#(writes steaming piles of garbage)

[foundationsofdecay]

my blog is 18+ so there had better not be any highschoolers following me but fuck IB it was a waste of time and money and more importantly my mental health and ability to do school curriculars that actually did interest me which led to me becoming even more isolated than i already was. And for what? Being made to take tests even though the gym was filled with smoke from a fire raging just outside that had the rest of the school except us evacuated, because we weren't allowed to reschedule? Fuck off

[so-many-ocs]

writing is cool because the whole time you do it, you're thinking "is this shit? is this a steaming pile of hot garbage? is this the worst thing ever written by anyone?" and then you literally never find out

[ordinary-barbie]

sexy to someone - porco galliard x reader

summary: After scrolling social media you're feeling particularly insecure about your looks. Your boyfriend, Porco, is determined to convince you that you really are pretty.

word count: 2.3k words

tags: fem!reader, pet names (babe and baby), reader has a tooth gap bc I'm nothing if not self-indulgent, dirty talk, oral (fem receiving), face sitting, vaginal fingering, doggy style, breast play, praise kink, consent checks, reader is self-conscious about her body and struggles with mental health issues

minors and ageless blogs dni.

title comes from the song "sexy to someone" by Clairo.

Normally you loved scrolling through social media, but you just couldn't do it today. If you saw one more vacation photo or one more bachelorette party with someone's former sorority sisters, the already deep pit in your chest would cave in. And it wasn't anyone's fault: you couldn't get mad at your friends or random influencers and celebs for simply posting about their lives. To put it delicately, you were just feeling like a steaming pile of garbage compared to everyone else on your Instagram feed.

Today you hated pretty much everything about your looks. Your tooth gap looked like an eyesore. Your eyes seemed dull and sleepy. Your nose? Meh. Your figure? Nothing to write home about. It was a wonder that anyone liked your Instagram photos at all, and especially unbelievable that you managed to snag a boyfriend, especially someone like Porco Galliard.

Porco was an absolute babe. You'd never been hugely into blondes, but something about him and his undercut had got your heart racing when you met him at a frat party that your bestie Pieck, a Delta Zeta, had invited you to. You were always pretty reserved, and especially nervous to be around a bunch of frat dudes. Luckily, Porco eased your nerves by making you laugh, and the rest was history.

He was funny, confident, and hot as hell, while you were more reserved. When you'd first gotten together, you felt like the nerdy female protagonist in an 80s teen movie who managed to land the most popular guy in school. That had subsided after five years of dating, but now you couldn't help but feel the insecurity clawing at your brain again. Porco could easily get any woman he wanted - why you, of all people? Was he simply settling until someone better came along?

You rolled over onto your stomach and buried your face into one of the couch's armrests, quietly sobbing. Why were you like this? Why couldn't you be hotter so you could look like someone who actually belonged with Porco? Porco shouldn't be with someone like you. There were plenty of cute sorority girls he could've gone after in college, including Pieck or your other friend Sasha.

You recognized (thanks to months of therapy) that you were in a thought spiral, but you felt powerless to stop it. Normally you would go on your phone to distract yourself, but since social media had triggered your insecurities, you decided to settle for a nice little depression nap. That ought to make you feel better, right?

-

When you woke up, you didn't feel as crushingly awful as you did before, but you were still in a bit of a shitty mood. You snuggled tightly in your blanket and stared up at the ceiling, not even moving when Porco came home from work.

"Hey babe, I'm home! Traffic was nuts today - that podcast you recommended to me honestly saved my ass from dying of boredom," Porco joked, kicking his shoes off and making his way into the kitchen.

When you turned your head towards Porco but didn't react, his cheery expression morphed into worry. "Baby, what's wrong? Is everything okay?"

"It's nothing, don't worry," you hurriedly assured him, not wanting to be a burden, especially since he'd had a long day at work.

Unfortunately, Porco was a stubborn motherfucker, so he kept prying. "Come on, don't do that thing where you try to sweep shit under the rug. I can tell something's bothering you. You know you can tell me anything."

You sat up, protectively wrapping your arms around your midsection and chewing at your bottom lip. "I just - why are you with me, Porco?" you asked, your voice wavering. "I mean, look at you. You could be with anyone you wanted and you settled for me."

Porco furrowed his brow. "Baby, where is this coming from? I picked you because you're funny and kind and fuckin' hot."

You snorted. You appreciated Porco complimenting you in his Porco way, but you weren't totally buying what he was selling. "Please, Porco. Gigi Hadid is fuckin' hot. Pieck is fuckin' hot. I'm just..." You gestured to yourself vaguely, making a face.

Porco scoffed, shaking his head. "First of all, Pieck is like a sister to me, so don't even go there. Second of all, yeah, Gigi Hadid is pretty, but she's not you. You're actually the hottest woman I know. I honestly feel like I outkicked my coverage here."

"Porco, stop acting like I'm some big prize," you insisted. "Especially when I scroll through social media and every woman I follow is pretty much a smokeshow, including my friends."

Porco said your name sternly, making you jump. "Is that where this is coming from? Babe, please don't compare yourself to Instagram. You know everyone curates their feed to only share the good shit, even the celebs."

"I know, but that doesn't change the fact that there's so many gorgeous girls out there, and I'm just...me," you responded, staring down at your lap.

"Hey! Look at me," Porco commanded, and you reluctantly met his gaze. "You are so desirable to me. I love you. And I wish I could fight your shitty brain for making you ever think otherwise."

You sighed. "Porco, I love you. I just wish I could see the person you see. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror earlier and just felt ugly. I hate that I can't just make these thoughts go away."

Porco moved closer to you, kissing both of your cheeks. "Babe, you are a fuckin smokeshow to me. Please let me prove it to you..."

"And just how do you plan to do that?" you asked, arching an eyebrow. You tried to look impassive but you couldn't help but rub your thighs together in anticipation.

"Like this," Porco simply replied, ghosting over your lips with his own. You shuddered, still amazed at how turned on Porco could make you without touching you. "But first - are you sure you want this? And you remember our safe word, right? Just say 'red' and I will stop, no matter what."

You nodded. Porco frowned. "Use your words, baby."

"Yes, I want this. Please touch me, Porco," you whined impatiently, your mind now clouded with lust.

"I mean damn, if you insist, babe," Porco joked before kissing you deeply. He draped his body over yours on the couch, suddenly enveloping you with the smell of his favorite cologne. It was heavenly.

Since your mouth was occupied, you tapped Porco's shoulder, and he instantly ceased his movements. "Everything good, babe?" he worriedly asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I just - could we move it to the bedroom, please?" you shyly asked.

Porco smirked. "Okay, dirty girl," he teased, leading you by the hand into your bedroom. Once inside, he slammed the door with his foot, deeply making out with you and letting his hands roam all over your body. You made a motion to take your bra off but Porco stopped you in your tracks.

"Please let me do it, baby," Porco begged, and you happily obliged. After tossing your bra to the other side of the room, Porco shoved his hands under your shirt, massaging your breasts. "Man, I'll never get tired of these tits. They feel so good in my hands."

Porco bit at your bottom lip, and you let out a moan. Porco was driving you wild right now. "That's my good girl," he praised, and those four little words sent a shockwave straight to your core. "I love it when you moan so prettily for me. Now take those clothes off, baby."

That lit a fire under you. You quickly rid yourself of your t-shirt (really one of Porco's, a vintage shirt from the university you both went to) and sweatpants, standing nakedly in front of Porco except for a simple pair of black undies.

Porco let out a breath. "Oh fuck, baby. You're so goddamn sexy." You shyly smiled at him. "Now take a seat for me; I need to taste you."

You sat down at the end of the bed, gazing at Porco as he kneeled in front of you. The fact that he was still dressed in his light blue button-down, navy tie, and khaki slacks from work made this even hotter, somehow. Porco pushed your panties to the side, moaning when he saw gossamer strings of your slick clinging to the fabric.

Porco dove in, lapping at your clit with his tongue and grunting as you arched your back in pleasure. "Can't believe you think I'd want anyone else when I have the sweetest pussy right here. You taste so fuckin good, baby."

Your mind was blank, devoid of any coherent thoughts except for how fucking amazing your boyfriend was with his tongue. You were in the throes of ecstasy, grabbing at his hair to push his face even closer to you.

Porco removed his lips from your clit, eliciting a whine from you. "Easy there, baby," he said, chuckling. "I'm gonna eat you out; I just wanna finger fuck you too. Is that okay?"

Aroused, you reached for his hand, but Porco tutted, shaking his head at you. "Use your words, babe," he reminded you.

"Porco I need your fingers inside me," you whined. "Need your mouth and your fingers in my pussy."

Porco smirked, a dark glint in his eye. "Can't possibly deny you when you ask me so nicely." He returned to sucking on your clit while his fingers pumped in and out of your opening. "Babe, I can't believe you're so wet for me. I could fuckin drown in your pretty little cunt."

You gasped, feeling a warmth in your belly. You felt like you were about to burst, and Porco could sense it too. "Come for me, baby," Porco encouraged you, fingering your clit. "Make a fuckin' mess on my face."

Before you knew it, you were cumming, coating Porco's face with your wetness. Porco wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, moaning happily as he licked his fingers.

"Let me return the favor," you offered, your gaze focused on the way Porco's erection strained in his pants.

"Nah, not this time," Porco refused. "This is all about you, baby."

You softened you gaze, beaming at your boyfriend. You truly did adore this man.

"Be a good girl, lose the panties, and lie on your stomach," Porco instructed as he unbuckled his belt. "Get that pretty ass of yours in the air for me."

You quickly obeyed, tossing your underwear onto the floor and lying face down on the bed, sticking your ass in the air. Porco hummed appreciatively, rubbing your butt cheeks in his hand and lightly biting at the skin before soothing the pain with his kisses. "Can't believe this amazing ass is all mine."

He got up from the floor, retrieving a condom from his bedside table to slide over his dick. You scooched farther up on the bed to give him more room, and the two of you moaned in unison as Porco pushed himself into your entrance. Porco had an average-sized cock, but what he lacked in length, he more than made up for in girth.

Porco growled as your cunt clenched around his length. "Fuckin love the way your pussy feels around me. So warm and so damn tight."

Porco pulled out of you and slammed back in, making you see stars. He pumped in and out, snapping his hips and muttering praises in your ears the entire time. You tightly gripped the sheets, feeling your body light up in pleasure every time the tip of his dick grazed that special spot that made your toes curl.

"Are you close?" Porco asked as you writhed under him. You hummed affirmatively, unable to form words anymore. "Me too. Play with your clit for me, baby. Let's cum together."

You rubbed at your clit, feeling a second orgasm about to wash over you. You came with a yelp, feeling Porco's cock spasm inside you as he spilled his seed into the condom, moaning your name. He tossed the used condom in the wastebasket next to his bedside table, and then two of you laid in bed for a few minutes, drenched in sweat and panting heavily.

"Porco...thank you. I needed that," you admitted, lovingly squeezing Porco's hand.

Porco tenderly looked at you, softly pecking your lips. "Of course, baby. You know I always want to make you feel good. And I hope me blowing your back out is proof that I actually think you're hot."

Your mouth dropped open. "Porco Galliard!" you shouted, playfully hitting him in the shoulder.

Porco snickered, but his face soon softened. "Seriously though, I'm glad I could give you what you needed. You know I love you so much, even on your bad-brain days."

You felt a warmth in your chest. Porco could be cocky, sarcastic, and crass, but he had the biggest heart. You were overwhelmed with love for this man who had been by your side through years of highs and lows, who always encouraged you and looked at you like you hung the moon in the sky.

"I love you so much, baby," you said, nuzzling into Porco's chest. He kissed the top of your head and tightened his grip around you.

"Hey babe?" you asked after a few minutes, wiggling a little in Porco's grip.

Porco cocked an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're ready for round two already. I mean I'm down, but let a man take a shower first."

You good-naturedly rolled your eyes at him. "No, you dingus, I just have to pee."

"And they say romance is dead," Porco quipped, loosening his grip so you could get up and use the bathroom.

"Okay, mister drama king," you playfully replied. "Cut the sass and maybe I'll help you get cleaned up." You waggled your ass at him before disappearing into the bathroom.

Porco grinned, fondly gazing at you even while you were on the toilet. "You're incredible, you know that? I can't want to marry your ass someday."

You chuckled. Just Porco, being Porco - and you loved him for it.

[pulisicsgirl]

not going anywhere - christian pulisic

summary: after Christian (and several others) notice how Y/N hasn't been herself for the last few weeks, he finally decides to confront her about how she's feeling

pairing: Christian Pulisic x reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings/tags: established relationship, angst, discussions of mental health and illness, mentions of meds, supportive Christian, hastily proofread

requested: no

notes: Hey there!! This has been sitting in my draft for probably 6 months and I wanted to put something out, so I tried to finish it and make it at least decent for y'all! I promise I'm trying to work on your requests and I have several halfway written, but I've just been struggling in the writing department all summer. Thanks for being patient with me! If this fic is a steaming pile of garbage... pretend you didn't read it

x

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by Christian that you hadn’t been yourself lately.

Your relationship was fairly new, having only been together for a few months, but as attentive as Christian was, he recognized the little things that had shifted in your personality.

He noticed how when you smiled at someone, it never quite reached your eyes—the little wrinkles that usually appeared in the corners were absent. He noticed how when you laughed, as soon as you thought no one was looking, the grin on your face quickly faded, replaced by the absent and distant look that adorned your face so often recently.

He noticed that you would zone out far more often than usual, eyes unfocused as you stared at a distant point. When he caught you in this state, Christian would tangle his fingers with yours or gently place his hand on your thigh, drumming his fingers in an attempt to pull you back from wherever it was that you would drift off to.

He was concerned, to say the very least, but each time he tried to bring it up to you, you dismissed his concern with a wave of your hand, chalking it up to being tired or overworked.

It didn’t take long for others to notice the change, too. As a prominent member of the media department at Chelsea, you had a friendly relationship with many of the players. You were often on the training pitch or on the sidelines at games, snapping photos of the boys as they played. Often, you would mess around with them, cracking jokes and laughing along with them, but not recently.

The joking had been cut to a bare minimum, and you rarely interacted with them at all. You spent just enough time on the training fields to get the content you needed before leaving to work in your office, unseen for the rest of the day. Several of the boys had asked Christian about you. They missed you. But Christian didn’t know what to tell them.

Finally, Christian decided enough was enough. He would have to “corner” you in some way and get you to talk to him. He had wanted to let you have your space and respect your desire to not talk about the matter, but he could see the whole situation physically weighing on you, and he knew that if he continued to let you bottle it up inside, you were going to explode. He resolved that by the end of the day, he’d talk to you.

That night, you had come over so that the two of you could have dinner together. Most of the dinner was spent in silence, you lost in your own thoughts, and Christian trying to work up the nerve to ask what he needed to. He wasn’t sure how to approach this kind of conversation with you—the two of you hadn’t dealt with a situation like this yet in your relationship.

Once your plates were cleared, you stood in his kitchen, washing the dishes, despite Christian’s protest that he could do it later that night. He sat on the counter, wanting to still be in close proximity with you. His heart broke a little when he noticed that you weren’t humming like you always did when you cleaned.

You rinsed off the last dish, placing it on the drying rack with the others, and you were rinsing the leftover suds from the sink when you felt Christian’s arms slide around your waist. He pressed his chest to your back and rested his chin on your shoulder as you turned the sink off, drying your hands on a towel.

“Can we talk?” He spoke softly and placed a kiss onto your shoulder.

You felt your heart sink in your chest. You knew this conversation was coming, but you were hoping to postpone it as long as you possibly could. “Yeah, what’s up?” you tried to speak casually, downplaying the nervous feeling that had settled in your stomach.

“C’mere,” he whispered. You dropped the towel on the counter next to the sink as Christian pulled you to the side where he had been sitting before and turned you around in his arms. He placed his hand on your hips, lifting you to sit on the countertop.

For a moment, the two of you remained in silence. Christian stood between your legs, unsure of what to say first. He rested his hands on your thighs, rubbing the bare skin below your shorts soothingly. Your heart pounded so quickly in your chest that you swore he could hear it as he stood in front of you. You desperately tried to calm yourself, still determined to play things off if you could manage it.

“So… um, you… you haven’t really been yourself lately,” he stumbled over his words and mentally cursed himself for starting so poorly. “I just… I’ve noticed a lot of little things that seem different, and you don’t really seem… happy.” He glanced up at your face, trying to gauge your response. He felt a little guilty for being so direct with the situation, but he didn’t want to keep dancing around the problem.

You drew in a breath, but Christian spoke again before you could. “And please don’t tell me that you’ve been tired, because you keep saying that, but I think it goes beyond that.” The nervousness you felt only intensified, and now you felt slightly nauseous, knowing there was no easy way out of this conversation.

You brought one of your hands up to your mouth, biting at the skin by your nails. Christian recognized the nervous habit of yours and he saw how you used it to try to put space between you and him as a form of defense. He reached up and took your hand in his. With a gentle but firm tug, he pulled your hand back into your lap and looked at your face with earnest concern.

You hesitated a moment longer, looking anywhere but at his face.  Sitting in front of him, your hands held in his, resting on your thighs, you had never felt so vulnerable and exposed. He stroked his thumb over your knuckles, squeezing your fingers in an attempt to pull you out of your thoughts and back to him.

The silence between the two of you was long and overwhelming as your head spun with wild thoughts. Did you continue trying to put a wall between you and tell him nothing was actually wrong? Or did you open up to him, tell him what was really happening, and run the risk of scaring him off?

“Come on, I can practically see you getting lost in there.” He poked your forehead gently with his free hand, laughing softly to try to relieve some of the tension in the air.

You glanced up at Christian’s face, and his gentle, reassuring smile brought tears to your eyes instantly. Looking back down at your lap so he couldn’t see you beginning to cry, you settled on trying your best to explain the thoughts that had been swimming around in your mind for the last couple of weeks.

“I don’t know, Christian, I just… kinda get this way sometimes.” You shrugged your shoulders. It didn’t make sense to most people, but it was the reality. “Nothing really happened. Everything is fine. You didn’t do anything. I just… I feel kinda hollow.”

Christian was relieved to hear that your pain hadn’t been cause by something he had done, having toyed with the idea as he wracked his brain for the last weeks, trying to think of what could have gone wrong to make you feel this way. But he still wasn’t sure he understood exactly what you were saying.

“I used to take meds for it, but I stopped taking them a little while after I graduated high school. They made me feel like I wasn’t really myself, and I didn’t want that anymore.” Your still fidgeted nervously as you opened up to him, but at the same time, the weight on your shoulders felt the tiniest bit lighter as you let Christian bear some of it with you.

Christian remained silent for a moment after you stopped talking, processing the things you had just told him He thought he was beginning to understand what you were saying, though your vague description left several questions swirling in his mind. He was happy, though, that you finally felt comfortable opening up to him, and he figured the finer details could wait until another day.

His silence, however, did nothing to calm your racing heart.

“So, I guess this is the part where you leave?” you whispered before you could even think about it, uneasy with how quiet the room had gotten. Your eyes were glued to your lap, and Christian’s hands froze at your words, where they had been smoothing over your knuckles, trying to soothe you.

“W-what?” he stuttered in surprise, heart sinking at the thought that you might be breaking up with him. When you finally looked up to his face, his eyes were wide, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He looked so hurt that you almost felt bad for saying it in the first place.

You took your hands from his as you began to pull away from him, picking at the edges of your fingernails, fixing your gaze downward again. “I’ve done this before, Christian,” you mumbled. “I get weird, you ask about it, and then once you find out that I can’t be fixed… you leave.” You sigh, having resigned yourself to the outcome that had played out in your life before. You sat there, feeling defeated, with your shoulders slumped.

A sniffle coming from him causes you to dart your eyes up to his face, and his eyes are misty as he fights back the tears that he can feel welling up in them.

“You really think that?” his voice quivers.

All you can muster is shrugging your shoulders. “That’s what everyone else did. I’m not worth the trouble.”

Your words shatter his heart into a million pieces. The pain of thinking you were ending your relationship vanished quickly, replaced with a new kind of pain at the realization of how you had been treated in your past.

As the first tears slipped down his cheeks, Christian pulled you into a tight hug, holing you as close to his body as he could muster as he buried his face in your neck. You felt the warm tears against your skin as you slowly returned the hug, caught off-guard by his actions.

Christian felt a bit silly. Here he was, crying on your shoulder after the things that you had just revealed to him, experiences that you’d had in your own life. He just couldn’t fathom that anyone could possibly treat you in such a way. You were the kindest, most gentle and caring woman he had ever known, and he truly believed that you deserved the world. Sure, it had been hard to see you in the state you had been in for the last few weeks, but he knew what he was feeling was nothing compared to what you were. And it never would have even occurred to him to think of you as burdensome—to think that he needed to “fix” you in some way.

Christian drew back from the embrace, quickly wiping his eyes while he still held onto your waist with the other. You were caught a bit off-guard by his behavior, never having experienced this reaction before, and you weren’t entirely sure what it meant.

Christian breathed a soft “I’m sorry” before he looked back up at you, cradling your jaw in one of his hands, and you couldn’t help but lean into his comforting touch.

“Y/N, you are absolutely worth everything. It’s not a burden to be with you. You know that right?”

Tears quickly sprung to your own eyes at his words, and you cast your eyes back down to your lap. In an honest answer, you shook your head ‘no’. This was how you had always thought of yourself, and you constantly felt like you needed to be compensating your partner in some way for the things they had to put up with for your sake.

Christian’s other hand came to your cheek, holding your face gently so that you would look him in the eye.

“You’re not a burden Y/N,” he spoke softly, his eyes flicking over your face. His expression held a sort of desperation—aching to show you that he truly believed what he was saying. “You’re not, I promise. And I’ll spend every day for the rest of my life telling you that until you believe it. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your heart fluttered at his words.

‘…every day for the rest of my life…’

He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you?

Marriage wasn’t something the two of you had really talked about yet, because your relationship was so new. But any time you thought about your future, you knew you wanted Christian to be in it. And knowing he felt the same way meant the world.

You felt Christian’s thumb brush across your cheek, wiping away the tear that had fallen. You could only stare at him, wondering to yourself how you had managed to find someone as perfect as him.

“I’ll always be here for you. Anything you need,” he smiled at you, feeling that he was finally getting through to you.

The only response you could muster was a soft, “okay.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

The relief Christian felt that he finally had some understanding of why you hadn’t been yourself over the last few weeks was nearly overwhelming. He pulled you toward him, pressing a firm kiss onto your forehead.

“I love you so much, Y/N. Never doubt that.”

tag list: @landoslover @thoseboysinblue @lovelynikol16 @swimmingismywholelife @masonsrem @bracedes @neverinadream @lizzypotter14 @notsoattractivearenti @chilwellspulisic

[lemotmo]

I’m so annoyed right now. I was saying to myself the other day that there’s no way Tim would do any of this unless he was trying to get his own show canceled

Well here we are. Left with a steaming pile of what in the hell was that garbage of an episode.

The villain? Her plot went no where and ended in like 5 minutes.

Tommy ? Why was he here ? Any pilot could have done what they did with that boring pointless and slow helicopter chase. Like all the actual people of LA who complained about the noise when they filmed it ? Should 100 percent get compensation because it was NOT worth the suffering they had to deal with.

The Eddie of it all? Him not in the episode ? Not surprised. Him not being part of Bobby dying ? Insulting. Him finding out about Bobby dying off screen in an off screen phone call? Even more insulting and anger inducing.

Like truly what are we doing here. The backlash online has been swift and loud. And they deserve every single bit of it. The cast deserves so much better than this.

And if Peter truly is gone ? God help them because this show is going to get canceled within a year. Two of their lucky. Because this was such an uncessary death. Tim’s out here trying to fight for his life that it was a creative choice. And Peter didn’t want to leave. And it’s not just for shock. But also saying it was supposed to be Ravi and then they changed it to Bobby. Like sorry then that’s just for the sake of killing someone’s. If it was a true creative decision the MCD wouldn’t be interchangeable.

And at this point their only saving grace to retain whatever viewers are still willing to tune in, is buddie canon. Which for their sake better happen soon because after tonight the people’s patience is running empty with the show. But even then. After this do we even trust them to write buddie canon ? Because I wouldn’t trust them to write a character walking through a door at this point.

Yep! Pretty much all of this Nonny!

I'm not going to go into the Bobby, Tommy or Eddie of it all again. You all know where I stand on that.

As for Buddie? Well yeah, I still think they are planning on making them canon. Ironically enough, I think this Bobby storyline is going to speed it up. Why? Because that is the one wild card this show still has up its sleeve to interest some of their audience. 🤷‍♀️

Regardless though, this episode will have consequences for their future ratings. No doubt about it.

Now, do I still trust them to do Buddie well? I think they might use this Bobby storyline to propel their storyline and I'm not sure how I feel about that. But at this point I have been here for so long that I'm willing to take it for what it is.

I am more afraid of the way they'll handle Eddie's individual storyline to be honest. It was absolutely nuts to not have Eddie in these episodes and I can forgive this show for a lot of things, but I will never forgive them for that. They did my boy so dirty.

[agreeewrites]

Tips on writing a book?

you've opened the flood gates, please bear with me

writing a book is one of the most challenging and rewarding things a person can do. there will be days where it's the most fun you've ever had, and there will be days where you'd rather smash your fingers with a hammer than write another word.

it's all part of the process. It's a labor of love; labor being the key word. It is as mechanical as it is creative.

that being said, here are my trade secrets:

REMINDER!! EVERYONE IS DIFFERENT. TAKE WHAT RESONATES. LEAVE WHAT DOESN'T.

Know your characters before you start writing. You don't need a plot really, or even a world. The best novels have the best characters, they are the single most important part of your story. When you reflect on your favorite books, most of the time, it'll be the characters you remember loving and cheering for (or rooting against), not specific plot points or descriptions.

Now, you don't need to know their zodiac sign, favorite food, and preferred sleeping position, but you need to know what drives them, what pushes them to do the things they do? Is it a loved one, an item, a legacy? Keep it small, keep it specific. Saving the world is far too large, but repaying a blood debt to a childhood best friend is compelling. Then, how far are they willing to go for it? And at what point do they stop? What needs to happen to push them beyond that point? Therein lies the soul of your story, and the rest of the body will be built around it.

Build a writing routine that works WITH you. Writing a novel requires a lot of work and time. Look at your current day-to-day, not your IDEAL day-to-day, what it actually is. Be brutally honest with yourself. Whether you've got three hours of downtime, or twenty minutes in the pick-up line, figure out how much of it you want to commit to writing, and build a WC goal that fits into it.

For me, 1,500 words a day is the sweet spot. I can knock out a fairly clean chunk of 1,500 in about an hour and half. It's not hard for me to find that time, but it'll look different for everyone. Find what works for you, be flexible, and most importantly, BE KIND TO YOURSELF.

Even just 100 words a day is a win.

Fill your creative well regularly. Writing is an act of reaping. You are pouring forth and creating something from nothing. That requires a lot of energy, and it's absolutely vital that you replenish that energy and nourish your imagination frequently. It can be books, movies, music, whatever. Find what inspires you and consume it like air. You will be a better writer and a happier person for it.

All a first draft has to do is exist. That's it. If the first draft exists, regardless of form or quality, it's a victory. You cannot improve upon a blank page.

It's okay to write out of order. If you've got a scene at the end of the book that's taking up all your brain space, but you're only a quarter of the way in, just write it. Get it out of your head and onto paper. No one says you have to write the book in linear order. You'll feel more inspired and energized without all the mental clutter, and you'll curb any feelings of resentment or guilt that are motivation-killers.

Write for yourself first. We all have big dreams of being published (and that's ok!), but when you're focused on the selling, it sucks energy, focus, and authenticity from the actual creating. Write for fun, edit to sell. Or else you'll get nowhere fast.

Give yourself permission to be cringey and bad. Be self-indulgent. Be cliché. Be cringe. And do it badly. Write steaming piles of scalding hot garbage. Then do it again. I promise there will be nuggets of gold buried beneath the shit.

Now, some less lofty advice:

Find one tool to plan/plot and stick with it. I recommend Notion for digital planning.

Have a dedicated writing space. Kitchen table, closet floor, meticulously organized writing desk, I don't care, but have somewhere you can go that is predominantly for writing. For me, it's one specific chair at my dining room table.

Use a writing program that you can access anywhere and is backed up to the cloud. Back it up often. I use Reedsy.

Read craft books by the masters in your chosen genre. Learn the genre standards. You have to know the rules before you can break them.

We are no better than dogs. Treat yourself recklessly and often.

There is a worse writer than you getting published as we speak. Anyone can do it, and that includes you.

You only fail when you quit. Keep writing.

I believe in you!!!

[tarzelladraws]

I want to talk about productively hating a fictional character!

After a discussion on one of my recent bluesky posts, I thought it would be interesting to facilitate a conversation on why I believe you can find insight in disliking a fictional character while also not letting it ruin your day and making it everyone else’s problem.

A largely disliked part of online fandom tends to be disagreements on what characters you love and which ones you believe deserve to rot and burn. Most often I find that this is why friends (as well as myself) don’t interact in certain online fandoms/spaces.

I tend to avoid this aspect only because I never find that the person I’m in conversation with ever cares to look deeper than “I just don’t like them”, “they were mean to a character I like” or, commonly in fantasy/scifi “they killed people and that’s wrong”. Yeah, they did do something bad. But isn’t it interesting to think about why they do it?

Are you wrong for not liking a character? No, not really. You can meet the coolest most genuine person there’s ever been and I guarantee someone out there vehemently disagrees with you and prays on their downfall. The important question is why do they dislike them.

So my question: why can hating characters be insightful? My thesis: you’re just not going to like everyone and you should explore why and be okay with the answer.

Because it’s more interesting to know what makes people different, to understand why they react the way they do. I think it’s stupid to refuse to consume, as well as condemn others for the consumption of certain media because you happen to dislike a character contained within it.

Because isn’t that interesting? Doesn’t it get boring when everyone is likable and exactly the type of person you’d want to be best friends with? Earlier this month I was on a panel for screenwriters where we discussed building characters. An audience member asked what our one piece of (character) writing advice is. My answer was that you should write a character that you’d hate. Someone who, if you met them at a party, you’d loath. You can’t see yourself making an effort to reach out to and spend time with them.

Because not everyone can be perfect and good. It’s not a good story if that’s the case. You need an antagonist, and sometimes the main character is that person. Sometimes the villain draws you in because they’re well written and complex. And sometimes the character is neutral. They aren’t better or worse than anyone else, they just make different choices than you would.

Two of my favorite pieces of media in the last two years had main characters that I HATED. I read a book where I wanted to bare knuckle brawl both protagonists in a Denny’s parking lot. It was my favorite book of 2023. None of the three main characters in Challengers are necessarily good people and I left the theater thinking “God I hated all of them. This is one of the best screenplays I’ve seen in years.”

Because it forced me to think! I spent days wondering what about them was so interesting to me. At the end of the day it was always that I got a glimpse into thought processes that I don’t naturally gravitate towards. Because a well written character feels like a real person and not everyone is the same.

To me the spice of life is opposition. It’s standing nose to nose with something/one that I disagree with. It’s finding out someone thinks Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow is a pile of steaming hot garbage when in reality they’re wrong and it’s an achievement in low budget genre film making. That doesn’t make me want to cuss them out and leave. It only makes me want to talk to them more. The real insight is found in the conversation, either with yourself or others. “Why?”

Kylo Ren is a bad guy. He’s killed people, he is given multiple opportunities for redemption and waits until the last possible moment to stick out his hand. Much of that is poor story organization on the part of DLF, but if you move past that and explore motive he’s suddenly so much more.

He became the villain because he had his weaknesses exploited at a vulnerable age and mental state. He’s related to three of the galaxy’s greatest heroes and one of its greatest evils and is always choking on the shadow of this legacy and all it entails. THAT is fascinating to me. Hate him, but don’t deny that there isn’t something there to explore.

This is all over the place, but in the end it’s my belief that disliking a character isn’t bad, it’s condemning others for diving into what’s presented to them and having a natural curiosity to explore humanity in all it’s vastness. It’s being adverse to dynamic characters and the complexities of life and another person’s authenticity.

[queerfandomtrifecta]

I’m scared to start the final season of WWDITS. Gonna let it air then read all the spoilers first then decide, because between the strange writing in OFMD s2, the steaming pile of garbage that was TUA s4, and still not knowing if we’ll get a final season Good Omens I am very tired and i don’t wanna watch anything else I’m not gonna like.

[tlbodine]

Fae Horrors: Huldra

This week's double-header features a Scandinavian folklore creature, huldra (or hulder, for a collective of them, I think?) -- generally described as a seductive forest spirit or guardian, a beautiful woman with an animal tail and/or a spine like a hollow tree stump. I've read that they can be friend or foe to people who venture into the woods, and a common thread seems to be that they can seduce and manipulate men into doing all kinds of things.

I'm not personally familiar with the myths, so I'm not sure which things I've read on the internet are historically accurate. Maybe one of you lovely followers can fill me in?

Anyway, the films this week were Thale (2012) and Huldra: Lady of the Forest (2016). They are, to my knowledge, the only two movies about hulder. They also could not be more different from each other, beginning with the fact that one of them is quite good and the other is a steaming pile of hot garbage that had me screaming at the television.

First, the good one. Thale is a Norwegian film written and directed by Aleksander L. Nordaas. It's about two guys, Elvis and Leo, who work as crime scene clean-up guys. While cleaning up the very messy remains of an old man ("wild animals" got at him, tearing him to pieces and scattering him around the property) they find his hidden basement, where he had seemingly imprisoned a young woman.

The girl, naked and mute and somewhat inhuman, turns out to actually be very inhuman in the sense that she's not a person at all but a hulder who had been taken into captivity and experimented on. The old man in the cottage had worked at the laboratory, smuggled her out, and raised her here as a father figure, but continued to experiment on her. We figure out some backstory courtesy of some convenient fae-creature telepathy, and the story builds from there because the girl (the eponymous Thale) has family still in the forest, and also the military is looking for her.

I won't spoil anything further. It's a very simple story, one that leaves a lot of questions unanswered. But I don't mind that ambiguity. In form, it reminds me quite a bit of an episode of Trevor Henderson's podcast, The Mayfair Watcher's Society: Two normal blokes stumble into an uncanny situation, see some crazy shit, and get on with their lives without explanation or context. If you like that type of storytelling (and I do), this is worth the watch.

The entire movie was filmed on a budget of $10,000, with Nordaas acting as writer, director, editor, set designer, and so forth. Most of the film was shot in his dad's basement.

And honestly? Mad props. I have nothing but respect for a micro-budget film that understands its limitations and leans into them. The creature effects are excellent. Like, the CGI is a little rough, but the design itself is A+ and it delivered a proper scare at one point.

The greatest strength of the film imo is the on-screen chemistry between the two leads. We don't really know what the relationship between Elvis and Leo is, whether they're friends or brothers or what, but they manage to communicate a great deal without saying a word, and it's easy to believe they've known each other a very long time. They're drift compatible, in other words, and they have very different personalities (Leo is utterly unflappable, Elvis can't get through a job without puking several times) that make it fun to watch them grapple with being in over their heads. Props to Erlend Nervold and Jon Sigve Skard. And props too to Silje Reinåmo, who has to spend most of the movie naked and do most of her acting with her eyes. Good stuff all around.

Which leads us....sigh....

Huldra: Lady of the Forest is a Swedish film directed by Ove Valeskog, with writing credit to Valeskog, Eddie Boschek, and Björn Boström. I believe it is Valeskog's first feature film, and I don't know what the budget on it was for sure but IMDB estimates it at $75,000. It certainly looks and feels much cheaper than Thale, probably because of the terrible script.

Okay. Ugh. Basically: A lady boxer is invited out on a camping trip with a bunch of guys she went to school with, and they all go party in the woods and engage in various...activities?...at some kind of former hippie commune turned hunting resort attraction camp....thing? The hippie who runs the place has a "daughter" who they spy bathing naked in a lake and who (spoiler?) is a huldra.

I guess (???) the main point is that the hippie guy lures people out to his commune to sacrifice them (???) to the huldra, who also apparently has the ability to make people go crazy and turn on each other, which is seemingly how the hippie guy got here in the first place. The story keeps cutting between the present-day group and the original hippie group, and we see both of them becoming paranoid and turning on each other until only one dude is left standing to take care of the huldra?

It's convoluted. And, frustratingly, there are the bones of a really good story in it. I actually really like the idea of a forest creature who uses her faerie wiles to psychologically fuck with a group of tourists and make them turn on each other. It's like Evil Dead with a faerie and I'm here for it!

Unfortunately, the movie is two hours long and agonizingly boring to get through. It's paced like a slow-burn psychological thriller, except none of the characters are actually fleshed out or given any depth at all. You're forced to watch scene after agonizing scene of rambling, pointless naturalistic dialogue as a bunch of annoying frat guys get drunk, argue, act misogynistic, and make small talk, without any clear idea of why anyone is doing anything. Also most of the film's dialogue is in English (owing I guess to their multinational friend group) but it seems like English is not the primary language of any of the actors so all of the line delivery is also kind of weird? Like inflections are in odd places, stiff tone, just....everything is weird, man. And most of the violence is off-screen and there are no cool creature effects so we don't even get the pleasure of seeing these people eviscerated for our trouble :(

I could have put up with all of this, maybe. I could have dealt with the frankly nonsensical storytelling (which was SO CLOSE to being good but then shit the bed), the bad acting, the wobbly erratic camera that bounces around for no reason, the poor editing....all of it. I could have shrugged it off as a "meh." Until the end of the movie.

At the outset, we see our heroine playing with her baby niece, and her sister telling her that having babies is great, actually, and that she needs to get laid, and maybe if she acted more feminine people would stop assuming she was a lesbian. and we think, ok, fine, sister is kind of annoying but whatever.

So then the heroine goes into the woods with all these dudes and tries to rekindle with a childhood crush. They have sex, then he pushes her away because he's married, and then gets all up in his feelings about it and it's stupid but ANYWAY....he dies, and then later she nearly drowns, but she has a vision of his stupid dead face telling her she HAS TO LIVE because there is a BABY INSIDE HER and this gives her the strength!!! to survive!!!! and then there's a flash forward a couple years later and we see her baby running around on the beach with his cousin and her boxing coach tells her, "You finally have achieved real balance! but why did you quit boxing?" and she's like "I don't need it anymore because MY LIFE IS COMPLETE with the power of LOVE! I love being a mommy soooooo much" I'm not even exaggerating this is almost exactly how the scene plays out and oh my god it is so stupid and cheesy and terrible.

You are allowed to be a shitty movie, and you are allowed to be surprise twist birther propaganda, but you don't get to be both.

Ew, ew, ew.

Anyway. Ugh. I don't know where or how this film ended up on my list -- it doesn't have much footprint online, there's only one review on the IMDB page and no Wikipedia, there's no Rotten Tomatoes score, only two reviews on Amazon. So maybe it's mean to hate this much on a tiny obscure random movie. But dear god. If you have two spare hours and a Tubi account, spend that precious time on something else because this movie is a big stinker.

Onward and (hopefully) upward next week.

[goneatlas]

at that point in my writing where i think everything i write is a hot steaming pile of garbage ❤️ [gritting my teeth] at least it's not ai at least it's not ai at least it's not—

[blueboyluca]

@konmari-dogs's post reminded me, I read a lot of dog books this year! My biggest tip for reading more is put a bunch of books on your phone and just dip into them when you can. I think I originally got this tip from Milly, but it really works. If you are getting sick of one or need a break, you can easily flit to another. You can get a page or two while waiting for appointments or at a cafe or something. Really easy to read a lot more.

Anyway, I read a lot of crap this year but also some gems.

Hit list: The Culture Clash by Jean Donaldson. I finally read this classic. I skimmed most of the training stuff because it is a bit outdated now, but I really liked the allegorical parts, the actual bits that are why it is titled the way it is. That stuff is still really relevant today.

Dog is Love by Clive D.L. Wynne. I enjoyed this. It followed the story of how Wynne convinced himself that dogs do love us, through various scientific disciplines. I also think this guy is a compelling speaker, if a little pompous.

Wonderdog by Jules Howard. Loved this one, excellent overview of dog science throughout history. Really worth the read.

The Secret History of Kindness by Melissa Holbrook Pierson. My favourite read this year, an incredibly moving overview of the history of training dogs.

In Defence of Dogs by John Bradshaw. I started this one more than a year ago and finished it this year. It was pretty good, but a little outdated on the science now. Still worth a read.

The Great Grisby by Mikita Brottman. I enjoyed this, it was about various dogs in literature or real dogs owned by famous people, mostly Victorians. It was a fun read. The focus won't be for everyone.

How the Dog Became the Dog: From Wolves to Our Best Friends by Mark Derr. I started reading this like 5 years ago. I really enjoyed the first half then dropped off it. I finished it this year and I am glad, but there wasn't as much good stuff in the second half. Still, I reference it a lot and I love the way he writes about early dogs.

Shit list: Living with Border Collies by Barbara Sykes. This one is a mess. Very few useful ideas, mostly just batty nonsense.

Fifteen Dogs by André Alexis. This was the only novel I read this year and it was garbage. Do not recommend.

How Stella Learned to Talk by Christina Hunger. You all know I hated it. I am stunned when people recommend it to others to get into dog buttons. I thought the narrative itself was a steaming pile of garbage and I thought the tips on how to get started with buttons were vague and unhelpful. Cannot understand this fad at all.

The First Domestication by Brandy R. Fogg and Raymond Pierotti. I started this a year or two ago and finished it this year. It was a mess. I appreciated the parts where they ripped into Coppinger, but there were tons of other really questionable bits so I basically think the whole thing is a wash.

Dogs: A Philosophical Guide to Our Best Friends by Mark Alizart. It wasn't terrible, but it was quite strange. I appreciated it sent me down a few rabbit holes though. I tried reading some more philosophical books about dogs but they fall apart as soon as the authors show they know nothing about modern dog science.

Dingoes Don’t Bark by Lionel Hudson. This one also wasn't terrible but it was also kind of nothing. Not a lot of information about dingoes. I think the documentary it pairs with would be more worhtwhile. I think it's from the 70s, maybe 80s.

Still reading: Level Up Your Dog Training by Natalie Bridger Watson. This is for beginners, but I am enjoying it as another resource for my club.

The Wolf Within by Professor Bryan Sykes. This is good but thick and science heavy, so I know it will take me a long time.

Treat Everyone Like a Dog by Karen London. I am not enjoying this at all. It will inevitably make it onto my shit list one year.

What Dogs Want by Mat Ward. Really loving this very cute and modern take on basic dog care for new owners.

What the Dog Knows: The Science and Wonder of Working Dogs by Cat Warren. I am really loving this so far. It's my kind of book, a mix of dog science and memoir.

Our Oldest Companions by Pat Shipman. I am not that taken in by Shipman. I've read one of her other books and I don't find her particularly compelling. I am finding Sykes more interesting than this one.

Aesop's Animals: The Science Behind the Fables by Jo Wimpenny. This one is pretty good, not sure if I will finish it though because I read the dog and wolf chapters already.

Positive Herding 101 by Barbara Buchmayer. I am enjoying this. I got through all the beginning stuff and have finally reached the chapters that will talk about herding training.

Enrichment Games for High Energy Dogs by Barbara Buchmayer. This is good enough that it made me buy her other book. I haven't finished it yet though.

[marroniere]

the thrawn and ar’alani academy scene from the thranto and thrawn/thalias fic i’m currently writing

The Taharim Academy has plenty to offer for those deemed lacking discipline. Usually, it is something that, according to the instructors, “nurtures the spirit.” Said “spirit-nurturing” activities, as Thrawn has noticed, mostly include physical exercise and manual labor.

A punishment for one downmark can be a mild one: two hundred pushups, and you are free. Five downmarks is a situation more severe: mess hall duty for a week.

Fifty downmarks for an “unauthorized intrusion into the Tomra’s command area” mean three months of cleaning the trash compactor on one’s own.

He tries to derive meaning even from such a meaningless task. First of all, even though the garbage stench won’t come out of his hair entirely after an hour-long shower, cleaning up the trash compactor clears his mind. Secondly, it is a source of important cultural observations. Things one throws out always tell a story. The trick is to piece the elements of this story together. Thirdly, Thrawn reminds himself as he drags the remains of a packbull carcass to the section labeled “ORGANICS,” this does indeed nurture the spirit. He is on his own; there is no one he can rely on, and to avoid being crushed in the compactor, he must approach the task with extra care.

He is not quite sure such a thing has ever happened in Taharim—there must be safety mechanisms, after all—but if his rescue will be a long and potentially humiliating process, this much he can tell.

He has one week to go.

“Enjoying this?”

It is a crisp, posh voice that belongs to a young woman—and for a second, before Thrawn looks back, he thinks it might be a new instructor he hasn’t yet met. Then he sees that the woman the voice belongs to is wearing a cadet uniform, with a little white and blue patch they give you if you finish your first year with distinction. She is standing at the heavy trash compactor room door, watching him with unconcealed curiosity.

He takes a moment to process her question. There is no hint of mockery, but it means nothing. Any comment like that coming from a senior-year cadet, especially one that looks like a Nine blood relative—

“I have to do it,” he simply says.

Any other answer would create an opportunity for further snide remarks—and in any way, he has to get back to the garbage. There is a pile of fried microschemes and old cables right in front of him, covered for some reason in shredded paper and the remains of that steamed glow-cabbage from the mess hall that everyone hates. The pile will not sort out itself.

“Look,” the senior cadet says. “I see you find it meditative, but if you want to clean this up on your own, you won’t finish by tomorrow morning.”

Then she jumps down two steps at once—and makes it seem strangely effortless.

“Here. Let me help.”

Thrawn eyes her over, suspicious.

“It is my task,” he states as if it could establish a certain boundary.

“It is,” says the senior cadet. “And you’ve done well so far. Nobody’s ever managed to last for more than a week here. But since you’re under my tutelage now—”

“Last time I checked, I was under the tutelage of Senior Cadet Bicwa.”

The whole concept of tutelage, in Thrawn’s experience, is a purely formal thing. Bicwa, another ruling family son with the lazy, bored eyes of someone who is probably unfit for military duty and knows it full well, made something of a pact with Thrawn on the first day they met: “You don’t make it worse for me, I won’t make it worse for you.”

“Well, have I got news for you. Colonel Wevary discovered Senior Cadet Bicwa’s very impressive tava mist stash. Guess what happened next is an Obbic family secret.”

Now, there is mockery in the senior cadet’s intonation—and it is not aimed at Thrawn.

“Oh,” Thrawn says.

She gives him an amused look.

“Sad he didn’t share with you?”

Thrawn ignores her question.

“They sent him on kitchen duty.”

Kitchen duty is, surely, better than trash compactor duty but worse than mess hall duty. In the mess hall, you distribute food and collect dirty dishes, which you are then expected to wash. In the kitchen, you peel mounds of sour-vines, gut fish, and, occasionally, butcher entire packbull carcasses.

For Thrawn, it would not have been a walk in the Stellar Gardens—but it wouldn’t have been torturous either. For someone like Bicwa, however, such an experience must be—

The senior cadet raises her eyebrow.

“How do you know?”

“There are packbull bones in the organics. Whoever was butchering the carcass had no idea what they were doing. Must have been a cadet, and—”

When he says this, he sees a tiny smile on her face.

“I knew you’d be interesting.”

“Interesting. Why?”

“As if anyone with fifty downmarks could be boring,” the senior cadet says, her accent now softer, less crisp. “I’m Ziara, by the way. Move over, let’s clean this up together.”

This is how he makes his first friend on Naporar.

[asphodelsincinders]

A03 Scrape Rant

So you mean to tell me, that after finally returning to fanfic writing after years of being too afraid to publish, that the first and only work I've shared has been scraped by some inbred-ass tech bro, who lacks a single creative bone in his body?? And he somehow thinks what he's done is justifiable and is doubling down on the mass theft he's just committed? Like where do you even find the audacity to steal millions of people's work and say its okay? What delusional, soulless, world are you living in? America?

The thing that makes art and writing beautiful is that someone poured years of their time into learning that skill, and even if they're a novice at it they still put effort into it. Even if something is absolutely littered with errors, it's still better than whatever stolen rhetoric a computer spews back. I wrote fic when I was fucking twelve, and looking back on it, it is definitely a steaming pile of garbage, but people still liked it.

If you want to be a writer, practice writing. An artist, practice art. They're not unobtainable skills, they just take time to learn, thats why they have value. I can't go download rock hard abs, so why do people think they're entitled to steal an artists work? Just get fucking good, or mediocre, or nothing at all! Participate in fandom in whatever way you feel comfortable, but if you think for a second that utilizing AI and stealing others work is in anyway acceptable-- get fucked. Like, absolutely rammed up the ass with a freight train. Repeatedly. Without lube. #Hurt no comfort style, Bitch.

I swear the popularization and mainstreaming of fandom culture during Covid has been the downfall of fandom spaces. I blame that and social media. Like, let people have their friendly little corner of the internet in peace, the world is miserable enough as it is. Now because of this horrible theft, authors are now justifiably locking their fics to non-archive users, which will make it harder for people to find and enjoy their work. One asshole has changed the entire way this site functions, and the willingness for people to share their work, for no good reason other than training a stupid program to write for lazy people, and its honestly devastating.

I apologize for the rant, I'm not usually a very outgoing or vocal person, but I am absolutely pissed the fuck off, not only for my own work but the entirety of A03 authors as a whole.

[joltai-showa]

to reblog below

naruto is somehow a perfect mix of "this writing is the single biggest pile of steaming garbage I have ever seen" and "okay but this little lore bit is actually kinda cool I wonder how it ties in with the rest of the world"

it also does not help that the contradictory nature of how the themes and the characters are portrayed causes the fandom to have 180 degree views on the same fucking thing, which is how we end up arguing about it for decades after the manga has already ended

[rjzimmerman]

RFK Jr. Dabbled In EUGENICS In The Past With COVID. Now With Autism, The Loon Is Back. (Blue Amp Substack)

I'm extracting and posting the entire post by Cliff Schecter from his Blue Amp Substack. Why? The secretary of HHS (robert f. kennedy, jr, or rfk) gave a press conference on April 16 in which he said some horrible, unsubstantiated (and unsubstantiable) things about children with autism. The story really pissed me off on many levels, but particularly on a personal level, because our grandson is on the spectrum, having been diagnosed back when he was three years old. He's now nine. kennedy should (a) keep his fucking mouth shut, (b) resign and (c) crawl back into his hole in the earth never to emerge again. If he won't resign, then dear leader should shit can him.

Here's the story:

Robert F. Kennedy Jr.—when not feeding his cerebellum to a friendly feather duster worm—isn’t just peddling junk science about vaccines and autism—he’s reviving the ugliest ghosts of world history. His claims that vaccines cause autism and that there's an “autism epidemic” tied to mass violence aren’t just wrong, they’re dangerous propaganda ripped from a dusty old playbook of dope-fueled, dingbat science pushed by past amateurs and cons like…him.

The same twisted logic that once led to forced sterilizations in the United States and mass murder in Germany is now being laundered through Kennedy’s speeches and media appearances. By suggesting that autistic people are ticking time bombs of societal decay, RFK Jr. positions himself not as a truth-teller, but as a modern-day snake oil salesman pouring fear into a bottle labeled “progress.” Here is Kennedy with his learned assessment—which is to say about as carefully calibrated as his marriages—on autism:

…these are kids who will never pay taxes. They’ll never hold a job. They’ll never play baseball. They’ll never write a poem. They’ll never go out on a date. Many of them will never use a toilet unassisted.”

Seriously, WTF is he talking about? Though, I must admit, we’d be living on such a superior, spinning, space beach ball if only Albert Einstein, Leonardo da Vinci, Jane Austen, Benjamin Franklin, Bob Dylan, Lionel Messi, Eminem and Greta Thunberg had contributed something to our lives. Pity, that. 

Autism isn’t a disease, it isn’t an epidemic, and it sure as hell isn’t a predictor of violence—but to a Kennedy, who shot up enough heroin over 16 years to kill the whale whose head he palled around with, facts are just inconvenient speed bumps on the road to power and delusion. If he wants to find someone who’s never held a real job and had paid less in taxes than Attila The Hun, maybe check in on the harangue-fueled hyena sitting in the Oval Office.

The smear that autistic individuals can’t live normal lives or are mass shooters or serial killers is a steaming pile of ableist garbage. And it’s exactly the kind of congealed-stupidity that dehumanizes those with autism and provides cover for those prone to ideology animated by “superior races” committing the worst atrocities human history has on speed dial.

Also, this horses*t has been debunked by actual experts more times than Kennedy’s found himself in a car with a dead animal riding shotgun. As Psychology Today points out, there is zero evidence linking autism with planned mass violence: 

The whole idea of this latest study is flawed. The issue is simple: Correlation does not imply causation. Researchers often forget this to their detriment as they are led to wildly wrong conclusions when two data sets seem to fit together. I’ll give you an example. Right now, if we compare data from the US Census and the USDA for the years 2000-2009, we find a near-perfect correlation (.993) between the divorce rate in Maine and the per capita consumption of margarine. Who knew margarine consumption predicted divorce with such accuracy? It (probably) doesn’t. But an ignorant person, looking at the near-perfect fit, could easily be led to that conclusion if he lacked the common sense to see through it.

Ahh, yes, “ignorant” people. Isn’t that MAGA’s new slogan: Making America Great Again By Being Ignorant AF?” 

In fact, autistic people are far more likely to be the victims of violence than the perpetrators. But RFK Jr. doesn’t care about that truth here—in the same way he just made up that Ashkenazi Jews and Chinese people were somehow more “immune” to COVID (hey, guess what, numbnut-for-brains! Ashkenazi Jew here! I got COVID, so I guess nobody showed me the secret genetic handshake). 

Because fear, like RFK Jr.’s gravelly voice, travels faster when untethered from reason. His crusade against vaccines and his vilification of the neurodivergent aren't brave stands; they're cowardly, conspiratorial attacks that stigmatize millions for personal gain. As his sister made clear in rebuking his presidential run and rejecting him, RFK Jr. isn’t fit for public office—he’s barely fit for a podcast with Alex Jones.

[cashmereink]

“Just write” is the worst advice. It’s constantly thrown around without any regard as to what actually keeps people from writing.

Of course they want to “just write”. But it’s not that easy.

We’re taught to never put anything out into the world unless it’s acceptable or pretty. That’s why most people spend their time deleting sentences and staring at a blank page.

The best advice is:

Write Steaming Swill

The best thing our English teachers could have done for us is required a nasty-ass draft be turned in along with our pretty final projects.

You will get nowhere with your project until you dump it out as a pile of hot garbage first.

For the love of sweet, sweet, peanut-buttery Christ, stop hesitating and deleting in the name of your finished story that doesn’t exist yet.

Write hot garbage and then clean it up.