cuckoo-on-a-string

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Always the writer, never the reader.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

doing fucked up rabbit experiments beyond your comprehension btw

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

apologies to anyone who ever thought i was cool and reached out to me only to discover i am just a weird little hermit who can't carry on a conversation to save my life

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

*feels myself slipping* oh I NEED to write a fucked-up story

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

To be clear, if you were trying to agree, that's awesome, and I do literally agree with your points.

The writing style threw me off quite a bit. Also, I'm generally less defensive when the Anon isn't on, so I apologize if that's the case. I got hounded by terfs for a while and my trust is pretty broken.

No because a reader that intentionally acts in a way that’s the writer thinks is neutral still has a personality distinct from you and everyone else.

Like passivity is a personality trait that could break immersion as well. Unless said character doesnt talk much, makes no choices, and never really exerts her will, they’re going to diverge from the readers.

So might as well make the personality that they inevitably will have something other than a blank slate.

??? Okay???

Assuming this is a meme I shared on my blog?

It sounds like you're ultimately agreeing with the post as well, so I'm not sure why you're dropping in with a Well Actually.

Also, for context, I know writers who have been straight up bullied when writing assertive reader characters who don't bend over backwards to be passive/perfect/self-sacrificial-Cinderellas. So it's still a post worth sharing. I agree passivity isn't truly neutral, but it's the cultural demand for females/women/femmes of all shapes, and a lot of folks ACTIVELY dislike characters that don't fit that status-quo (there are endless academic resources on stuff like this written by far more intelligent people than I).

Genuinely confused what point you were trying to make.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

No because a reader that intentionally acts in a way that’s the writer thinks is neutral still has a personality distinct from you and everyone else.

Like passivity is a personality trait that could break immersion as well. Unless said character doesnt talk much, makes no choices, and never really exerts her will, they’re going to diverge from the readers.

So might as well make the personality that they inevitably will have something other than a blank slate.

??? Okay???

Assuming this is a meme I shared on my blog?

It sounds like you're ultimately agreeing with the post as well, so I'm not sure why you're dropping in with a Well Actually.

Also, for context, I know writers who have been straight up bullied when writing assertive reader characters who don't bend over backwards to be passive/perfect/self-sacrificial-Cinderellas. So it's still a post worth sharing. I agree passivity isn't truly neutral, but it's the cultural demand for females/women/femmes of all shapes, and a lot of folks ACTIVELY dislike characters that don't fit that status-quo (there are endless academic resources on stuff like this written by far more intelligent people than I).

Genuinely confused what point you were trying to make.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

i <3 you reader with an intricate personality that's nothing like mine, i <3 you reader with a detailed backstory that has nothing to do with mine, i <3 you reader that would say and do things i would never do, i <3 you reader that is actually the writer's projection, i <3 you reader that isn't me and never will be me, i <3 you reader that i get to self-insert into and finish the fic and love it just the same as i would if the reader was very similar to me, i <3 you reader that the fic is centered about more than the character, i <3 you reader like you are the character the fic is about, i <3 you reader i <3 you reader's fic i <3 you writer for writing reader

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

“After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: if anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately. Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her problem? We told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she did this. I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu-biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knew���however poorly used—she stopped crying. She thought our flight had been canceled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late. Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him. We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother until we got on the plane and would ride next to her—Southwest. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and found out, of course, they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—and was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, the lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies. And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—non-alcoholic—and the two little girls from our flight, one African American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice and lemonade, and they were covered with powdered sugar, too. And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing with green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, this is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped—has seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women, too. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.”

— Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.”

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

@viral-random-content

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

anyway. onto better things

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Guillermo Del Toro on AI "art"

SDCC 2025: Lucas Museum Of Narrative Art

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

treehouse Chapter 37 teaser 🤭

Now that you’ve forgiven him, he leaves all his duties to his long-suffering Grand Vizier and stitches himself to your side.

You let him, of course; Morpheus takes his tea in the library, watching as you peruse the shelves you once saw in a dream, ones you hardly glanced at the last time you were here, running from him.

He shows you the latest wing of the library, one built upon his release from Rodrick Burgess’s captivity; every movie and every record there ever was, is, and will be. “Howl’s Moving Castle,” He points out on an upper shelf, his eyes interminably soft as he glances down toward you.

From the filing cabinets of records, Morpheus pulls an unmarked one from the ‘B’ section and plays it for you on an ancient, tarnished brass gramophone.

“The last song of the last Kaua‘i ‘ō‘ō bird, singing for a lover that would never be.” The achingly beautiful birdsong makes you sob into the lapels of his dark peacoat at the thought of that little bird, the last of his kind, singing a duet all alone in the dark, dying without ever hearing an answering song.

He kisses your hair, running a pale, bony hand between your shoulder blades, but deep beneath the marble facade he shudders, like he’s freezing cold and can’t get warm, no matter how closely he holds you.

Why Morpheus tends to this record so carefully and took great pains to show it to you, is not lost on you. He was there with that bird, his heart broken alongside it. You are the long-lost mate in this story, singing the song he never thought he would hear.

I heard y’all needed some fluff… I’m here to help 💪🏼

Want to catch up before the next update? Check out chapter 36 here :) see y’all soon!

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Thanks @roguelov!

I look, as in life, like a perpetually exhausted adult with no fashion sense and an urge to go to the Renaissance Festival. (And the awkward white woman 'smile' greeting.)

@thevampiremarie

PICREW TAG GAME!!!

use this picrew maker, and tag your moots!

Me!! It looks quite close to me in irl :3

no pressure tags!:

@whatonearthisgoingon @mrecury42 @mochamoony @yes-ofc-i-bite @acelovesremuslupin @notthesodaa @theheightsarewuthering

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

YOUR EMAIL FINDS ME ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

im joining the war on gross disgusting pornographic content on the side of gross disgusting pornographic content

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

animated lord of the rings minimalist posters