#aiat

Made a quick meme this morning of that damn Ween pumpkin that's been haunting my thoughts- but hive flavored

Ok, hold up, because I just saw some of the same bullshit again and I need to say something here and now because of it. I was going to reply to the thing I saw but no, this needs a full-on wide-band broadcast at this point.

This one goes out to the lurkers, the mutuals who never speak, the internet visitors who are not mutuals but who return frequently and never interact or say anything, the hits on my Ao3 stories that never leave kudos or comments, the quiet ones who stop scrolling to look at something I said on Bluesky, or look at the art I incessantly reblog on Tumblr without saying anything, those who stay a long time or linger only briefly and then go, the ones no one ever sees, wearing their non-interaction like a cloak of invisibility.

I love you. You are welcome here. You are wanted.

You do not *ever* have to feel guilty or awkward or less-than about not making yourself visible to give me attention in exchange for what I write or reblog or babble on about.

You are wanted, as you are, right now. You do not owe anyone your interaction. You do not owe anyone performative engagement. You are allowed to just be. You are not selfishly taking something from me without giving in return. I am sharing this with you freely. Take as much or as little as you like. It's a gift. You are encouraged to exist in this space with me, even if I never know for sure if you're here with me right now in this moment or not.

I accept you. I care about you. I want you to feel loved, by me, because you are.

So much of the Internet has shifted to engagement farming, where the economy is human attention and the metrics by which that is measured are kudos and comments, likes and subscribes. I predate that. I come from a time where the instant gratification of attention did not happen. I am not sustaining myself moment to moment with an endless insatiable thirst for number of hearts go up with a vampiric lust for more internet points. I am more powerful than that. I am a storyteller. I know the old magic and I know how to use it. This is not to say I do not love the hearts. Each comment from another human being on anything I've written is something I cherish intensely. I giggle when someone reblogs one of my stories. I kick my feet when a name or a nameless guest leaves me a note on another one of my things. I am not too good for evidence of human interaction. I do very much love when someone reaches out in any capacity and it does encourage me, and I do delight in it intensely.

But this post is not for those beloved humans, as cherished as they are. This is for you, my precious, quiet ones.

When I say I gift my words to all humans with no strings, I mean it. I will not stop writing because some random threshold of [insert interaction metric here] was not reached. I will not withdraw from the world out of shame because I spoke and the mountains did not move to echo my thoughts back to me.

But, most importantly, I know you are out there, my quiet ones, my silent invisible readers - those who experience what I write when I post now and those who will not see my words for ten years from now, echoed in reblogs or bubbled up from internet searches, or perhaps excavated randomly from a buried file someone somewhere felt the need to save. I know you exist. I was you. Sometimes I still am. I have drawn strength and connection and felt love for words written by humans who will never know that they touched me, that I felt close to them in that moment of reading, that a circuit completed and became a live wire between us that was not remarked upon or ever acknowledged. That happened. I felt it. I know it exists. I invite you to tea in the library of my mind, beloved invisible creatures. You are welcome and wanted. I close my eyes and am happy you are here. I delight in the knowledge that you are reading this, right now. My words extend my mind beyond space and time. This, too, is a connection. And it exists and is worthy whether you say something about it or not. And while I do very much love to hear from people, I also know what it is like to *need* to not be seen, to be invisible, to be safe and unknown and not exposed. I love you. You are safe here. You are allowed to exist without being perceived. I am sitting with you now and I am blind to you but I know you are here and I welcome you nonetheless. You are wanted as you are, invisible quiet creatures who leave no trace. You are valued. You matter. You can go and return whenever you wish and I will still want you. I will still be happy that you exist as you are with no requirements for you to ever speak..

I accept you. I care about you. I trust you. I want you. I will protect you.

I know what I am doing and I do it with intent. With these words I speak magic. I invoke it here and now with my will. I weave this space into existence and, as I speak it, it becomes true. I conjure this place and I fix it in my mind, and because I will it so, it will always be here for you.

There is a fire crackling softly to itself in a fireplace. There are books and comfy chairs and blankets. There are cats who remain aloof but still enjoy being near. There a couch to nap on. There is nourishing food. There is tea. I am here beyond death, beyond time, beyond physical space, translated through whatever medium you are experiencing these words and I accept you with me, as you are, in this place. I have raised strong stone walls around us. No one else will enter. And while you are here you will be free of the incessent demands on all sides that insist you must leave a trace in order to prove your right to exist. I have built this space in my mind for you and I gift you the key. You can come and go as you wish, always. I have made it so. And I will always be grateful that you have visited, even if I never know how many times you do, or if you told someone else about it, or what manner of joy or contentment you received from me at any point. Know that you are wanted, always, and that you are loved, O Reader, Mine.

Beloved quiet invisible creatures, my stories are yours as much as they are anyone else's. This home in my mind where I share my words with you is yours forever because I will it so.

Savathûn in her love for her family has become raw and honest in quest to claim the echo of navigation.

Oryx has failed to understand the truth of the godwave of fundament, and this failed to keep to his nature.

But Xivu arath,childish Xivu, Sentimental Xivu, heretical Xivu, dethroned Xivu, foolish Xivu, has kept to her nature.

She still wages war, and more than that she loves so much, she loves her brother so much she's willing to betray the sword logic, even if she's not willing to admit it, to get him back

And for the hive love is war.

So Xivu's nature is war and love In equal measure.

From and for @swordlogiczine, I present you with Iconoclasm.

Written by @imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese and illustrated by me. Aiat!

And HOLY FUCKIN SHIT I know it’s not the Dungeon Exotic, but it might as well be. First Clear and I was graced with the Dark Saber