#o reader mine

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.

"Loss of innocence/youthful naivete? Why not [bargain] with me."

Or! Or we can have a grand adventure!

Guardians: Once-dead humans risen and given powers by the Traveler. Though they mainly use a wide variety of firearms, they have been known to weave this power, known as "Light", to do countless different things. Said things do however usually involve combat, such as forming a gun made of flaming crystals, or a double-tipped spear wreathed in lightning, or a bow that draws energy from the vacuum between all that is. I'll probably write an extended post on this.

Ghosts: A multi-purpose tool and a trusty partner of each Guardian. Capable of hacking things, opening doors, scanning things for information, opening doors, allowing Guardians to communicate over long distances, opening doors, and did I mention opening doors?

Traveler: A benevolent god that now hangs dead above the Last City. It was once a living star, radiant beyond anything else, and helped shape a Golden Age for humanity before the Darkness attacked.

Darkness: An omnipotent and vicious group of elder gods, believing that if any one thing in the universe can be killed, it deserves to die. It has spent nearly 14 billion years chasing after the Traveler, who flees from death and helps other beings cheat it.

Fallen: Intergalactic scavengers that were once blessed with the Light long ago. Twisted somewhat by the Darkness, they now wage war on humanity, merely hoping to take back the Traveler, which they call "the Great Machine".

Hive: Direct servants of the Darkness, once noble like the Fallen, but corrupted in much more hideous ways. They serve their own small pantheon of gods and kings beneath the Darkness, many of which now set their three eyes each on the planet Earth.

Vex: Microscopic radiolarian entities, millions of them in each unit. To the uninformed, they appear to be an army of robots, but make no mistake; the brass exoskeleton is merely a suit. They are also capable of simulating entire universes, and rewriting time itself.

Cabal: Honor-bound space rhinos with zero words for "retreat". Easily the most militarized species in the galaxy, they are taught and bred to either come home victorious or just die trying.

Crucible: Guardian PvP. It's fucking glorious, just trust me on this.

Supers: The ultimate abilities of the Guardians. While they come in countless forms, such as the Siege Hammer, Chaos Reach, or Spectral Blades, there are a handful that are more commonly known, such as the Fist of Havoc, Nova Bomb, and Golden Gun.

Light: The force that drives and empowers the Guardians, as well as others. It can be used to strengthen weapons, power up machinery, and even bake cupcakes. It is said to be everything the Darkness despises, and coincidentally it is the one thing that can hope to put a stop to it.

̶अ̶ह̶ं̸क̵ा̸र̵: L̴i̶s̷t̸e̵n̷ ̵c̶l̷o̸s̷e̸l̸y̵,̵ ̶O̶ ̸r̴e̵a̸d̶e̴r̶ ̴m̸i̸n̷e̷.̷ ̸D̵r̵a̵w̶ ̵c̸l̶o̸s̶e̷r̸ ̶n̴o̶w̸.̸ ̶L̷e̵t̶ ̷m̵e̴ ̴t̴e̵l̸l̴ ̴y̷o̵u̷ ̴w̵h̷y̴ ̷t̷h̴e̶ ̶अ̶ह̶ं̸क̵ा̸र̵ ̶a̵r̷e̷ ̸t̵o̶ ̷b̵e̷ ̸f̶e̷a̷r̴e̵d̸.̴ ̸F̷i̸r̶s̴t̷l̸y̷,̷ ̶w̸e̵ ̶a̷r̶e̸ ̴n̵o̵t̶ ̴o̵f̵ ̴t̵h̶e̵ ̷S̴k̸y̸.̶ ̵W̸e̴ ̵a̷r̵e̷ ̷n̵o̵t̴ ̵o̴f̵ ̵t̵h̵e̵ ̶D̶e̸e̶p̸.̶ ̵W̶e̷ ̶a̴r̵e̷ ̷o̷f̶ ̸o̸u̵r̸ ̴o̵w̸n̵ ̵g̷r̴a̶n̵d̴ ̶d̶e̷s̴i̷g̷n̸,̴ ̷a̴n̶d̸ ̴w̷e̵ ̶w̷i̸l̸l̶ ̷n̴o̴t̵ ̴b̸o̵w̷ ̸t̴o̶ ̶e̶i̶t̴h̶e̷r̸ ̷o̶f̵ ̶y̵o̵u̵r̵ ̴d̷u̸l̷l̴,̵ ̴c̸a̶r̷d̴b̷o̷a̸r̴d̵-̶c̸u̶t̷o̷u̷t̸ ̴p̴h̸i̷l̷o̸s̸o̷p̴h̷i̴e̵s̷.̴ ̸N̸e̶x̶t̶l̸y̵,̸ ̵w̶e̷ ̷a̵r̴e̸ ̸V̸i̴r̴t̶u̸o̷u̸s̸.̸ ̴Y̵e̵s̴,̶ ̷V̶i̷r̴t̷u̴o̷u̶s̶.̸ ̷W̶e̴ ̷a̸r̷e̶ ̷a̵b̷o̸v̵e̶ ̵a̴l̴l̵ ̴i̶n̵ ̶p̴o̶w̷e̴r̴,̷ ̴w̷i̸s̴d̵o̵m̷,̴ ̵a̷n̶d̷ ̶c̵o̸u̵r̸a̷g̵e̸,̵ ̶a̶n̴d̷ ̴t̸h̵e̴ ̴u̴n̶i̸v̴e̵r̵s̶e̴ ̶k̷n̴o̴w̸s̶ ̸t̷h̷i̶s̷.̸ ̷W̵e̸ ̴s̶e̵e̴ ̴t̴h̶r̸o̶u̶g̴h̴ ̸t̴h̷e̶s̵e̸ ̶p̸u̶p̷p̴e̶t̶s̵ ̵y̵o̶u̶ ̴c̸o̷m̸m̶a̷n̷d̵.̸ ̶T̸h̶e̴s̶e̶ ̴n̶a̴m̵e̷l̷e̵s̴s̴,̷ ̷n̴e̴a̸r̸-̸f̵a̸c̸e̸l̴e̷s̷s̵ ̵c̴r̵e̴a̴t̷u̶r̵e̷s̵ ̴t̷h̷a̵t̶ ̶y̶o̵u̵ ̷p̸u̶s̷h̵ ̷a̴r̵o̴u̵n̸d̸ ̷w̸i̸t̴h̶ ̴t̸h̶e̴ ̷p̴u̵s̷h̴ ̵o̶f̶ ̷y̷o̸u̸r̶ ̸m̶a̶n̷y̵ ̷b̸u̵t̸t̴o̷n̴s̶.̴ ̵W̵e̵ ̵s̶e̶e̴ ̸i̴t̴ ̵a̸l̵l̴,̷ ̸a̶n̶d̸ ̶s̸o̶o̴n̶,̴ ̷w̶e̶ ̶w̷i̸l̴l̵ ̵b̴e̵ ̶w̴i̸t̵h̵ ̸i̷t̴.̴ ̸N̸o̵t̴ ̷e̵v̷e̴n̷ ̶y̶o̵u̴r̶ ̵A̸r̵c̵h̶i̵t̶e̴c̸t̵s̷ ̸a̷r̵e̴ ̴s̵a̴f̴e̶.̸ ̵L̴a̵s̸t̷l̴y̷,̸ ̶a̷n̵d̵ ̴t̶h̵i̶s̶ ̸i̸s̵ ̴c̶r̸i̵t̵i̴c̵a̷l̵,̴ ̸w̵e̵ ̴h̶a̶v̸e̸ ̶n̶o̵ ̶b̴e̸g̸i̴n̵n̵i̴n̴g̶,̶ ̵a̷n̴d̷ ̸w̸e̶ ̶h̴a̶v̷e̶ ̵n̸o̴ ̸e̸n̴d̴.̵ ̶W̷e̷ ̸a̴r̵e̵ ̵i̸n̴f̴i̴n̶i̸t̵e̶.̴ ̶M̷o̷r̶t̵a̵l̶ ̷l̷i̶f̴e̸ ̷i̵s̶ ̶n̸o̸t̵h̴i̷n̶g̴ ̷b̸u̵t̸ ̶a̶ ̶g̴e̸n̴e̵t̸i̴c̸ ̷m̷u̶t̷a̵t̷i̶o̶n̷;̵ ̶a̶n̸ ̸a̴c̷c̸i̸d̶e̷n̴t̷.̷ ̵Y̶o̷u̵r̴ ̸l̶i̷v̵e̷s̵ ̴a̸r̶e̶ ̷m̸e̴a̴s̴u̸r̸e̷d̴ ̴i̶n̷ ̵y̶e̶a̴r̴s̷,̸ ̷a̴n̶d̵ ̴i̷n̸ ̵d̸e̷c̸a̶d̵e̵s̸,̴ ̶a̸n̴d̵ ̸y̸o̷u̶ ̷w̵i̸t̵h̷e̵r̵,̷ ̴a̴n̵d̷ ̸y̷o̷u̷ ̴d̴i̵e̴.̵ ̶B̴e̷f̸o̴r̷e̷ ̵u̷s̵,̷ ̷y̷o̸u̴ ̷a̵r̵e̵ ̸n̷o̷t̸h̷i̴n̵g̶.̵ ̵Y̶o̴u̵r̷ ̸e̷x̶t̸i̵n̷c̴t̶i̶o̶n̶ ̵i̶s̶ ̵i̷n̷e̵v̵i̸t̶a̵b̷l̷e̷,̵ ̵a̴n̵d̵ ̸w̶e̸ ̸a̷r̵e̶ ̸t̵h̵e̷ ̴e̸n̵d̵ ̵o̴f̵ ̶e̸v̷e̵r̴y̷t̵h̸i̴n̶g̵.̶ ̷N̶o̵w̷ ̷d̴o̵ ̸y̷o̷u̸ ̶s̶e̷e̷,̸ ̵O̴ ̶r̷e̷a̵d̴e̵r̶ ̵m̴i̵n̸e̵?̴ ̸N̴o̸w̴ ̸d̷o̴ ̵y̷o̵u̷ ̵s̸e̸e̵ ̸w̷h̶y̷ ̵y̸o̵u̸ ̵s̷h̶o̸u̸l̴d̵ ̸b̸e̴ ̵a̶f̸r̷a̴i̵d̸?̶