Now noting is my own, only a copy of someone else A whole life lived, but was it my own?

your ree

Well I'm back again. This is where my guide stops being theory and starts becoming practice. It's also the first one where I hope everyone who reads this gets to the end not only more imformed, but also with easy steps to impliment in their day to day lives. First up are the very tools we use to access the internet. Web Browsers and Search Engines. If any of you are like me you've heard those terms before but don't know the difference between them. Don't worry, the two are meant to work together, and I'll explain the two of them. Web Browsers are what displays websites to you. They determine things like window size, store cookies, and how websites interact with you. Search Engines on the other hand are what finds websites when you put something in the search bar. Both are essential to using the internet, and having the two of them be privacy focused is a must. Web Browsers I'll start with Web Browsers as they were the first that I focused on, and to do that I will first review my levels of privacy, and listing browsers for each one. Level 0: "I don't like hackers" Privacy isn't a concern, only security. Level 1: "I'm doing nothing wrong, but also nothing you need to know." Level 2: "Data collection is theft." Level 3: [Error 404: Not found]. The goal is to be a ghost online. Level 0 Google Chrome The web browser I'm certain most of you are using now, and statistically the most popular web browser in the world. Kept up to date, this will protect ypu from most hackers. It's also sending everything you do to Google. Microsoft Edge This one is only here because I can't figure out how to delete it. It's slightly slower than Chrome, but at least it turns on. Looking at you Internet Explorer. Level 1 Brave Built as an offshoot of Chromium(the seed for Google Chrome) this is a clean and simple web browser designed to give you privacy with as few inconveniences as possible. It works with all chrome extensions, blocks trackers and ads by default, and is highly customizable. Of all the browsers I will talk about this is probably the easiest to pick up and start using. User friendliness is on maximum. Brave is open sourced, and has an interesting marketing scheme. Unlike Chrome, Brave has no third party ads, with first party ads only shown on the homescreen. These ads are the same for all users, and not based on individual data. Additionally Brave sells extra services such as Brave VPN and firewall. Additionally if you are into crypto, Brave will pay you to watch ads if you want. On iPhone however, it is built around Apple's browser WebKit, so it isn't running chromium. Here's a link to try it yourself: https://brave.com/ Firefox Perhaps the most well known alternative to Chrome and Edge. Firefox unlike most other web browsers isn't based off of Chromium, but rather a different seed called Gecko. Firefox is open sourced, and funded largely through deals with Google, where in exchange for hundreds of millions of dollars a year Firefox makes Google the default search engine. Remember this, it will be important later. Firefox on its own is alright, but you will want to manually adjust settings, and install the uBlockOrigin extension. As extensions are unusable on mobile I only recommend Firefox as a desktop browser. Download Firefox: https://www.firefox.com/en-US/ A guide to fixing Firefox settings: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aULplHUYNNE Level 2 Here's where browsers will start to sacrifice your daily browsing for the sake of privacy. If you want, you can have multiple browsers installed, and use one for general purposes, and another for when greater privacy is needed. If you love customizing your browsers, you should probably stick to Level 1. Librewolf Librewolf is based off Firefox, but with a bit of a different philosophy. Librewolf is opensource, and made entirely by volunteers, to the point that they won't even accept donations. Librewolf blocks all third party ads, and has none of its own. Librewolf is also the first browser on this list employ a deep anti-fingerprinting technique. Normal fingerprinting in this sense refers to using unique identifiers to tell users apart. Librewolf and others turn this on its head. The idea being that a website is unable to tell two librewolf users apart from each other, creating a herd immunity. As a result of this while Librewolf technically has access to all of Firefox's browser extensions, using them defeats the purpose of Librewolf as it makes you stand out. You also have to log in to websites with every visit, cannot set websites to dark mode as a default, remember which sites are in dark mode and the browser window size may be smaller than your screen resulting in a border to fit your screen size. In addition to the general anti-fingerprinting difficulties, I will also note that during my experimentation that Librewolf had some bugs, like Youtube audio playing while the visuals were frozen. Other than that my overall experience was largely positive. In addition, there is no Android version of Librewolf and it struggles with MacOS. Get Librewolf: https://librewolf.net/ Mullvad This browser will feel fairly similar to Librewolf, for a number of reasons. Firstly, they are both open sourced, modified versions of Firefox that block all ads. Secondly they both employ the same heavy anti-fingerprinting strategy. This means that just like with Librewolf, any two users of Mullvad are impossible to distinguish. However from here there are some differences. Mullvad was made as a joint effort between the TOR project and Mullvad VPN. Where it comes to funding, the TOR project is a non-profit and does the work for free. Mullad VPN is a paid subscription, and part of the reason behind the browser was to convince users to use their VPN. I'll talk more about Mullvad VPN in a different entry, but for now it's enough to know that no one profits from you using the Mullvad browser. Just like Librewolf the recommendation is to not modify the browser, meaning you have to log in, switch to dark mode, minimize screens and whatever else, to each website everytime you use them. Mullvad also does not save your search history, or give search suggestions. However unlike Librewolf, I didn't notice any performance issues. The browser looks a bit odd, but if you can get used to that it's a pretty seamless transition. There are no mobile browser versions for Mullvad. Get Mullvad: https://mullvad.net/en/browser Level 3 There is only one Browser here. This is it. The king of private browsers, the undisputed champ. Part of the reason that the Mullvad browser was designed was to be a more user friendly version of this. The step beyond privacy and to anonymity. The Tor Browser. TOR stands for The Onion Router, and when you set it up on your computer you have all searches made through it are tripple encrypted and sent through various other Tor users before being sent out to your desired website. If that doesn't make sense, don't worry, I barely understand it myself. If Librewolf and Mullvad are using gloves to avoid leaving a fingerprint the Tor Browser is putting your hands in acid to burn your fingerprints off. With Librewolf and Mullvad it was heavily recommended not to modify. Here it is an order that comes with a very explicate "or else." The Tor Browser is the open source brain child of the Tor project, a non-profit aiming to bring internet privacy to everyone. It comes with all the downsides of Mullvad but it's also slow. However, it also has some benfits. Anyone watching your internet traffic, such as a school, employeer, or ISP(Internet service provider), can see you are using the Tor Browser, but nothing else. Not what sites you visit, nothing. The websites you visit are likewise clueless as to anything about you. It is also probably the safest way to access the Dark Net, though if you want you can also use Brave for that(though I do not recommend). I may make a blog entry on the dark web later. I haven't actually taken the time to use this one yet, so check back in a few weeks and I might update this with more information. While available for Windows, Linux, and Android, there is no iOS version of the TOR browser. The TOR project has an iOS browser called the Onion Browser, but I have no idea if it's good or not. Get the Tor Browser: https://www.torproject.org/ I know this has been long(so please let me know if these should be shorter), but with Web Browsers out of the way I want to move on to Search Engines. Unlike browsers I won't have a leveling system here, rather I will talk about three main points with search engines. 1. Privacy 2. Quality 3. Bias Privacy is pretty obvious, does the search engine store and sell your searches? Quality is how relavant the responces are to your queries. Bias is how the Search Engine filters your results. This is generally only really noticeable for politics, but I believe that it is something important to keep in mind, because even if you agree with what the Search Engine shows you, it's good to be aware of how it may color your perspective. I will not say whether any particular biasing bad or not, just point them out. The importance of choosing the right search engine cannot be overstated. We tell them things we wouldn't tell our best friend, and as stated above, Google will pay hundreds of millions of dollars a year in order to be the default(not even only, just the default) search engine on another browser. I also want to quickly list what each of the browsers uses as their default search engine, though you can usually change it pretty easily. Google Chrome and Firefox: Google Search Edge: Bing Brave: Brave Search Librewolf, Mullvad, TOR: DuckDuckGo In general you can change the default search engine by going to the browser homepage, going to settings and clicking search engines. Google Search Privacy: Not only is everything you search cataloged, but everything ypu type into the search bar is stored and sold to advertizers Quality: Google Search, admittedly, has perhaps the best quality of results of any search engine Bias: Google admits to actively promoting large corporate news sites it deems "trustworthy" over independant sorces. Wonder why large corperate Google would do that? It also tends to skew results to the political left, though that's an obervation and not something Google admits to. Bing: Privacy: Bing respects privacy as much as Google does. Quality: You're kidding right? In all seriousness, Bing is better than it was a few years ago, but it still isn't as good as Google. Bias: Bing shows many of the same biases Google does. Brave Search Privacy: Solid respect for privacy, and funded the same way that the Brave Browser is. Quality: Unlike the rest of the search engines here, Brave doesn't source its results from Google or Bing, but rather it built it's own web crawlers to deliver its own results. It's generally pretty good, unless you need an image search, then it has problems. Bias: Unlike any of the others Brave has a toggle at the top between left and right news sources, which I honeslty appreciate. The openness is kind of refreashing. It does still have a corperate bias regardless of affiliation. DuckDuckGo Privacy: A private Search Engine. They are funded through ads, but those ads are only sourced from a single search. For example of you search for: "computers," you might see computer ads. But when you search for "mac n' cheese," later the ads do not know that you searched for computers earlier. Quality: All responses are sourced from Bing, so the results are the same. Bias: Along with having the same biases as Bing, the CEO came out and said that they were going to pioritize information that they believed to be true. This may improve on Bing's initial biases, it may make them worse. That entirely depends on how much you trust DuckDuckGo. Startpage Privacy: Startpage is a private Search Engine, funded the same way DuckDuckGo is. Additionally, Startpage offers anonymous viewing of websites, allowing you to look at(but not interact with) webpages while completely hidden. Quality: Startpage sources its results from Google, so you get excellent quality. Bias: Sourcing from Google, Startpage has all the same biases Google does. SearX This one is interesting as SearX is really just a moduel that you either build youself, or use someone else's. I'm not tech savey enough to do it, but apparently it works amazingly. Ecosia Privacy: This thing sells your data, but it uses the money to plant trees if you value that more. Quality: Results are sourced from Bing Bias: See above. I hope everyone could get something from this, including easy ways to improve their daily browsing. Please respond to the poll up top it will help me improve these in the future.

Yuri This one is so wholesome I love it

Today's yuri:

You are not in a bathroom. You are not curled up in the corner. There are no tears on your face. Your body is clean, unmarred, tolerable. There are no tears on your face. You cannot hear the screaming. There are no tears on your face. You can't even remember what you just saw. And above all, you are just so glad there are no damn tears on your face. ... This isn't working, is it? ... Let's try something else. You are standing in a parking lot, in front of a sports stadium. Colorful banners, massive, hang from the sides, advertising the concert here tonight. You can hear your favorite band's pre-show mix playing from inside, and the air smells like sugary and oily concessions. Your partner steps out of the car you just drove them here in, and they smile at you, repressing a squeal of delight, as they say something about how exciting everything is. The pain noise doesn't even bother you as you approach the stand of trees stadium. Your partner asks you something about being ready to scream your heart out, but you don't answer because they aren't there you're too excited. You reach out to hold their hand as you approach the stadium and the illusion breaks. you can't feel their hand, or rather you can't imagine how the touch of a loved one feels. you are- no, you're not. you are at least in a parking lot. and... it is raining. you shiver, it is cold and dark. the parking lot looks like a void, the rain so thick it is impossible to see features beyond. just rows of empty lots and tall, lonely streetlamps. if you were really here, what you need is fire. you reach into your pocket, pulling a cracked smartphone lit torch from your pocket. It fills you with a sense of encouragement, of community. It warms you to your bones. You can't even feel the tears on your face rain. Something whispers from the torch, whispers hope. Whispers encouragement. Whispers friendship. You find you are able to control the shape the fire in your hands, like all the magical powers you always wished you had. If you speak to it kindly, if you feed its delusions and forget everything that has made you you, it will drive back the rain. It grows, spiraling outward, growing branches, until you are sheltered by a great tree of fire. And the tree grows, burning away the rain. Burning away the air. Burning away the floor. you don't even know who you are anymore. a month looms over you like a reaper. everyone you know expects you to sacrifice something of yourself for them, then tells you they've loved you better than the others. either that or they've left you alone. alone with your thoughts. alone with the fire. alone in your own little hell. No, you have not come to Hell. You have always been here. The chill has been brutally murdered, laid to rest while this heat feeds on everything, itself, and most of all you. Now there is no escape, only judgement, and at least you have solace in that you are getting what you deserve for once. You have nothing to feel guilty over- the only thing you have space in your mind to feel is pain. but you can't feel anything. you couldn't make yourself feel happy, you couldn't make yourself feel sad, you couldn't truly change yourself, couldn't delude yourself, couldn't do anything. the illusions destroy themselves like a mist that emits sunlight, burning itself away. and what's left is the ugly truth- you, in all that you are. except that was a lie. You can make yourself feel one thing. Guilt. Guilt, like a sorrow that freezes into solid ice, weighing in the space between your lungs. Its funny how you think about these things while you cross the tundra. People surround you, people you know. They spoke to you through the torch. Except they are far, far away. The torch is not so far away, still separate but approachable, while the people stand silhouetted on the horizon. It is not a lonely isolation. You push one aside- were they that close? Their touch is freezing, and all it tells you is that you need the torch. and so you keep going. that's all you can do. you stand up, washing the stinging tears from your face. you look at the scars on your arm- you didn't go that far, not this time, but almost. and then you open the door. there is always another day, another morning to find his mercy new. but tonight you need rest. Get some rest.

I like walking. Not running, not jogging. Walking. I think, I could walk forever. Just existing, into the distance. The constant repetitive movement makes me sad. But good sad. I could walk. But I can’t somedays. Somedays I walk forever. Some I don’t want to walk out of bed. Some I want to walk off a cliff or into the ocean. Some I want to walk along said cliff or said ocean and take in the beauty of life. Im not sure what today was. It was both, it was neither. But I walked nonetheless.

I don’t hate religious people. And I don’t fear all of them. Just most. And the thing that’s ironic. When they wonder why I grow uncomfortable around them, or why I take off my rainbow bracelet, or remove my rings and straighten my stance, or deepen my voice. It’s not because my parents conditioned me to think this way. It’s because the ones with the crosses did. When I see a cross in a house, I look for exits. When I see a cross on a necklace I prepare to turn, when I go to the bathroom I hope I won’t see crosses. When I hear religious music it sounds like the jaws theme. And I hate myself for this, bc ik most religious people aren’t bad. But the ones that pass me notes in the hallway saying “so and so likes u” and then follow me around for a week saying that that guys in love with me and telling my name and saying gross things too me. And the ones that say “ew Izzy almost touched me” when u get too close. And the ones that spread pictures of me in a dress around the entire school for people to laugh at. And the ones that find a picture of me in a crop top and spread that around the school. They have “trained” me to think this way, I don’t hate religious people, heck my girlfriend is religious, my best friends religious, one of my other best friends dad is a preacher although my friend himself isn’t religious. But still I fear the cross, I fear what the people who use it will do to me. I saw a 4 year old with a cross necklace today and he waved at me and I waved back but all I was thinking was “when this kid turns 18 he’s going to try to take my rights and ruin my life bc of who I am” and I hate that. I hate that I think that way. But it keeps me safe. So I also hate the people that made me have to think this way.

The Time We Have Left I am an ocean of blood, draining into a dark, misty abyss The Path Ahead I am a feather Jet black, drifting through skies of Arcadian cities The Heavens Behind Us I choke on gasoline fumes, Summoning courage to break, These gilded, granite walls. Corroding in these small rooms, Eating myself alive to make, It out of these ascending walls. I’m not okay, the floor’s stained, Fighting my apparitions, Lonely in the mirror. Rain cleanses my old pain, The garden whispers visions, Reborn, I won’t fear her. Nightingale Night falls like an eternal city Turning the angels into birds Their scratching screeches are more pretty Painting facsimiles of words Pain, reprieve, life, rest my thoughts align inside the nest and songs collapse into the text Therapy I haven’t eaten for days I haven’t showered for days I haven’t slept for days Do you know why I don’t You will be fine I won’t It’s funny how you study empathy But once it’s your job it’s useless to me Aroma Do I choose to be alone Do I choose to stay at home Do I choose to learn mistakes Can I find another way Was I born without a sense Was smell always useless Was it wrong to look for love Can I find something above Will feel happy this time Will I leave it for a lie Will I still ask what if Can I accept myself

Depending on how invested you are in the lore, you may want to review some of my previous entries, as they May connect to this Content. Specifically some of the very first ones, but also later on. Nothing Was Ever Okay letter.txt We don’t know exactly when it started—the abductions, the interrogations, and the sculpting of humanity. Some of us theorize that they have operated in the background—pulling strings, subtly influencing life as we know it—for centuries. Millenia, even. We don’t even know what a life without them would be like, since we have lived so long with them there. We only just discovered them ourselves, and it is likely that others have in the past. That nothing has surfaced about them in all this time is concerning to us; we fear the inevitable erasure that others have apparently received. Yet we seek to—at the very least—have some positive impact on this…withered planet. If this message should find you, know that they are always watching. They could be watching me type this. Do not trust anyone, and beware the Tower. — Just someone who cares Watching Stone, Numb He didn’t bother to open his eyes as he awoke, still lying on that stone floor, in this stone chamber. He had been here for so long… so long… What was his name again? He couldn’t remember anything; his mind was foggy and lethargic. Each thought was slow, and he often gave up and lay for hours staring at the back of his eyelids or the stone wall or ceiling. * * * Zack. Zack. Zack. An Odd Happening ... Nozone7: W Nozone7: W xu5_on0m: GOGOGO Nozone7: W rep3al_MUA: almost tehre! dont forget fence lol 217319125: You may want to double-check the code, it looks like you messed up a few digits back. Also... try to go quicker, I have got a bad feeling about this. We may need to abort. Xu5_on0m: c’mon M, u got this!! So close! Nozone7: GOOOO!!!! Nozone7: w8 wt was tht??! rep3al_MUA: and she forgot th fence... 341008445: It’s fine, as long as she finishes quickly. The Fence is just a precautionary measure. Nozone7: GUYS IM SRS I THNK I SAW SMTH rep3al_MUA: oh crap Sales and Discounts Lies, all of them. Everything is “on sale,” “Discounted,” “Clearance.” The “deals”? Lies to make you get more than you need or want. You don’t need anything, It will go to waste. We do not need anything, We are waste. Enticing, aren’t they? “One-time offer”s, “Holiday sale”s. Better “real price” and “sale-each-day, with different excuses.” Stop falling for it, Stop making me cringe inside. - Lily

Please let me know what you think of the new banner! I may make tweaks to it. As for the following story, it is...shall we say, related...to one from yesterday. This one about half as long, but yeah. Fun fact: I wrote it entirely while listening to the song "Lily" by Alan Walker et al. on repeat. This one may not be as good as the previous story...but it's something. Omnipresent Oftentimes Lily would lay awake in bed—tear-soaked pillowcase under her cheek—trying to catch sleep, but it was tantalizing. Sometimes it came easy. Other times, it hid in the shadows. Periodically, Lily would get close to finding sleep, and then it would taunt her and vanish—off to a new hiding place. And when Lily lay in her suddenly-uncomfortable bed, eyes leaking tears that she didn’t care to wipe away, thoughts and…images…plagued her. When she closed her eyes, some image or another—usually a manifestation of one of her many anxieties—would be there. Lily could open her eyes to dismiss it, but it often returned when she shut them again. Her eyelids were like curtains, though in an inverse way. When her eyes were open, they functioned as closed drapes. She could only see the darkness of the dorm around her. This helped comfort Lily. She was reminded of the real world, where her thoughts weren’t manifest. At least not tangibly. When her eyelids were closed, the curtains drew back to reveal horrors outside the window. Sometimes they crept up and out into her world, sticking with her even when awake. So, Lily would toss and turn some nights. She would sometimes dance with a fitful sleep, starting awake at random points in the night—or day—to find herself crying, sweating, and shaking. Some nights—such as after a good spurt of writing—Lily would find peace. Those nights occurred too infrequently, and always lasted the shortest, naturally. Her bed had once been comfortable, but now she found it too hot, or too cold, and overall not conducive to sleep. She would lay in bed, wondering why she couldn’t sleep. She would cry tears of frustration, sometimes just giving up and getting up to write some more, or staying in bed but watching some anime. When Lily was frustrated like this, however, she found it difficult to enjoy anything. She just wanted to express it somehow, but no one was there to listen. She could scream, but no one was there. She could pound the wall, but only end up with an aching fist. Lily usually found sleep eventually—only realizing it when she woke up. Sometimes sleep helped and Lily woke up in a good mood. Other times, she would wake up—feeling dried tears upon her cheeks—and immediately feel awful. Nights were the worst for Lily. Earlier in the day, she found it easier to be happy. When night began to creep in—when the winter sun began to set—the shadows stretched toward her like hands until she was completely enveloped. Sleep was an option to escape this, but…Lily often found she didn’t want to sleep. She would just end up lying in her bed, miserable, for hours. Lily sometimes found solace in the realm of the internet. It was the only place where she could break out of her shell somewhat. Though she had to be careful. Shadows could move in and out of the digital world; sometimes new fears and anxieties emerged from the screen, other times those shadows crept in from outside the screen—like an invasion upon the oasis. Overall, however, Lily realized that she could relate with some of the people she met in this realm. She even found comfort simply from interacting with…with another human—something she rarely did offline. Sometimes Lily would write less one day in favor of the internet. It took up her time. Unnecessary. Dangerous. Was it? One day, Lily woke up in the morning—or, rather, sometime in the afternoon—and realized something. She…she heard something. People. Outside. Lily leaped out of bed—legs becoming entangled with her covers—and hopped to the single window. She pushed aside the drapes, blinking as the sun hit her, and smiled. Yep. - Lily

You may remember a world... Of a God-Shattered. Destroyed. Ripped into pieces. 16 pieces, if you remember. 16 gods that lived in relative harmony. This is not that world. In this world, 16 fools try and kill a god. but only to Gods are left to claim. So 15 enter one god, and leave one alone in the other. Reason and Passion. Logic and Emotion. Maybe there is a world where the 16 split evenly. Maybe there's a world where the 2 fledgling gods cooperated. But that is not a world I know. Passion, the 14 lending them an upper hand, walked away with the 16's soul. It escaped. 15 now 1, an enraged god roared. without Reason, it destroyed itself. You may remember a world where the death of a god left a scar on the universe. A death that made torturous creatures of dreams. This world encountered the death of not one, but 15. With the majority of the 16th. And it was violent. A scarred world, with no trace of any healing, left with a dead god. A god left in exile, stripped greatly of their power... And a secret... In this world, the Dual God wished to live. In this world, the Dual God imparted it's knowledge. In this world, the Exiled God knows what it shouldn't. Do you want to see this world? For it is not pretty. Nor is good. This world may have no resolution, may only be sad. And yet... I still ask. Do you wish to come on this Journey? Would you wish to enter this world?

Hi everyone! I'm Akimikoisthecutest, if you don't already know, and I'm a trans woman! Here I'm going to share my story with you all! My first actual post should show up soon (I thought I scheduled it for noon today, but I guess not.) Sooo, yeah! Here we go!

Authorial note: While parts of this story, namely the trial and the Dreamsmith's forging, do in fact take place in the World of Dreams, I have decided against the convention of italicizing such sections, because I wanted to use italics for emphasis instead. Malevolence approached the dark cave with characteristic confidence. He wore a black lab coat, Mordite Blade strapped to his waist. His violet eyes gleamed with anticipation as he called out. "Are you there? I seek th-" "I know why you are here." The voice, filled with aggression, seemed to speak from all directions at once. Before Malevolence could reply, the cave's mouth moved, shadows within twisting into knife-like teeth as it careened forwards, swallowing the young villain whole. -- Malevolence stood in a plane of endless shifting mists. Faces form out of the darkness all around him, some unfamiliar, others terrifyingly so. One shape, with the features of Malan, formed from the shadows and spoke in Omen's voice. "You would seek the Dreamsmith? You, a villain of the highest caliber?" Malevolence shivered, staring into the face of a villain dead by his betrayal. "I... Yes. I know that other villains have sought out the Dreamsmith and been rewarded. Rebus, Ivisyre. While Desolation was turned away, the other more recent examples prove his desire to forge a weapon for anyone he believes can benefit from it." Omen stared at Malevolence through the accusing eyes of a dead man. "Very well. But know this: Your trial will not be easy. And the Dreamsmith will not make a weapon merely for destruction, even if you do survive." Malevolence hesitated. This was a gamble, perhaps a greater gamble than any he'd taken so far. To put himself into the hands of Omen, into the hands of the Dreamsmith... But it was necessary. The return of the Witherlord was imminent. The Antagonist was running free. "This is no time for easy trials." Malevolence's confidence seemed to push back the shifting smoke, dispel the images of the dead. "I will face this trial, and overcome it. I need an edge for what is to come." "Very well." Murmured Omen. And all went black. -- Malevolence stood in a room that had long been seared into his memory. Before him sat a room full of children. Beside him stood a teacher. At first glance, it was an ordinary classroom. On second glance, discrepancies began to pop up. The teacher's face was covered in scars, an eyepatch covering one eye. The remaining eye that scanned the classroom held none of the care or respect that might be expected of a teacher. Instead, it held nothing but loathing and scorn for the children. The children. Yes, that was where the differences were most apparent. The children looked to be about twelve or thirteen years old, and they did not fidget. They did not glance toward the door longingly, nor were there any conspiratorial whispers passed along the rows. The children sat at perfect attention, eyes shifting suspiciously around the room, towards their teacher, and towards their fellows. "Ah." Malevolence whispered softly. "The School of Evil. I should have known you would bring me here. And, if I remember correctly, this is..." He scanned the classroom more carefully. "Ah, there he is." One boy was not scanning the classroom for suspicious behavior. One boy was staring at Malevolence with pleading violet eyes. A younger Malevolence, with hair not white but brown, sat before him. "Well do I remember this day." Malevolence murmured. "Not everyone at the School was a student from infancy, as I was. Indeed, some were even child heroes before being captured and twisted into villains. I trusted one of those, fool that I was, with my plans to escape. This... was my reward." He opened his mouth to speak the words that would condemn his younger self to weeks of punishment. Not simply torture, no, not yet. He would be beaten, but not too severely. It would not do to stunt the growth of a prospective student. The teachers would declare him weak, holding onto ideals of Good. He would be reassigned to remedial classes, forced to work to exhaustion and beyond. He would eat nothing but maggot-filled bread and water for weeks on end. Nutritious, due to the genetically modified strain of maggot, but revolting. But worst of all was ostracization of the other students. None of them would come near Malevolence or even speak with him, save to insult or demean him. It would not do to be seen having empathy for the downtrodden. Indeed, the cruelty of the students, desperate to please their teachers, was far worse than any punishment they could have meted out. "Well?" Prompted the teacher. "Speak, Inhumanity. You told me you had something to say." Malevolence hesitated. He was in the position of Inhumanity, the student who had betrayed him. Perhaps- Omen's voice interrupted his thoughts. "I thought you should see this through another's eyes. Look, Malevolence, and see the truth behind this child's betrayal." -- He was in another place. A darkened room, strapped to a chair, with two teachers standing above him, a bright light shining into his eyes. "Hello Inhumanity. We heard you've been plotting escape." "I have not!" The voice came from Malevolence's lips, a voice not his own. "And my name is not Inhumanity! My name is Eric!" The teachers laughed dryly. "Is that so? Then what, pray tell, is this?" The bright light dimmed, revealing a screen. A camera recording, by the look of things. It showed Malevolence and Inhumanity, lying down on their beds in a dark room. Malevolence had a tiny device plugged into an outlet on the wall, and he typed into it frantically. Eventually, he glanced at the ceiling, then smiled. He turned to Inhumanity and spoke in a hushed voice. “I think that does it. The cameras are disabled. Now I can tell you about my plan.” The recording cut off, light returning to near-blinding intensity. The two teachers leaned in close. “Do you still deny your involvement? Or will you listen to what we have to say? If you listen well, you might just escape punishment.” Malevolence felt a desperate spark of hope swell within his chest. Again, Inhumanity’s voice spoke through Malevolence’s lips. “What… What do you want me to do?” The teachers looked at one another and grinned. They began to speak, but the words faded, as did the blinding light. All faded to darkness. -- Malevolence stood again in the place of shifting shadows. Omen stood before him, this time taking Inhumanity’s shape. “Do you understand now, Malevolence?” Malevolence stood still, his mind reeling with implications. “I… do. I… should have believed. That is how they operate. The teachers… they saw an opportunity to crush an aspiring hero, and perhaps to motivate a promising young villain with hatred.” He looked at Omen, eyes narrowing. “I see the trial now. You want me to see this, one of my foundational moments as a villain, and realize that the boy I have hated for so long was just as much a victim as I was. You want me to acknowledge that I too would have betrayed myself, in Inhumanity’s position.” Instead of responding, Omen merely waved a hand. Shadows lengthened, and all went black. -- Omen was back in the classroom, seeing the world through Inhumanity’s eyes. This time, he felt Inhumanity’s emotions too. Guilt, crushing guilt, flooded through him. But stronger than the guilt was the fear. The fear of punishment, the fear that he would simply be killed, too much trouble to rehabilitate. Hating himself for it, Malevolence raised his hand and pointed at younger self. The horror spreading across that face as he opened his mouth and spoke, condemning that child, himself, to a horrible fate, was too much too bear. Malevolence squeezed his eyes shut. -- Malevolence stood before Omen in the place of shadows. A simple wooden door stood before him. This time, Omen was in his native form, one with the shadows and the smoke. “You have passed your trial.” Said he. “Through this door, the Dreamsmith is w- “No.” Omen froze. “…What?” “No. I have not passed my trial.” Malevolence’s face was twisted with emotion. He stepped forward, thrust a hand into Omen’s form. “You think I am evil because of what was done to me? You think I cannot see the truth of this world, that good really does exist? You are wrong!” The shadows seemed to wrap around Malevolence as he ranted, almost like a suit of armor. “You do not know me! You want to know why I seek evil? I WILL SHOW YOU!” Darkness rippled, a device in Malevolence’s palm activating, drawing upon Omen’s power and Malevolence’s memory. Blackness enveloped them. -- Omen and Malevolence stood in what looked like an ordinary doctor’s clinic. Malevolence looked younger than he was in reality, but not by much. He was perhaps seventeen years of age. Beyond the difference in years, there was a difference in how Malevolence walked, in his bearing. He was less confident, more angry. He walked with a quick step to the reception desk and spoke in a falsely cheerful voice. “Hello! I’m here for my 3 o’clock appointment. My name is Ven G. Ance.” The vision shifted, accelerating events. Malevolence waited inside an examining room, tapping his foot on the floor. Eventually, the door opened and an old man entered. He wore a doctor’s coat, a pair of spectacles, and a kindly smile. That smile vanished as soon as the door was closed, replaced by a villainous smirk. “So.” He said in a voice colder than ice. “The escapee in the flesh. You think I’m not ready for you? Please. “Ven G. Ance”. Standards must be dropping if idiots like you are escaping my school.” He raised his voice. “Protocol alpha.” As the evil doctor laughed maniacally, mechanical arms shot from the walls… then grabbed him. He gasped in shock and pain as the arms forced him to his knees before Malevolence, who stood up, a sneer building on his face. “I hacked your system before I ever stepped foot in this building.” Malevolence gloated. “Now, will you beg for your life? Perhaps if you do, I will make this quick.” The old man struggled briefly, then stopped. Then he looked Malevolence in the face and laughed. “Beg? Please. I am content with my legacy. Hundreds, even thousands of lives ruined by me! You may kill me, but every graduate from my school, every villain inspired and created by me will continue my work.” He continued laughing, even as he was ripped apart by the arms. Malevolence turned to Omen, body and demeanor shifting into his present-day self. “I killed Inhumanity first, you know. He begged for his life. Told me he’d never meant to hurt me, told me he’d been forced to by the teachers. I didn’t believe him. But now… Yes, now I see.” He forced his mouth into a twisted grin. “You want to know why I seek evil? The answer is simple. In evil, there is freedom. When I have achieved my goal, I will be able to laugh, no matter my fate.” Omen hovered silently. The device on Malevolence’s hand cracked, then dissolved into nothing. “You are a fool. You could have been lost in this world forever if that device had not worked properly. However… the trial has still been passed. Step through the door, and speak to the Dreamsmith.” Omen gestured angrily, and the doorway reappeared. Malevolence stepped through the doorway without further comment. -- Malevolence stepped into the Dreamsmith’s workshop. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he walked across the dimly lit room, approaching the forge and anvil where the Dreamsmith waited. The Dreamsmith stood at the villain’s approach, blazing eyes contemplative. “Hello Malevolence. What sort of weapon shall I make for you?” Malevolence reached down to his side and drew his Mordite blade. He levelled this weapon at the Dreamsmith, then set it down on the anvil. “I acquired this blade during a brief alliance with some particularly dangerous rabbits. However… I am mortal, and despite my technology, lack the ability to use this blade properly. I understand that you are capable of manipulating the soul more expertly than any? Well, my soul is rather ordinary, in terms of power. So I wish you instead to bond my soul to that Blade, allowing me to safely tap into some of the destructive powers of the Mordite.” The Dreamsmith blinked. “You want me to bond a Mordite blade to your soul? Safely? That is…” He cocked his head. Yes, it was a near impossible task. But perhaps… Inspiration struck, and The Dreamsmith nodded. “Very well. I shall do as you ask.” And so the Dreamsmith set to work. He closed his eyes, examining Malevolence’s soul carefully. He found that for once, Malevolence had told the truth. His soul was twisted and warped by evil, and there were some odd residues from the various powers the villain had meddled with, but there was nothing within Malevolence which the Dreamsmith could forge into a weapon worthy of its own ambition. Eyes still closed, the Dreamsmith looked down at the Mordite sword before him, seeing clearly the cruel power contained within. Corruptive power, eager to destroy. The Dreamsmith felt an ache in his shoulder just looking at the terrible blade, but opened his eyes and raised his hammer nonetheless. First, the weapon’s form. The blade before the Dreamsmith already had a form, but he did not find it particularly suited to Malevolence. So instead, he looked up at Malevolence once again. To his eyes, the twisted soul within seemed to resemble… yes. The Dreamsmith brought his hammer down upon the Mordite, sending a *CRACK* of power through the room. His hammer rebounded, nearly ripping itself from the smith’s grasp. The Dreamsmith grunted, readjusting his hammer and gathering his strength, burning eyes flaring with intense heat. He struck again, then again, then again, hammer burning with a red heat matching that of his eyes. The blade resisted. reality rejecting the touch of a dream, but the Dreamsmith was relentless. Each blow of his hammer poured more power into the blade, ordering it to change to his liking. Soon, the Mordite began to glow with a dark light, cracks forming along its surface. The Dreamsmith struck one final blow, and the sword shattered, deadly Mordite shards shooting out in all directions. The Dreamsmith held up a hand and the shards froze in midair, several merely inches from skewering the watching Malevolence. He made a fist, and the shards coalesced, fusing together to form a dagger. The shards fit together well enough to make a point, but the jagged edges and gaps formed together in such a way to create barbs that would make removing the dagger near impossible. Satisfied with the Form of the dagger, the Dreamsmith moved to his next task. The weapon’s power. This task was both simple and terribly dangerous. For the blade already had power, a terrible, corruptive power of darkness. To bond such a blade to Malevolence’s soul would doom him to a pitiable fate, a slow descent into darkness. But the Dreamsmith had just the tool for such a job. He reached down and pulled forth a four-pointed medallion, holding it over the dagger. He thought of Platypus, the chimeric being of many powers. And so, he reached within the dagger’s soul and, ever so carefully, commanded it to change. A small, delicate change. A shifting of alignments at the core of the blade’s being, a tiny instability in the blade’s essence. Carefully, gently, he pulled a strand of power from that core, a single weak point by which the dagger’s essence could be transformed. Lastly, the name. The Dreamsmith reached into Malevolence’s soul, placing the strand of power from the dagger there. The name would be a link between the villain’s soul and the dagger’s power, a seal upon the dagger, making it immutable to any influence save that imbued by the shape and essence of Malevolence’s soul. “This dagger,” The Dreamsmith said solemnly, “is changeable. Just as your soul is changeable, just as your path is changeable. So too, the name shall be changeable. To change this blade, , you need only change yourself.” He looked directly into Malevolence’s violet eyes. Eyes that burned with evil zeal. “And Malevolence, you can change yourself. I will not try to convince you of it, but there will come a time when you question, when you have a chance to be other than evil. When that time comes, remember my words. Remember this blade.” The Dreamsmith reached out, pressing the sword into Malevolence’s hands. “I name this blade ‘Cowardice’. For it is the blade of a coward, of a man who hides from pain, a man whose greatness is based on deception and backstabbing.” At his words, the connection was completed. Cowardice and Malevolence became one. Malevolence examined Cowardice, feeling power flood into him. He looked back towards the Dreamsmith. “I can’t dismiss it.” The Dreamsmith shrugged. “You wanted it to be safe. Where do you think that Mordite would go if you dismissed it? It can’t safely be stored within your soul, like my other blades that can be dismissed.” Malevolence nodded in acceptance, expression inscrutable. Thank you, Dreamsmith. I will put this Blade to good use.” He turned and walked out of the workshop, lab coat tails billowing out behind him. The Dreamsmith watched Malevolence go with a somber expression. Did I he wondered, do the right thing? The Dreamsmith had made many weapons, but, for once, he feared how this one would be used. His eyes shifted towards a darkened corner of the workshop. “I know you are there. How you got in here without Omen noticing you, I have no idea. But I know why you are here.” Slowly, hesitantly, the traveler stepped out of the darkness. To Be Continued

I love how it dances. It is unrestrained, it does whatever it wants. It lights up the world, the glows so many beautiful hues. It is not matter, but it is close to being alive. It dances from here to there, bringing destruction in it's wake. For many it is terror, but even that is beauty. For all the pain it causes, we harnessed it for warmth. It is the air we breath, and what we make out of it. It breaths like we do, it eats like we do. Who is to say it isn't alive? It dances like we do, it destroys like we do. Who is to say it isn't alive like we are?

girls

yuri Might start posting uncaptioned images soon though cause these ones are harder to find

Thursday! Yay! yuri

Author unknown

Chapter 1 3rd ‘day’ on Rolista, 6th Sunrise of the 5th Rotation Rolista is the name of the world I am currently in. I finally learned it in a shop this morning when I was trading for supplies. Rolista, a minor planet floating somewhere in the outer belt, not relevant to most timelines, but being the home of some somewhat known Perspectives. Think ‘storybook village hidden forest in the middle of nowhere with a view of the mountains’. The people are nice enough, smart enough to not ask questions, and use USC, one thing I can thank the dammed Chrono Commission for. Tomorrow I will leave this place because if I linger, I will start to care. It’s the reason heroes die and villains prosper. It’s all I’ve ever been told, it’s the only way to continue existing, in this deteriorating world. If you stay then you will start to care, and if you care, you will start to have a purpose. And when you have a purpose, you will die. _+_ The chilly wind swept ‘S’s long hair and cloak around as they stepped out onto a long flat rock outlooking a lake. The water rippled with the breeze, creating small waves, but was reflective enough for what ‘S’ was doing. The surrounding trees bent with the wind, the sound of their branches swaying in the wind creating a haunting melody. ‘S’ exhaled, creating a small puff of fog from their mouth. “It’s a shame,” ‘S’ said, placing a metal disk into the edge of the water. A final parting gift from ‘7’, all that time ago. “That I have to leave now. The Cold season is always so pretty in these parts.” ‘S’ hopped onto the disk, and it started floating to the centre of the lake. When it arrived, ‘S’ pulled out a canvas from their worn down messenger bag. They set it down in the water, and then they grabbed a vial of dark, thick ink. Like many times before, ‘S’ pulled out the stopped on the vial of ink, and dumped its contents onto the canvas. The ink quickly expanded, first covering the canvas, the spreading to the entire lake. The ink swirled around the lake in ever complex patterns, then suddenly surged up, into the sky, forming a black swarm of lines, random yet intentional, messy and orderly at the same time. 'S’ breathed a sigh of relief. This world had rejected them, so they were free to go. ‘S’ used their foot to lightly tap a pad on the metal disk, and then all the ink suddenly snapped into a tight spiral around the metal disk, branching out into the sky and beyond. Time to go, they thought. They tapped another pad, and a protective layer formed around them from the metal disk. 10...9...8.. “Soul! You shall not leave!” a voice cut out from the forest. 7..6.. “On behalf of the Chrono Commission, I have come to deliver your punishment.” 5... oh no. ‘S’ though. They can’t have found me this quickly. It can’t be them. “Crime: being in cahoots with Strain 7 and conspiring against the Chrono Commission and order of the universe!” 4... 3... They can’t do anything to me, I’m about to leave. “Come willingly, or face any consequence to be brought to justice!” The voice sounded closer than before, and then a small spirit resembling a cat with large eyes and ears came floating out of the foliage. 3.. Not one of those... ‘S’ thought. A Toast Cat. One of the Chrono Commission's worst forms of punishment, with an all too innocent name. They bound to souls, not physical forms, so simply acquiring another form wouldn’t deter them. 2... If one is here, them I must leave before the binding process is through. Otherwise... let's not think of that now. “Oh great God Prime, bind thy to soul to this criminal, so they may receive the proper punishment and guidance to their wayward ways, and find true balance in their corrupted soul. I ask of this through all my power, and the power of my creator, Prototype.” And after that, the Toast Cat threw itself through the ink, and onto the metal disk. ...1. The metal disk let out a hiss, and threw them through the link spiral into the emptiness of space.

Do people read these? Ig we'll find out! But I wanted to share some recent thoughts and discoveries I've made recently, and hopefully they'll be helpful. I know we've all heard the lecture time and time again about how bad phones are, how they're rotting our brains, etc, etc. I think we can all acknowledge that spending 2 hours scrolling on a phone or watching youtube on your computer is a waste of time. But almost as dangerous is the smaller, shorter uses. Checking your phone in the morning, or while you're walking somewhere, or even going to the bathroom. There's so many small snatches of inactivity or silence throughout our day that we are desperate to fill with something. Sometimes phone use, or music, or the Shard, or whatever it is. But these brief moments of silence are important, and we shouldn't rush to fill them. The past month or so, I've started walking to all my classes with my phone and earbuds in my backpack, where I can't easily access them. In doing so, I'm only left with my thoughts, and nature. I find myself appreciating more little things, like the big tree I walk by every day on my way to breakfast. But most importantly, it gives me more time with my thoughts. Oftentimes, a lot of our stress and anxiety is generated by suppressed emotions, and we often suppress them simply because we never take time to process and think, because we always fill up those spare moments with something else. Ofc, oftentimes we don't want to stop and think, and so phones (or whatever it is for you) become an easy avenue of escape, to scroll mindlessly instead of facing our own problems and emotions. Sometimes, when life isn't going well, we don't want to reflect on what we're feeling and what's bothering us, because it's painful. But if you can't identify what's causing you emotional and mental stress, you'll never find a way to fix those problems. Not cope with them, but fix them. Yes, having a dedicated time for meditation is good, and I encourage that as well. But I encourage you to take small moments throughout the day to really think and reflect, to analyze yourself honestly and objectively. Think about what's causing you the most stress emotionally and mentally, and think about what practical, concrete steps you can take to either change that cause, or change your response to it. * One more note on music (maybe I'll make another post about it more in depth about its Psychological effects), it's not inherently bad. Music can be both helpful and harmful to us. But if you're the type of person to listen to music all the time, take some time to just have silence, and really think. If you can drive, take some drives without listening to anything, as that's a great time for thinking. ** If you don't have a phone, I get this may not be as applicable to you. But it's still good to take time to really think. And also appreciate not having a phone, however cool it may seem

There is a specific kind of stuck that happens when you’re a trans girl in nerdy spaces. You spend years as a lurker—not just on the 17th Shard forums or Discord, but in your own life. You watch the main characters from the sidelines, hiding behind an avatar and a username that feels like a suit of armor you forgot how to take off. As we stare down 2026, I’ve decided that the Lurker Era is officially over. Transitioning isn't just about the medical milestones (though those are great); it’s about the personal bucket list items that make life feel colorful again. Here are my top five lighthearted hopes for my transition in 2026—the year I finally step out of the shadows and into the light. The Final Boss of Fashion: Finding My Aesthetic. For the first year of transition, your wardrobe is basically a chaotic experiment. You buy things because they look feminine on a mannequin, only to realize you look like a Victorian ghost or a confused skittles bag. By 2026, my hope is to reach Aesthetic Equilibrium. I want to move past the hiding in hoodies phase and find the look that says, "I have a 40-minute theory on the origins of Adonalsium, but I also look incredible in this blazer." The goal is to have a Signature Look like Tech-Wear Sorceress or Dark Academia Librarian, where I open my closet and feel like I’m choosing a character skin that I actually enjoy playing. The ultimate milestone? Successfully wearing an outfit with zero pockets and not having a mental breakdown about where to put my phone. That is the true mark of womanhood: the tactical sacrifice of utility for style. Mastering the Voice of Authority. Voice training is arguably the most level-up part of transition. It’s the invisible skill tree. You spend months making heat from fire noises in your car like you’re trying to summon a demon, all in the hopes that one day, a telemarketer will call you Ma'am without hesitating. In 2026, my hope is to stop performing my voice and start owning it. I want to jump into a 17th Shard Discord voice chat and just talk without pre-game vocal warm-ups or worrying about my resonance dropping mid-sentence because someone mentioned a plot hole in The Lost Metal. The real win will be laughing—a genuine, unsuppressed laugh that sounds like joy rather than a vocal exercise. The Great Analog Expansion. Transitioning takes up a lot of mental real estate. In the early days, you’re so focused on the meta—the hormones, the paperwork, the social coming out—that you forget to actually have hobbies. You become a professional Trans Person™, and your personality starts to feel like a Wikipedia page. For 2026, I want to transition back into being a Human Being with Weird Hobbies. I want to reclaim the mental space that dysphoria used to occupy and finish a project that has nothing to do with gender. Whether I'm building a custom keyboard or baking a loaf of bread that doesn't double as a blunt-force weapon, the vibe is moving from "I am transitioning" to "I am a girl who is currently obsessed with this niche thing." Navigating the Social Cognitive Realm. Socializing while trans is like playing a high-stakes RPG where you’re not sure if you’ve cleared the tutorial yet. There’s the "first time going to a comic shop as a woman" quest and the "explaining my name change to my distant cousin" boss fight. My hope for 2026 is Social Fluidity. I want to stop being the Trans Friend and just be the "Friend Who Knows Too Much About Fantasy Lore." The goal is to attend a meetup and realize halfway through the day that I haven't thought about being trans once because I'm too engaged in a debate about magic systems. I want to find that inner circle of people who see me so clearly that the old version of me feels like a character from a book I read a long time ago. Reaching Internal Narrative Peace. This is the big one—the end-game content. Most of us spend our lives with a narrator in our heads that is incredibly mean, pointing out every flaw and every reason why we don't belong. In 2026, my ultimate hope is to Fire the Narrator and reach a state of Neutrality. I don't need to look in the mirror and see a supermodel; I just want to see me, without footnotes or caveats. I’m learning to love the messy middle of my transition. 2026 isn't about being perfect; it’s about being present and realizing that the transition isn't a bridge I’m crossing to get to a real life—the transition is my life, and it’s a pretty cool story to tell. If 2025 was the Beta Test, 2026 is the Full Release. There will still be bugs and probably some server lag when it comes to my confidence levels. But the core gameplay loop—living as a woman, engaging with the community I love, and finally feeling like the protagonist of my own journey—is finally stable. To my fellow Sharders on your own journeys: remember that the most important step is always the next one. Here’s to a 2026 filled with better fashion, clearer voices, and the kind of self-love that feels like a Critical Hit.

The traveler stepped from the shadows, and into the light of the Dreamsmith's forge. "Dreamsmith. Why should I care?" The Dreamsmith studied her, metal jaw whirring. "Care about what?" He asked The traveler paused. Surely he understood her question. "About anything." The Dreamsmith nodded, and his flaming eyes brightened. "Ah. I am afraid I cannot answer." "What? Why not?" Came the traveler's shocked reply. "I thought you were supposed to be wise." "Perhaps I am, perhaps I am not." The Dreamsmith shrugged. "Even so, my wisdom cannot answer this question." "But... you care. Why can't you tell me your reason for caring?" "You did not ask for my reason. You asked for one that would work for you." The traveler considered this. "I suppose I did not. Why do you care?" "Ah, that, I can answer." The Dreamsmith smiled. "I care because I wish our Author to care." "That... What? Does our Author not care already?" "He does. And yet, if we do not care, I fear he will not care either." "That... does not make a great deal of sense." "I know. Perhaps it will make more sense if I show you what Subversion is doing right now." The Dreamsmith closed his eyes and concentrated. "What she is doing?" The traveler scowled. "Why should that matt- Pages spread before her. Simple, white paper, with words handwritten in ink. She read them, and this is what they said: A man woke up, knowing that his world was going to end today. He did not know how he knew this, only that it was true. The man ran from his house, screaming incoherently. The man was struck by a car, and as he lay there dying, his world ended in the cacophony of a sun's supernova. A boy woke up, knowing that his world was going to end today. His father made breakfast for him and his sister, and they ate in silence. As he looked at his younger sister, the boy saw that she did not know. A part of him wanted to tell her, but in the end he could not bring himself to do it. The boy looked at his father, who smiled at him in an encouraging sort of way. Despite the smile, the boy looked at his father's eyes and saw the knowledge they held. A father spent a sleepless night, knowing that his world was going to end tomorrow. In the morning, he drove home before his children woke up, thanked his brother for watching them, and made breakfast for himself and his children. After that, he drove his children to the hospital so they could watch their mother die. A wife did not go to sleep, knowing she would not wake again. She was tired, though. So very tired. But she waited until her husband returned, with their children. Her heart broke as she hugged them one last time, saw that her son understood where his sister did not. Most of all her heart broke for her husband, in whose eyes she saw a world ending. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Tears flowed, but he did not say what she knew he felt. I love you, he said instead. His eyes said what his mouth could not. I'm not ready, they said as their children clung to her. Please, don't go, said his eyes as her vision started to fade. The wife felt tears in her own eyes, but she could not stay. So she died. And three worlds ended in the silence of a once-beating heart. "Do you see the tears?" As the Dreamsmith spoke, tearstains appeared on the pages. "I see them." The traveler replied. "Where do they come from?" "From her. From him. She wanted to know if Authors really care about the stories they write, about the people in them. She has her answer, and so, by proxy, do you." The Dreamsmith closed his eyes. "The Author cares about us. Sometimes more, sometimes less. But if we do not care, he will forget that we are alive. Or perhaps, never learn that we are alive. And so I care, to remind him." The traveler considered this for a good long while. "Your answer... does not fit me." "I knew it would not." The traveler looked at him questioningly. "Then my quest is pointless? If even you cannot give me the answer..." "Pointless? perhaps." The Dreamsmith fell silent, then. He watched the traveler's shoulders slump, her failure assert itself. "Thank you for your help." She said morosely, and turned to go. "I suppose now that I have failed, I should return to Subversion so that she can destroy me." As the traveler began to fade from the Dreamsmith's workshop, she heard his voice once again. "As you have asked a question of me, it is only fair that I ask one of you." The traveler strained to hear the Dreamsmith's wavering voice, fighting to remain just a little longer to hear this question. "Why, traveler, do you care?" The traveler awoke on a dusty road. She stood, and looked up and down the path. To the north, she could see the path led towards wilderness, the continuation of her pointless quest. To the south, the path led to a darkened place, where she knew Subversion would be waiting. Dreamsmith's question ringing in her mind, the traveler set off on the southward path.

Alright, lets try this again. Pick your top 2 favorites out of these.