#absurd source of inspiration to write something like this

[cloudwhisper23]

“This is Jeremy Fitzgerald speaking.” Jeremy yawned, rubbing his eyes. It was too late for normal phone calls.

“Do you ever think about dying?”

“Mike?” Jeremy blinked, suddenly wide awake. “How did you get my phone number-“

“I think about it all the time. Dying,” Mike’s voice sounded hoarse. “It comes and goes, but it usually happens after I speak to my father.”

“Woah, buddy. Do you need me to come over?” Jeremy walked away from the wall, pulling the phone cord tightly as he reached for his jacket.

Mike didn’t talk about his family. He didn’t talk about anything usually. Normally he’d just sit there during detentions in complete silence. Jeremy long ago gave up trying to fill the silence with conversation. Mike never replied. So, he just started talking about anything and everything. Mike had unintentionally become his journal, and the man probably knew more about Jeremy than Jeremy would know about anyone.

“You don’t know where I live.”

“Then tell me. Buddy, trust me. It’s better to talk to people in person about this sort of thing.”

Mike was quiet for a moment. “Okay.”

“Okay? What does that-“

“Do you have a pen and paper ready?”

“Oh- Uh, yeah.” Jeremy grabbed a pen and scribbled the address on his hand. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Okay? Don’t do anything rash without me.”

“Okay.” Mike’s voice sounded dull and empty. “We’ll have to be quiet. My family’s asleep.”

“Yeah, of course. Sure thing.”

Jeremy didn’t worry about leaving a note. His aunt trusted him enough to take care of himself, and she knew he wasn’t a troublemaker on purpose. She didn’t know that he talked to Mike all the time though. If she did, she’d probably freak out about that.

Jeremy shoved his shoes onto his feet and combed his fingers though his hair. Why did he care so much about what he looked like? Shaking his head, Jeremy turned off the light and slipped out of the house, locking the door behind him. Mike wouldn’t care anyway.

He didn’t even have the chance to knock before Mike opened the door, finger to his lips. Jeremy didn’t say a word as Michael led him into the entryway and waited for him to remove his shoes and jacket. He knew he should ask what was going on, why Mike was so particular about his movements, but he was afraid that Mike would just throw him back outside.

His grip was rough around Jeremy’s wrist, and if Jeremy wasn’t so fascinated by the sudden knowledge, he was learning simply by virtue of being inside Mike’s house, he’d be concerned about the pressure. Mike yanked him like a dog on a leash, and Jeremy was too distracted to care.

He was suddenly in a bedroom face-down on the bed. Jeremy pushed himself upright, opening his mouth to speak, when Mike shushed him from the doorway. What was going on?

Mike slowly let the door close and exhaled softly. A heavy layer of tension vanished from his shoulders; a tension Jeremy hadn’t even noticed Mike having in the first place. He thought that was just how he was, but seeing him now, it was clear that Mike was stressed out by something. The light creeping under the door was bright enough to illuminate the shadows under Mike’s eyes.

He ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes.

“So…. Are we not going to talk about that phone call?” Jeremy whispered.

Mike’s eyes flew open again, snapping to Jeremy’s face. Jeremy was struck by how blue his eyes were in that moment. Mike opened and closed his mouth, like he’d forgotten how to speak. “Jeremy…” he eventually said, trailing off as soon as he said it.

Jeremy suddenly felt hot. He felt odd where he was, so he stood up. “Mike…”

Mike swallowed and looked away. “It was stupid to say anything in the first place.”

“What do you mean?” Jeremy forced himself to approach Mike, even though the tension had come back into his body. “You wanted to talk.”

“I…” Mike stepped back, still unable to look at Jeremy. “You’ll laugh.”

“Will I?” Jeremy asked. “Did I laugh when you told me we’d have to be quiet? Did I laugh when I first answered the phone? Did I laugh when you told me you think about dying a lot?”

Mike grabbed at his elbow, refusing to answer. Jeremy saw his jaw clench and sighed.

“Fine.” Jeremy crossed his arms. “I guess you were right. It was dumb to say anything in the first place. If you’re just going to act like this, and we’re not going to talk about it-“ He reached for the doorknob, and Mike grabbed his wrist.

“Wait.”

“Are you going to talk to me? Are we going to figure this out, Mike? Because I can’t figure out what you want from me.” Jeremy didn’t shake Mike’s hand free.

“I… I want…” Mike swallowed hard. “It’s so hard, Jeremy.” He let go of Jeremy’s wrist, pulling at his hair while he began pacing.

“Let’s start with what you said on the phone.” Jeremy touched Mike’s shoulder and felt him tremble as he stopped. “You think about dying. You think about it a lot.”

Mike nodded mutely.

“What is your dad like?” Jeremy hated to push, but Mike obviously needed someone to listen right now. Even if Jeremy didn’t have any idea what his family was like. Even if Jeremy still couldn’t figure out why he’d come in the first place.

“He…” Mike’s hands slid out of his hair to wrap around Jeremy’s hand on his shoulder. One hand slowly slipped under Jeremy’s, and their fingers linked.

“Let’s sit down. This seems like a sit-down conversation.”

Mike nodded, letting go of Jeremy long enough for both of them to sit facing each other on the bed. And then his hands were both trapped between Mike’s. “I guess he’s like your mom.”

Jeremy blinked. He hadn’t realized that Mike paid that much attention to him. “Oh?”

“When he’s in public, anyway.” Mike focused on their clasped hands. “At home, he’s like this living storm cloud. He could zap you at any minute, if you’re unlucky enough to be in his way.”

“Which is why you were so cautious when I came in.”

Mike nodded, slowly moving his thumb across the back of Jeremy’s hand. He tried not to shiver at the sensation. “I couldn’t risk it.”

“So, do you imagine it now?” Jeremy asked. “Dying, that is.”

Mike laughed so softly Jeremy wasn’t sure if he was imagining the sound. But the faint smile on Mike’s face, that was real. The tension that had released from his shoulders was real. “I feel more alive around you, Jere. There’s no reason to imagine dying when you’re here.”

[mikavlcs]

Dog Days

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

Summary: The help you need to confess to your crush winds up coming from an incredibly unlikely (and furry) source.

Warnings: ooc!wednesday, hints of bad poetry lol, bad writing, this is another very unserious story

Word count: 3.3k

Notes: the poetry part of this request kicked my ass and you can tell LMFAO. sorry it took so long (and sorry it kinda sucks), but i hope you guys enjoy!

Masterlist | Bonus

Confessing your feelings to someone you like was one of the most profound plights a person could ever face, you’ve decided.

Because to you, right now, there was no greater challenge to overcome, no finer show of courage than to look her in the eye and profess the nebulous depths of your infatuation without keeling over midsentence.

And this anxiety would be easier to conquer if the girl you had caught feelings for was a normie, or really any other outcast housed within Nevermore’s four walls.

But your crush was Wednesday Addams, and that more than justified the intense fear that came with the possibility of confessing.

For the past semester, Wednesday had been assigned to sit at your table in Botany, meaning that you two were almost always lab and project partners in that class. Throughout that time, she wasn’t exactly nice to you, but you’ve yet to be on the receiving end of her notoriously colorful threats, so you figured that put you somewhere friend-adjacent on the small girl’s relationship scale.

That made trying to confess to her no easier, however. Because she could literally just kill you if she decided it wasn’t good enough. If she decided you weren’t good enough.

You hoped knew she wouldn’t considering your short but cordial history, but she technically could.

Now despite her reputation (and the previously outlined possibility of murder), Wednesday never scared you. She certainly tried. You’d lost count of how many grisly medieval torture facts she offered up while working together, but they never had the intended effect of instilling fear into you. Not even once. The absurdity of it made you laugh more often than not.

But, while she didn’t scare you, she did intimidate you. Even now, months and a fully developed crush later, she could render you speechless with a single look.

That immediately did away with the possibility of a verbal confession since you were sure your vocal cords would cease operation before you could even properly start, leaving you staring at her like an idiot. So you were left to figure out another way. And after days of careful deliberation, you decided upon the vessel with which you would confess your feelings.

A poem.

Yes, it was stupid and cliché, but it was something you were familiar with, and you figured Wednesday might have at least some appreciation for it considering she herself was an aspiring writer. But very soon, you came face to face with a problem.

Wednesday herself constantly strived for perfection in every facet of life, so you knew that if anyone were to attempt to court her, she would be expecting no less from them as well.

Everything about this poem—diction, rhythm, rhyme, form—had to be superlative, efficient while effectively flawless.

It needed to be perfect and you just…couldn’t get it there.

Attempt after attempt wound up in your garbage, the papers overflowing out of the small pail by your desk while your hope slowly diminished with each failure. After the 27th trashed page, you knew you needed to stop and recoup.

This approach obviously wasn’t working, so you had to find a different one and to do that, you needed incentive. You needed inspiration. You needed the creative ascension that came with reading good, fresh poetry.

The only issue was that all of your poetry collections were well-worn, memorized from cover to cover. Though you could never tire of them, you knew they wouldn’t provide the spark of creativity you needed.

So you took a trip to the small bookstore in Jericho since the school library had very little in the way of poetry and picked up a few that caught your eye.

You were on your way to catch the shuttle back when you heard it.

A high-pitched yip rose from the alley you had just walked past, making you pause. Curious (and without much else to do), you stepped back to peer into the alley, and you let out a gasp.

Just down the alleyway was a small puppy, covered head to toe in gorgeous gold fur. A golden retriever, your mind helpfully supplied. He didn’t notice you, entirely too preoccupied tearing up an old newspaper to care about your gawking, but you were entranced.

And without your usual forms of impulse control (your teachers and parents) there with you, your mind was made up in an instant.

A twenty-minute trip to the local pet store saw you ready to leave town a few hundred dollars lighter and many bags heavier. You got all the essentials—food, toys, a collar and a leash, a bed, bowls, and whatnot.

All that was left was getting the dog.

Quietly approaching, you set your bags down against the mouth of the alleyway and crept closer to the puppy, careful not to startle him as he stalked a bug of some sort. Once you were within a few feet, you crouched and tore open one of the treat bags you bought. The noise got the retriever’s attention, and he stopped his pursuit to watch you, intrigued.

A soft smile made its way onto your face while you fished a treat out and held it out. It took no time at all for the pup to curiously trot over. He sniffed it for a moment, thoroughly inspecting the cookie before devouring it and looking back up at you expectantly, tail wagging furiously in the air behind him.

With a laugh, you offered him another one, then another, and another. And just like that, a friendship was formed.

The driver barely gave you a second glance when you waltzed into the shuttle with your bags and the dog, just waited for you to be seated and pulled off onto the main road. Definitely not protocol, but you imagined he wasn’t being paid nearly enough to care.

When Nevermore’s castle-like features came into view ten minutes later, you realized with a jolt that there was one thing you hadn’t accounted for: actually trying to smuggle this puppy into the school.

Given that the shuttle was already parked, you had no time for strategy. As you stepped back onto campus, your only plan was to make a mad dash for your dorm. And, after tucking the puppy inside your shirt, that’s exactly what you did. Or tried to do. You only got halfway through your journey when Yoko intercepted you in one of the halls.

“Hey! I see someone went shopping today,” she commented, giving the plethora of bags you were holding a humorous look. “Preparing for a zombie outbreak or something?”

“Something like that,” you answered, taking a step around her, but she moved with you and started matching your hurried strides.

“So, you ready for that Vampire Anatomy test tomorrow? Personally, I think I’m gonna ace it,” she smiled, fangs flashing in the overhead light. You shot her a look, because, of course, a vampire would ace that test.

You opened your mouth, a scathing retort on the tip of your tongue, but the pup chose that moment to show his restlessness, flailing his little limbs violently under the fabric of your shirt.

“Uh,” Yoko slowed at your side, brows drawn above her sunglasses. She pointed at your stomach, where the puppy was violently squirming. “What’s going on there?”

You glanced away, mouth opening and closing. Hard as you tried to come up with a plausible excuse, none came, so you said the first thing that came to mind.

“I’m pregnant.”

Poor Yoko looked positively baffled. You ran before she could say anything else.

The sprint back to your dorm was blessedly uneventful, allowing you to stumble inside with minimal issue. Thankfully, your roommate was out, so you wouldn’t need to deal with any more questions for the time being. You set the puppy down on the floor, letting him explore his new surroundings while you set his things up.

Once his bed, bowls, and toys were in place, your attention turned to another pressing issue. The pup needed a name.

Dozens of names crossed your mind in the minutes that followed, but none of them fit the energetic boy in front of you. Pondering, you watched leisurely as the retriever dragged his new leash across the floor. The sunlight pouring through the window softly bounced off his golden fur while he pranced around your room, leash still securely in his mouth.

A metaphorical light bulb clicked on and in that moment, you gave him the most beautiful, poetic name your mind graced you with.

-

“Choklit!”

The puppy in question froze and looked up at you, short tail wagging dutifully. He was already giving you his best puppy dog eyes, but you knew better than to fall for them. You moved to stand in front of him, hands on your hips.

“We’ve talked about this. Edgar Allen Poe’s collected works are not a chew toy!” You moved the book away from him, held up a blue squeaky toy in its place. “This is what you play with, got it?”

He offered you a yip in response, tail wagging a mile a minute as you handed him the bone-shaped toy. “And remember, play lightly!” you tagged on as he tumbled off his bed.

Principal Weems hesitantly allowed you to keep the puppy on the agreement that your roommate agreed to him (which she did, ecstatically) and that he not be too loud in the room. By some miracle of god, you had been able to abide by that rule for the past two weeks.

Hopefully, your luck would persist.

With him placated, you turned back to the task at hand—finishing your poem. It was coming together, a solid vision of your end goal forming. And after another ten minutes of brainstorming the last line—a woefully overdramatic would you go on a date with me? that hopefully wouldn’t get you killed in your sleep—it was finished.

You pushed back against your desk and leaned your head against the back of your chair, taking a moment to rest. Then, sitting back up, you reread the poem carefully.

A wave of inadequacy crashed into you as you ran back through the words you just wrote. Something about it just wasn’t right, but you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what.

Was the rhythm off? Were the rhymes varied enough? Outside of that, was your prose structured competently? Was the poem too much? Was it not enough? Five rereads only heeded more questions and no answers.

Frustrated, you balled the paper up and threw it behind you, already priming another paper to begin the poem anew.

The telltale pattering of paws reached your ears, turning to find Choklit nosing at the crumbled paper. With a sigh, you walked over and went to pick it up. “Sorry, bud, but my personal failures as a poet are not your toys.”

Choklit, thinking it was a game, quickly snatched the ball up in his mouth and bowed, sending light growls your way. Though you knew it wouldn’t help, you raised your hands in surrender and leaned back.

“I’m not trying to play. I just need that—” You tried to swipe it from his mouth, but he bounced backward and rushed toward the door.

At that exact moment, your roommate returned from choir practice, opening the door just in time for Choklit to run out with the paper in tow. You scrambled to your feet, edging past her into the mostly empty hallway.

“Sorry!” she yelled after you, to which you just waved.

“It’s fine! I got him,” you threw back at her just before you turned a corner in pursuit of the retriever.

You had to admit, the little guy was fast. Faster than you thought he would be (or maybe you just needed to exercise more…who knew). Bewildered students parted for you as you gave chase, giving them a quick thank you! as you kept your eyes on the golden blur ahead.

He toppled down another hallway, one you knew led to a dead end. You grinned and picked up the pace, intent on scooping him up, only to skid to a sudden stop after you turned the corner.

Because there Choklit was, sniffing around at familiar black boots while pale hands smoothed out the paper the puppy dropped before her. You were frozen, trying to figure out whether this was real or some terrible lucid dream.

Wednesday’s cold timbre inadvertently answered your question.

“I didn’t think they allowed dogs on campus,” the girl remarked, giving the puppy at her feet an inquisitive look. Your response came without thinking.

“You live with a werewolf, don’t you?” Your eyes widened. The comment was meant as a joke but could easily be interpreted as an insult. And knowing how close the two had gotten over the past few months, the last thing you wanted to do was accidentally mock Enid.

You watched Wednesday closely, but the only physical response you received was the slightest raise of her brows.

“That was almost funny.” Her words were delivered with her trademark deadpan stare, but you could hear the slightest hint of humor threaded into her neutral tone. Looking for attention, Choklit stood on his hind legs and pawed at Wednesday’s shin, giving her a clear view of the tag on his collar. The disapproval in her voice was clear as day. “You named it…Choklit?”

You gave a half-hearted shrug, pulling out a grin full of confidence you absolutely did not feel. “Can’t be a literary genius all the time.”

“I’m sure,” she retorted sarcastically, holding your unsure gaze for another moment before turning back to the paper in her hand. You followed her eyes and stepped forward with a grimace.

“Sorry, that’s… you weren’t supposed to see that.” You tried to take the paper, but Wednesday stepped back, moving the paper out of your reach.

“It’s addressed to me.”

“That it is,” you conceded with a sigh, “but it was never intended to actually be delivered to you.”

Wednesday hummed. “Well, it seems your dog disagrees.” With that, she turned her attention to the poem. You were tempted to try and take it again, but you liked having your hand attached to your body, so you resisted.

Impatiently, you waited as her eyes ran along the lines slowly, your anxiousness building with every passing moment of excruciating silence until finally, she met your gaze once more.

“A few things to note,” she began, tone much too studious for the occasion. “I applaud the fact that you made the decision not to write a sonnet. They’re easily the most overblown, abominable form of poetry and I would have had to burn this if it was.”

She gave you a small nod. “Now, I will say that I’m a bit disappointed. This certainly could have been written in perfect rhyme rather than end rhyme, but since you said this wasn’t your final draft, I’m willing to give you a pass for this oversight. Mostly. And while AABB isn’t the most complex rhyme scheme, it’s just tolerable enough here to not detract from the poem as a whole.”

You gaped. She was making the same type of comments that your teachers would when they graded your assignments. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was reading off the notes from a book report and not talking about a literal love confession.

The ridiculousness of the situation pulled a wry laugh from your throat, but you were quickly silenced with a harsh glare. Once you quieted, she continued, “The biggest problem I see is that this poem is lacking in length, having only a measly 12 lines. A few more couplets would have made this feel more complete.”

“Now onto the poem itself. Though your vernacular pales in comparison to mine, I will admit that your vocabulary is surprisingly expansive considering what you named your pet.” She sent Choklit a pointed look. “Furthermore, I appreciate the use of alliteration in lines like ‘A mind molded by misery and mischief’ and ‘Down into the dark depths of a dreadfully early grave’ but feel it could’ve been utilized more throughout. The mixture of masculine and feminine rhyme is interesting, though choosing one could have aided with overall cohesion.”

You just stood and stared, silently taking in her thoughts and critiques because it was all you could do. She paused, folded the paper neatly in her hand, but still didn’t give it back to you.

“In conclusion, parts of this are noticeably undercooked, but the simple act of reading it doesn’t make me want to purge my insides. I acknowledge the effort you put forth to tailor this poem to me and my interests and will admit that being described as ‘the purest of darkness personified’ is almost flattering.”

A nervous chuckle escaped before you could quell it, but this time she allowed it, her stare remaining blank. You cleared your throat, injected some joviality into your tone. “Great, so uh…do I get an A+?”

“B-, actually,” she amended, running over the folded page with her eyes. “Maybe even a C+.”

At that point, you swore you could feel the humiliation seeping into the very essence of your being. But you were determined not to let it show, to preserve what tiny amount of dignity you had left.

“Okay, well, I’m just gonna take that back and then go vanish off the face of the Earth so we never have to see each other again.” You gave her a pained smile and reached for the paper, only for her to snatch it out of your reach with a glare.

She glanced down to Choklit, who was seemingly enjoying the drama as his eyes ping-ponged between you two, then to the paper again. Another long moment passed before she looked back at you.

“I never said no.”

You blinked a few times, confused. “What?”

“The proposition outlined at the end of the poem,” she clarified, “I never said no.”

“You…” you began to repeat but trailed off as the realization of what she was implying really began to sink in. “Wait, I—you…you can’t possibly mean…”

Growing visibly impatient, Wednesday cut off your verbal meltdown. “Meet me outside the school gates after light’s out this Saturday. I get to pick the activity.”

The unsettling smile she gave you felt like a bad omen, but you couldn’t care less, still fighting off the incredulity clouding your mind. You opened your mouth to respond but when no words came, you settled for a hurried nod.

“Good,” Wednesday peered out the window momentarily. “Now, I must be going. Eugene is expecting me. I will see you Saturday and if you’re late then you’ll be the next autopsy I perform.”

Carefully, she stepped around your puppy and walked off without another word, leaving you to ponder what the hell just happened.

“Oh my god,” you whispered to no one in particular. Again, louder this time, “Oh my god!” At the sound of your excitement, Choklit came scampering over and you bent down to meet him. He stood on his hind legs, bracing his front paws on your knee. “Did you hear that, boy? The poem actually worked!”

He gave you a yip in return, tiny tail a blur behind him. You rubbed your hand along his back, chuckling at the fervent licks your hands received in return.

Only after a student skirted past you both did you realize that you were still in the middle of a hall. You promptly scooped Choklit up with both hands and cradled him by your chest, looking down at him as you began your way back to your dorm.

“Come on, let’s go get some treats. I owe you big time, buddy.”

[rainbowdaisy13]

Hi, I hope you're doing ok. I was browsing down your blog to read some of the asks about what is happening in the Taylor Swift fandom and I had a lot of ideas to share.

I'll start off by saying I'm not American, therefore I'm not gonna actively take part in the 2024 elections and I don't know all the details about US politics outside of what my country media outlets say and write. Also English is not my first language so sorry for any misspelling or mistake.

To focus just on the Taylor Swift current matter: to me this situation is yet ANOTHER proof of her sheer disinterest in speaking up about anything polarizing and potentially dangerous for her net worth. And the worst part is that if she stays bland and money driven like this she'll only show how she considers everything an era. There is no commitment for her.

Lover era feels comically fake now for the stark contrast to nowadays, it was all a stunt. Where's all that activism now, especially as an "ally" for the LGBT+ community? How can we really define her as a feminist when she only speaks up when it affects her (let's not forget her radio silence on reproductive rights)?

And granted we will never know where "Taylor Swift real person" ends and "Taylor Swfit TM" begins, and I personally don't really care, what I mostly care about, and that I noticed recently, is the consequences she - and people like her - have directly or indirectly on media and pop culture: I may be extreme when I say that NO philanthropic billionaire/multi millionaire will ever do enough good for the world EVER, because the very same system that got them to that level of wealth is the faulty system that condemns the majority of the worlds population to exploitation and poverty.

Add this to the fact that most of the ultra rich and rich people don't give a damn about anything if it's not affecting their pockets, while they're also powerful and influential enough to drive politics and culture in their favour (ie. anything concerning taxes, systemic exploitation of low income countries, etc, and don't get me started on the absurdity of finance as a whole), we are in a situation where we actually are influenced by these people that have all the interest of staying out of anything for the sake of their money.

All of this to say that to expect Taylor Swift to be a source of information and potentially an inspiration to decide who to vote is very dangerous and takes away all the agency that every single one of us ideally has in a democratic system (let's not forget that Taylor herself keeps very conveniently reminding that she does not want to be a 'guiding light', that she's 'too soft for all of this' indeed).

I don't want I try not to and am not driven by celebrities in my choices but I do recognize their influence on pop culture as well.

I'm not the first to say that lately there has been a need of belonging to a community, to feel a part of something, and music has always had this power, but has been enhanced with social media and especially after the pandemic imo. For a lot of people, and I'm personally not totally immune to this as well, supporting an artist and interacting with their fanbase became a way to define who they are/want to be and it can be difficult to keep some distance from the idol, because you more likely support someone if they seem to have an affinity with you, your interests, what you stand for, etc. Sometimes it pushes us to believe we have more intimacy with what are complete strangers and sometimes it can bleed into parasocial relationships, which I don't think are healthy and can get quite extreme (respect Chappell Roan please!)

In the end, my personal impartial advice to this would be to discern the art from the artist, and detach the fields that don't concern the artist from said artist, unless they are active in those fields.

This doesn't mean that I don't think celebrities don't have the power to influence and change important events, nor that they shouldn't speak up and get more involved, but I find myself growing more and more disillusioned with celebrities and more and more eager to reclaim my agency as a commoner.

This doesn't even exclude the fact that we shouldn't criticize Taylor for her general inactivity (from the AI crap to the Democratic endorsement) when she has every mean avaible to do differently and actually have an impact.

P.S. I'm still uncertain about the whole matter with BM, and Taylor being surrounded by people with questionable opinions, because we can't blame her for the doings of others BUT she still hangs out with those people. But again it's very likely they don't talk/don't give a damn about politics.

Sorry for the long ass ask.

First of all, whenever you guys say English isn’t your first language it just blows me away—all of you read & write better English that many Americans, so please never feel weird about sending in asks! They are always very articulate and have less spelling mistakes than I make 😆

Secondly, you bring up lots of good points—for me, Taylor getting involved this election isn’t because I hope she will sway votes away from Trump and towards Kamala—I agree it would be dangerous to rely on wealthy entertainers and billionaires as beacons of the common persons best interests. Rather, Taylor speaking up would confirm for me and many other fans that she IS who we all thought she was back in 2018-2021. That the person she claimed to evolve into—a more empathetic socially conscious braver Taylor who knew that her voice does impact so many younger impressionable minds, one who wanted to stand up for what and who she believed in, someone who claimed the LGBTQ causes, the BLM protests, gerrymandering, etc were worth speaking up about, wasn’t just an era to try on until she got tired of it

Damn you have so many excellent points here, but yeah you’re right, at the end of the day Taylor and other billionaires aren’t going to stand against a system that is still actively keeping them at the top

Thanks so much for your input 🙏🏼

[k-s-morgan]

Heyy! I am such a fan of your work in the Tomarry fandom, and I don’t want to sound intrusive, but I’m just wondering if you ever shared your history with the ship. You said before that you were a huge Snarry fan, so how did you transition from that to this? (Hehe, maybe I’m getting it wrong like you were always a fan of both since then, my apologies if ever. I don’t know if I’m assuming you’re no longer a Snarry fan.) And what made you write fanfic of them? How did you come up with such unique and great storylines? I wonder if you got inspired from someone or something because damn, the way you tell your stories is just my perfect cup of tea. And I can see you enjoy it! Really great.

Hi! Thank you so much for your sweet words <3 You are absolutely right, I used to be a Snarry shipper. I can't say I'm indifferent to this ship now, but the years where I gulped down all kinds of fics featuring them have passed. The passion isn't there any longer.

How I stumbled upon Tomarry: some months before publishing the first chapter of WHGTB, I was re-reading a Snarry fic called The Marriage Stone. Snape is not nearly the bastard I prefer him to be there, but I liked the world-building a lot, so I enjoyed reading it. There is a small arc there where Lucius Malfoy is attracted to Harry, and I found myself fascinated by it. It occured to me that it might be interesting to try the fics centered on Harry and Lucius - I was never a fan of the latter, he's overly pompous and a coward, but I wanted to find something where Lucius would be dark, regal, and a force to be reckoned with. Unfortunately, the fics I read didn't appeal to me, so I started wondering what other dark, regal character to pair Harry with. I was in the mood for something darker than I typically found in Snarry.

And that's how I thought of Tomarry. In retrospect, it's amazing that I hadn't found them sooner. I always liked the parallels between Harry, Tom, and Severus, and since I thought Harry and Snape might make a potentially great couple, I don't know why I never considered Tom and Harry in the same context until years into shipping Snarry.

I tried some Tomarry fics, and ohh, I fell head over heels. I could no longer go back to my other HP ships, it was like my most perfect drug.

I'm so flattered that you referred to my stories as unique because I actually really hesitated about publishing WHGTB. I knew I would write this story, but the fandom has so many Harry-raising-Tom fics that I thought people are already bored to death with it, so it'd be something I'd create just for myself. Needless to say, the response to it shocked me.

I consider WHGTB and ATLWETD very plain in terms of plot uniqueness - they are just my takes on 'Harry raises Tom' and 'Harry studied with Tom' tropes. To me, stories like Consuming Shadows and Train to Nowhere are unique, while I'm doing the maximum relationship, minimum plot thing. That's what I prefer as a writer, and I love it - knowing other people enjoy it just as much never fails to make me incredibly happy.

As for why I decided to write these fics at all - to be honest, I can never tell how these things work. For example, despite my intense love for Snarry and the years I spent dedicated to this ship, I never wanted to write about them. Same goes for my other fandoms. I can be absolutely insane about a ship, I can love the characters and the universe they come from to death, but the need and desire to write something can be lacking. With Tomarry, I wanted to write about them immediately.

I can't say I got inspired by anything except for a general Tomarry vibe. I think a couple of fics I read might have had an impact on me in terms of some ideas, especially Fate's Favorite since I read it an absurd amount of times, but there is nothing specific I would point out as my source of inspiration. Just a ship itself.

[threerattsinatrenchcoat]

12, 14, 17 for fic writer asks! :)

12: trope I'm really into

I did a stupid laugh reading this question. I'm really into the "they asked for no pickles" trope. Heists, I've been trying to figure out how to write one forever and I keep getting paralyzed, but watching heist movies is my comfort. The one where you apply modern technological/programming ideas to fantasy worlds. The sunshine and storm cloud couple.

14. Where do I get inspiration?

1) Daydreaming. Whenever I do anything physical I daydream and a lot of that is "what if this character did this?" Most of them are silly but if I get a scene I like I'll write it and that might turn into something. I try to not dismiss any idea.

2) I get it a lot of inspiration from other people. Shadows of the Lost came from a post about imperialism and the Gerudos' relationship with death/zonai came from a post about lore theories. Flowers was based on a tumblr post about flower language. Arcanus Fisticuffus was from the MMMay posts, Wine, Iron and Other Damnables from a post about enchanted weapons. Stranger Flames have Burned was from a @naughtybg3confessions post. I always try to link my sources in fics!

3) Talking with people, especially joking about things. I feel like I'm always taking my jokes to absurd levels, but in Arcanus Fisticuffus the idea for Liam and Cal to be filling everyone's heads with stories about Rolan came from a bit where they were going to make sure he won (as well as the incoming cobra kai jokes). Honeypot came from a joking demand for a thirst fic. Hornoscopes from joking about horoscopes. Sometimes an individual inspires a fic and I usually gift that fic to them.

4) Going off that, writing absurd stuff and trying to make it work, like when Astarion and Minthara crash a patriar party to make sure Wyll is getting the respect he deserves in Dance, or when I explain the "fade to black" sex scenes at Sharess's Caress... and then involve shovel (Sharess's Mess).

5) Exchanges! I've written a lot for exchanges.

6) Fixing problems I have with the story or finding solutions to things that make me uncomfortable. Like, I don't want to write overly gendered language/insults. That led to my current fic-canon (which I don't remember if it made it into my published fics but if not, I'm going to fix that) where Ganondorf being male doesn't make him the leader; it's that he's Ganondorf, the same guy, reincarnated. And that led to Gerudo having a huge reincarnation culture that lined up nicely with the lore post I linked above.

17) talk about your writing and editing process

I write on my phone, in google drive. I'm not stoked about this set up but it means I can write while waiting in line or on a walk so I do it.

I make a new doc for each fic, put in the prompt or idea I have, and then let it sit until something hooks me. Rarely am I'm writing at this point, but I might be researching or brainstorming. All links, ideas, notes, etc, go into the doc. Everything stays in the doc until I'm finished.

For long fics, I have to break it out once the total work count is around 30k because drive gets wonky. For short fics I do not do all this prep haha

I often make a list of character beliefs, lore, vocab for me to reference. Examples (sorry for the photos of text):

Dialogue patterns:

And body language (or kinks, erogenous zones, etc):

I usually write a few scenes I like first, or a bunch of random lines. Those might not make it into the story, but I'm the kind of person who has to do something to figure it out? I can't think my way through it (or, at least, I haven't tried to build that skill).

I often pick a "voice" scene, which is the scene I read to remember the voice the rest of the story should be written in. If possible, I read that scene before I write new stuff.

I edit as I go, normally. I usually make notes of what I want to add at other points so I don't forget

I also make a timeline:

And I try to note any plot holes, any points where I can put hooks or foreshadowing in, etc.

Once a story is done I go back through the "to add" list and make sure it's in the story, try to patch holes, make sure it matches the timeline, make sure the characters match my notes, etc.

I also break it out into chapters that are about 3000-5000 words long (if it's not already there) and rewrite the endings of each to feel nice.

I write up my fic breakdown (for long fics) and link my resources.

Then I make my partner read it. They do it solely to amuse me/hype me up and they are amazing.

Then I post it! And the moment I post it I notice 5,000 errors.

[freakartack]

how do you get Inspiration for your art?

love this question. Visually, everything on this list has a chair in the council of my brain.

Spiritually, i am inspired by a lot of things. #1 is my own damn life. Warioware is a series set in 200x, which, as someone who grew up in 200x, makes it easy to apply my own experiences and people i've met to my writing. Donut Disturb was probably the most direct example of this, as was the infamous Wah-kplace Harassment Training (which was actually inspired by me and a friend joking about if wario led our own required training at our job), but all my comics include elements of this to an extent. Obviously, i've never had wario tell me to harass people at my job, but the fun part about doing stuff like this is that I get to meet the source material halfway. We've all gone camping before, but now I get to imagine how a deranged cast of characters would respond to situations i've been in. They're so larger-than-life that sometimes the jokes write themselves.

Speaking of jokes, it would be remiss of me not to list the things that permanently damaged my sense of humor. Once again, jim henson is huge here; I love the character-based humor that the muppets and its ilk excel in. Every character is so genuine and fleshed-out, which makes it all the more delightful when they butt heads with each other. Homestar runner also had an indelible impact on my brain for much the same reason, in addition to its unique brand of absurdity. (I've had people bring up strong bad on many of my comics, which i wholeheartedly embrace.) Also, I grew up on both Peanuts and Garfield, which basically taught me what humor was in my larval state for better or for worse.

Artistically, as distinct from visually, I am both inspired by things that are Really Really Good and Really Really Bad. Some things that really inspire me to create even though my stuff is very different from them are really surreal animations, like the works of sally cruikshank and everything about peewee's playhouse. Unfortunately, I can only dream of being so ingenious as to create something even slightly on the same level as Pee-Wee's Playhouse, but the nexus of electric creativity and love for the art is something that, similarly to the muppets, inspires my very soul. On the other side of the coin, the writing in shittier cartoons also inspires my very soul, because while I unironically enjoy many things that suck, they also kind of make me feel like this:

If "now i know how a meatball feels" can make it on live TV, I can do anything i want. And so can you!!! Free yourself from the shackles of perfectionism, and MAKE BAD JOKES!!

[lyramundana]

So, last night I had a really fucking weird dream about Skz. Like, it was all very bizarre and unrealistic, but it also got me going in some way? I'll elaborate.

I don't know if anyone else shares this opinion, but I personally hate how opressed and controlled k-pop idols are. Most western celebrities are allowed to have normal lives, like hanging out with friends, getting drunk and having affairs (not even serious ones), and literally no one bats an eye. Because it's normal, because we don't fans here understand the big wall that separates idol from fan. K-pop culture encourages this phenomenom of parasocial relationships with idols to the fans and imposes the belief that these people are simply perfect puppets to be controlled by the fans. It's fucking surreal. They can't be too cozy with fans, but they also get angry if idols don't interact with them. Any indication of a romance with someone is subjected to obsessive hate and scrutinity, but they constantly ship them with others from the industry, preferably their members. K-pop idols aren't allowed to show genuine feelings, to be imperfect, they must always be conservatives and "pure" for their fans. Never straying far from the expectations, never breaking the rules. Always following the fans' wishes and keep them content.

Now we got this off the way (there's a shit ton more I could say about this topic but this post isn't about this)..

In my dream, now the details are blurry, but it was something like this. Some sort of "virus" or "fever" spread around kpop groups and they started to act up. To break the mold. They become like these twisted, "dark" versions of themselves who decide to say "fuck everything" and get into scandals. It becomes news in the country and the companies try to stop it. The fans raised hell upon it, furious that their perfect "idols" weren't keeping the idealized image they have about them "clean". But turns out the idols don't give a fuck anymore. They get into scandals, have affairs openly with people without hiding it, they write explicit lyrics of songs instead of censoring them. And because my Stray Kids are my obsession, of course my brain made them main characters of this weird ass fuck dream.

They flirt with fans, but not the usual harmless, shy flirting they usually do. Nope. Felix clims down stage to sing directly into a random fan's ear, smirking in her ear. Chan admits what he was thinking about when he wrote Connected, Drive and Red Lights, all proud and cocky. Hyunjin pulled out a fan from the public, sat her in a chair, and basically gave her a lap dance. Even Minho got bold and out of nowhere, grabbed a fanboy to kiss him. A peck, but still scandalous enough.

The whole point of the dream was, i guess, what could it be if k-pop idols broke off the invisible chains that hold them back and just did whatever they fuck they wanted to? And funny thing was that, since they're the main sources of money of the company, the boss couldn't do shit to stop them. The fans that protested and tried to sabotage were useless, in fact they it spurred them more.

And it got me thinking, because as absurd and unrealistic this shit was, imagine if it was real. Imagine having, I don't know, the Christopher fucking Bang come down at you and sing Red Light in your face with that fuckboyish grin of his, in front of all cameras and fans with zero care. Imagine them interacting with fans like some western artists to, bringing them up to stage and do stuff with them.

What I intend to go with this is 1: I need to sleep more, and 2: This is gonna be inspiration for some more scenarios in the future.

Taggging my bitches @channieandhisgoonsquad @2chopsticks2eyes @moonlightndaydreams @linlinaert @queenmea604 @hanjisunglover because I need to hear thoughts from sane people to bring me back to reality.

[anarchistauthor]

The Junk I Write

I'm an author who wears many hats, I'd say. I've got four books, two of which are very SPN-like, since they star a vampire who eventually works her way up to becoming the goddess of hell (it's complicated), one of which is a fairly conventional superhero story starring a bunch of queer communists, and a medieval fantasy book about people who turn into weapons and kill shit. And that's just my *finished* works.

In the drafts are sequels to all three of those series, a magic school thing I'm working out, a body-horror book about a girl turning into a monster like The Thing and using that power to murder the ones who did that to her, a spy thriller which (no joke) was inspired by Game of Thrones, something I call a "mecha western" which I think describes it better than I could put into words here, and more fanfiction than I know what to do with. And, like always, ideas keep coming to me. (I have ADHD)

So here's the thing: Basically anything I write is derivative in some way. Basically anything ANYONE writes is derivative in some way. If you read my books, and you've also enjoyed the same kinds of media that I have, it won't be hard to pick up their scent. Several major characters in my works got their start in trashy fanfiction which sits on my Google drive and only a handful of people get to actually read. That doesn't mean my novels are based on those fanfictions, and in fact, they have very little to do with the source material other than surface similarities. My novels are original, whether you believe it or not.

Take, for instance, the newest thing I've been writing, which I shall here codename "Greek Gods Thingy." GGT is not a book about actual Greek gods, but about a pantheon I made up based on some archetypes. There's a god of the sky, of the sea, of war, all that good stuff, but they're not the same as their equivalents in any particular real-world pantheon. And, no, this is not the part that's related to my fanfiction.

GGT's protagonist, a young lesbian called Ember, is chosen by one of the gods to do his bidding, and that's basically the plot, whatever. I actually tried to write this thing like a year ago, but I couldn't really pull it together. It felt off, I wasn't vibing with the characters, and in general I was doing kind of a crappy job, only ended up writing like 3500 words. And then, recently, I got the idea to cut and paste a character from one of my fanfictions onto Ember. I'm not gonna say what series it was a fanfic of, but it will be pretty obvious if you've seen the show and pay attention to Ember's mother in particular.

But here's the thing: The more I write it, the less copied it is. It's a completely different setting, different plot, different everything, just with the main character starting from a similar place in her life. I don't know if this applies to anyone else, but when I make an OC for a fanfic, I'm not doing it to self-insert or whatever, I'm crafting a person I love, who I love writing about. And then, what almost always happens is that I say, "Sucks that this character is stuck in a world I don't have ownership of," and then I end up making my own shit for them. That's basically what my medieval book was, too.

That doesn't mean the original work is a copy of the fanfic. If anything, it's freeing great characters, allowing them to spread their wings and prove their right to exist in something real. That's what Ember's done. And genuinely, I can't wait for this book (or any of the rest of them) to be out, so I can share my love for these babies with the world, and hopefully you all love them too. And, frankly...the idea of """real""" authors being judgmental of fanfiction is absurd to me. Fanfic makes writing better, it expands a person's voice and in many cases gets them into writing way before they have enough confidence to try publishing a novel.

Yes. Write that garbage fic of yours. Polish it, sweat over it, let it keep you up at night because you want it to be perfect. It might show you that you have it in you to write something your own. Or, maybe not. That's fine too. Either way, flexing your creativity is always a good thing.

Unless you're a nazi or some shit.

[nicosraf]

Hello Hello! While going through your site to buy ABM (which Amazon won't let me get on ebook TT), I stumbled across "The River Boy". As a Mayan, I just wanted to say I felt really seen. It wasn't a major part of the story but it was healing to see anything about us represented like that. It's also just beautifully written, I'd love to read more of your work ^^

As for my ask, what type of research did you do for that story? Are you Maya yourself or did you decide on the setting at random or something? Thank you and have a good day!

Ahhh this just made my entire life, thank you so much for reading! I'm really happy you liked it and that you found it healing. I'm so glad :')

I'm not Maya, but I'm Mexican with roots in the center of the country (Puebla) that gave me a big interest in Mesoamerica, which was a big chunk of my Latin American Studies degree (yes, I have a Latin American studies degree sksks). One of my courses was on ancient Maya culture and writing, where I wrote a big research paper on the rituals of Maya royalty.

I actually thought the setting was a huge part of the story! I love the way the ancient, and many contemporary, Maya conceptualize time as such an integral part of the universe with its own dedicated deities who are in charge of carrying it (the four "year bearers" though I learned them to be "time bearers"). The glyphs of the deities carrying time have really stuck with me; I just love the concept of time being such a physical thing.

Divine royalty isn't something unique to the Maya, but something that really caught my interest is the rituals and responsibilities associated with divinity. A lot of people will focus on the bloodier stuff (the blood letting), but personally I was more interested in the perpetual "birthing" of the universe that was the responsibility of kings and princes. I imagined a spoiled, beautiful prince who might want to run away from all that stress and pain.

The language barrier in the story was also inspired by the different Mayan languages today and how reconstructing the ancient language is so tough. That said, during the Classical times, there was probably already significant linguistic differences between Maya territories, so I don't think it's inaccurate in the story, just a bit exaggerated perhaps. The couple Maya words in the story are a mix of ancient and modern words. For ex, k’altun is an ancient word, while dios bo’otik is modern Yucatec Maya.

Oh! And just another fun fact - the river in the story is the Usumacinta river, and the prince is from Yaxchilan! There's actually a stone monument in Yaxchilan which depicts a queen pulling thorns through her tongue, which is referenced in the story!

Sorry for rambling, but there's like an absurd amount of research in this little story! I also wanted to depict the more "common" way of life by making the protagonist a non-royal, but there's so little about common-folk (unsurprisingly) so I struggled a bit to find sources that would help me paint an accurate picture. On that note, most of my sources were the same JSTOR articles I used to write my research paper, my university museum, and my poor Maya professor.

I haven't really looked at the story in a while so I re-read it just now and I'm really happy with it :') I think Maya history is one of the coolest things ever, and I'd love to write a full book about a Maya prince one day. But historical fiction is difficult, even when you add magical realism like I did.

Anyway! Thank you again for reading! If you're having trouble downloading ABM, I'll literally send you the file for free if you want sksks Just ask! I'm very touched by your interest. Thank you!! :))

[hetaero]

Nope, not too much yapping at all. I find all that really fascinating. And plausible, in terms of your origin story. It is good you don't experience much shame, there's no need to. I like the idea of your hair feeling like a source of protection and strength. And as for arousal and sadomasochism - this is one major area of thinking and exploring I am doing at the moment. Reading Jessica Benjamin. Definitely full of shame and complexity, and part of a self-destructive instinct. And on the other hand, compelling, exciting. So if you do write a post about it, I'm interested.

I'm still definitely working on the no shame thing, which is pretty much what this blog is for. I have far less shame in having my kink but some of the details sound so absurd that it's embarrassing since it's something that's so normal to everyone else but so special to me.

Sadomasochism is everywhere, I love it. The more I understand it the more I see it in everything and get inspiration from it. There's beauty to self-destruction. My theory is that our minds just adapted our weaknesses to be our strengths— something we fear or find painful is now something we can use for pleasure and potential reproduction.

Tbh I'm still lost on how my kink was evolutionarily advantageous— or maybe it isn't and life didn't want me to reproduce bc I'm inferior lmao who knows

ANyWay— my kink definitely relates to my mdlb/mommy kink/emotional sadism. if it's normal haircutting it doesn't do it for me— I need there to be emotional stakes and some kind of power dynamic. Probably I'm fulfilling the role of my oppressive mother or something but instead of being outright cruel like I saw her to be, I enjoy being gentle and encouraging. Maybe it's an alteration of my past acted out so my psyche can cope.

There's many subtle elements of it that encourage a d/s dynamic— one person sits in a chair, often unable to move and "restrained" by a cape while the person in control towers over them and can pretty much do whatever they want in terms of appearance to the other. There's trust in there, and submission in order for any haircut scenario to work, inherently. It's just infinitely more pronounced when the guy cares more about his hair and how it looks and feels to him (which I find adorable) and I'd feel honored to be entrusted with the duty of helping him work through that fear so to speak.

It's like I want him to be afraid and shy and embarrassed and not wanting it but also willing to trust me and even let me push the bounds a bit with what he's willing to do— it's like the more I cut off the more "exposed" or "naked" he is and the more he has to be reminded of the "shame" of the experience. It's complicated bc I don't want him to want it but I also want him to get it and be turned on by it, almost like a cnc thing, but way more caring since it instantly brings out my mommy brain when I need to comfort or encourage or shush or coddle a guy over something so embarrassingly arbitrary yet emotionally significant.

Sorry anyway it's pretty complex but I hope that makes sense.

Believe it or not there's even more stuff to it

[inapat17]

Animation shows: The art of drawing society (4/4)

Grandpa Walrus

Cartoons are a colorful medium that creators like to use to depict their vision of our modern world. Therefore this series of articles will be dedicated to animated TV, internet shows and movies of this last year which humorously describes our contemporary society. Today a short film that explores different ways of grieving. Children find death to be a brutal and incomprehensible experience. “Grandpa Walrus” explores the imagination of children who struggle to cope with a tragic event: the death of their grandfather.

Grandpa Walrus or Pépé le morse is an animated short film directed by Lucrèce Andreae which was awarded best animated short at the 2018 César awards. The movie starts with a panorama of the cold and grey beach. Twelve-years-old Lucas, our narrator, explains the expression “grandpa walrus”: “One of my friends told me that in Russia, there are some kind of huge guys who spend their lives tanning, even when it’s cold. They are called walruses! I think that Grandpa was a walrus. And now he is dead”. Olivia who is the mother, Granny, the twins Jade and Mélissa, and Lucas who is carrying his baby brother Marcus are out in the middle of October on a cold and windy beach to pay a last tribute to their grandpa. The atmosphere is not at all ceremonious. The twins are talking about boys, the grandmother falls on the ground in devotion every two steps and Olivia is just trying to get through this nonsense. Finally arriving on the beach the family is faced with the horrifying vision of tons of cigarette butts spread on the sand forming the silhouette of the grandfather’s body. Then each of the characters split upon the immense beach mourning their grandfather in different ways. The young character’s imaginations come to life. Lucas is facing a frightful vision of a humanoid walrus smoking a cigarette. The twins live a near death experience when they get attacked by plants and little Marius is running away in the oceans.

It’s a deeply poetic animated film which explores dark themes such as death and mourning through visions that are both beautiful and nightmarish. Nevertheless, the characters remain very realistic. They shout, insult each other and argue. Although they are experiencing the same tragic event, they don’t understand each other. While Lucas and the grandma seem to have the same admiration for the patriarch, Olivia remains  resentful toward a man who for her was selfish and who died a pathetic death just like he lived a pathetic life.

On this large beach, the characters are reduced to their littleness. Lucrèce Andreae's film is a story that is both personal and universal. For the film, she drew inspiration from her personal life. In an interview, she said that the idea for her film came from a friend that lives in Saint Petersburg. She told her the story of the “walruses”: men who spent their lives sunbathing whether it’s winter or summer. For the beach, she was inspired by the Atlantic coast where she spent time with her parents. Finally, the small eclectic group was more or less a depiction of her family.

Death is a universal subject. Lucrèce Andreae also used international references to make this poetic animated short film. She chose to set the movie on a beach in reference to Shoji Ueda’s photos. The beach setting is something universal. For Lucrèce Andreae Shoji’s photos are both poetic and absurd.  These two adjectives can also be used to qualify her film. The vulgar and grotesque characters of Italian cinema were a source of inspiration for the characters of this animated short film. Moreover, the fantastic visions in a realistic setting are a clear reference to Hayao Myasaki's Japanese animated movies.

© Shoji Ueda

Spirited away, Hayao Myazaki, 2001

In the film statement of intent, the director writes her motivation for making this film. These words can also serve as a conclusion to this series of articles: “As Charlie Chaplin once said: “ Life is a tragedy in close up, but it is a comedy in wide shot ” and I am convinced that you just need a little distance from things so you can laugh at anything”. 

In this series of articles I wanted to show that cartoons are mediums through which we can talk about anything. If I haven't convinced the readers, I hope at least you've been able to discover some great animated movies or TV shows.

[parateuthis]

20 credit hour semesters are not good for the speed of active progress on personal projects, but I've got that One Meta Thing I Have Yet to Name rotating in my mind for a bit, and I have Thoughts.

Anyways. It's weirdly hard to accurately get across what I mean when I talk about this thing, but I think the difference between canon and fanon Benrey HLVRAI really encapsulates it by virtue of being such a stark contrast. I'd be hard pressed to find a better example of how fandoms change characters to slot more cleanly into that common perception. Benrey's in such a unique position; he's an inhuman villain canonically "lusting over" the protagonist the whole time, he has a lot of interactions with other characters, a blank slate for a backstory, a lot of very memorable and dramatic moments. It would be difficult to deliberately create a character better fit to becoming the fandom's favorite. Also, by design he is completely fucking nonsensical and absurd. He is tied so, so tightly to Scorpy's sense of humor. iirc Holly talked during an interview for a podcast about how Benrey makes a more terrifying (and hilarious) villain because of that complete sense of like... you absolutely cannot understand him, you absolutely cannot reason with him, he is talking about how "SONY CEO JACK TRETTON HIRED... a Nintendo CEO Reggie and they built a big... BOMB" and he is going to kill you.

Everybody rewrites Benrey. I'd argue that you kind of HAVE TO, if you want to write anything remotely serious with a character like that. It's very commonly noticeable with the other characters too; HLVRAI has a story, but moment-to-moment, commitment to the bit and "what would be the funniest thing to say or do here" takes priority over developing a character that works in more serious contexts. (Side note and clarification, this isn't a criticism of HLVRAI, it's a lot of fun, it's just another way that the source material and fandom find themselves at serious odds, and if I had the time and energy I would be writing out another long post about the tone side of how fandom changes things.) Some characters hew more closely to canon characterization in fanfiction- Gordon as the straight man translates easily, and Dr. Coomer plays ball with tone shifts very well- and the author's own balance of interest in the source material vs the fandom plays a big role as well. But I have never, ever seen a Benrey I could mistake for the canonical Benrey. (Not that the canonical Benrey could really WORK in a text medium, imo. Live improv in GMod is his natural environment and specialized niche.)

Which brings me back to my own project, where the characters are the fanon versions of a nonexistent children's cartoon being eventually exposed to the nature of their reality. Fanon interpretations are obviously something I'm thinking a lot about as I'm developing characters, both in terms of general inspiration and as research for making them really click as something you would see scrolling through your dashboard. But as wonderful of an example Benrey is, that very same extreme absurdism makes him difficult as a model for the changes people make to make unique characters fit a mold, because that would imply a world where something like THIS

could be the main villain's speech from a children's cartoon.

actually that fucking rules

[silverskull]

I loved that fic you just posted! And it's not cheating! 🤣🤣

Have you got any other prompt fics you're working on? Thoughts on the next episode?

HELLO ANON

This is like, THE LATEST reply ever, it's absurd, I'm sorry.

But thank you for the compliment. I'm so glad you liked it! (and that it wasn't cheating...)

The way things work for me is I only do one fic at a time. I do not have WiPs. 😅 Mostly because it would drive me mad:

I hate unfinished things,

I'd lose track of something and I would hate to abandon a story,

I want to know the ending as badly as the reader!

I do have an ideas list. I keep brief notes about stuff that pops into my head (usually when commuting or about to go to sleep). These are often the sources of my fics. Ask box prompts also make me *immensely* happy, although I am very slow. I also sometimes can't picture the idea (such as Lucy being insecure or needy. I just don't see her that way and I'd struggle to write it.)

I know your ask was regarding a previous episode, but it is FINALE DAY, AND BOY AM I EXCITED. This time last year was CANDLES and LOVE SURVIVE and PRACTICE KISSING. The world spins so fast...

I have no thoughts for this episode. I can't help my brain thinking, but I usually try not to speculate, because it drives me bananas (I still do it, but I work very hard to be relaxed about it. It's a paradox.) I'm really hoping there'll be a decent smattering of Chenford, despite our buffet in 5x21.

THEN THE HIATUS.

Look - the show runners deserve their break, and despite being an ardent supporter of Union Workers, I am so glad we're missing the writers strike! I really hope things get solved in time for a great launch back into season 6 in the autumn. ALSO - and this is a big one - the long hiatus gives us an enormous chance to develop some fantastic fic. I can't express how much I enjoyed being in the fandom last summer (northern hemisphere summer). 4x22 and the tidbits of spoilers for 5x01 led to such a rich and creative atmosphere amongst everyone, and it got me through a tough few months. I'm looking forward to what the cliffhanger (?!?!) inspires in the fandom almost as much as the episode itself!

Now. I know an entire essay of my own personal ramblings is exactly what you wanted when you sent this ask many moons ago. So I shall leave it with you to digest, and I'm off to make sure my Canadian links are all hooked up and up to date to get ATLANTIC CANADA'S ROOKIE tonight (inside joke there, for the AST commercial viewers). HAPPY FINALE DAY!

[noegrets]

Back in like 2018, we did an experiment with GPT-2. This was long before we learned that the data was unethically sourced and that actually, we want so-called "generative AI" to die a quick and painful death.

But yeah, for silly, and not with the intention of making anything useful, we wanted to see what would come out if we retrained GPT-2 on like 25-ish chapters of Rosy's story. We were inspired by the AI Weirdness blog and wondered what this funny new AI thingy would do with the biggest chunk of text we had access to and that we would love to see more of. Another motive was to have it be a learning experience from a computer science perspective (there were rumblings that Denise might soon need to know how to do this sort of thing in her professional life).

So with these goals in mind, we set up a local instance of GPT-2, retrained it on Rosy's story, and then let it generate 1000-word chunks of output samples. We'd generally generate a few of these chunks of output each day, and read them as a sort of silly bedtime activity. We did this for several months.

We ultimately sifted through several millions of words worth of AI-generated output... and it was all absolute crap. There was not one single mote of a half-baked idea that could be nurtured into anything coherent. There was not even the smallest two-word phrasing that we would ever, ever be tempted to use in our own writing. None of the output was even remotely slightly useful for even the most early brainstorming activities.

And let me repeat that this process required:

Actually having a chunk of text large enough for the AI to work with, which would mean that several years' worth of brainstorming and actually writing had happened already. You need to have something to give the AI to let it know what you even want, and you need a lot of it. Even having 25ish chapters is on the small side. So an AI is most definitely not going to help you skip the "lying on the floor" step.

An afternoon setting up a local instance of GPT-2 and preparing to retrain it.

A few days with the computer chugging overnight to retrain GPT-2 based on Rosy's story.

Several months' worth of generating more output and personally reviewing it for any gems amid the endless streams of drivel.

And we got absolutely nothing that anyone could possibly consider useful. The most coherent sentence was the award-winning: "his eyelids closed his eyes". Endless circular conversations of "How are you?" "I'm good, and you?", "I'm good, how are you?" "I'm good, I hope you're well?" "I'm quite well, and you?" Or just whole sentences from Rosy's actual story proudly parroted back verbatim.

Think of how many visions you could have had on the floor in all that time. Think of how many NaNoWriMos you could have done in so many months. And if the AI ever accidentally gave you something that wasn't shit... what if it's directly lifted from someone's fanfiction? How could you live it down not knowing (but reasonably believing) that you are robbing from your friends and peers and the generous fandom writers of the past?!?!

Ultimately, the project was a great learning experience after all. It opened our eyes to just how useless generative AI actually is. We know that it is literally not capable of doing anything creative, and now we can't be tricked by the lies and naive misconceptions about it.

So, listen, this isn't even something you need to try to hold yourself back from because it is so good and you are missing out. The truth is, AI isn't something that even remotely can help you come up with story ideas. The very concept that it could is a corporate lie to try to justify the absurd amounts of money and natural resources being wasted on this crap generator. Don't fall for the lie. You can get better inspirations from literally anywhere else, and just enjoy your time being a human having visions on the floor.

You will not use AI to get ideas for your story. You will lie on the floor and have wretched visions like god intended

[threerattsinatrenchcoat]

For the ask game 👀

3. how you feel about your current wip 4. a story idea you haven't written yet

14. where do you get your inspiration? 30. share a fic you're especially proud of

3: Feelings about my current WIP

I currently have 3 that I'm actively working on.

The first, Arcanus Fisticuffus, I'm loving. It's very light hearted and silly and it's a breath of fresh air after weeks of smut and more dramatic stuff.

The second is another chapter of the Bandit Queen which is also very silly. It's a Rugan fic and I'm trying so hard to lean into him being a bad person but still charming (I've mentioned this before). It hurts so good, like picking a scab.

The third is a fic involving the thieflings from BG3, where they go into the Shadowfell to release the souls of the tieflings who died to the Shadow-Curse. I've been working on this since February and all the big stuff is written, I'm just struggling with the tinier scenes and the ending. I'm so excited for this fic, but I've definitely reached the point that I've almost built it up too much! Currently I'm stepping back and trying to hang out with more 7-10 year olds to really get a feel for how they talk.

4: Story idea I haven't written yet

So many

1) I want to write two more Zelda stories, one where Zelda is the antagonist and one where Link is. The games pretty much explore "but what if ambition was evil?" and I want to do wisdom and courage. I kind of have the Zelda one figured out; it would be set during Ocarina of Time and involve her basically trying to manipulate/frame Ganondorf as an enemy of the state using Link (culminating in Ganondorf's "execution" from twilight princess, but having his bad ass escape be a victory)

2) I just started playing Hades(the first one) and I'm obsessed. I'm not all the way through the game so my ideas might be a little silly but I'd love to do a funny one featuring Hypnos and Dusa trying to help Zag and just low key dropping the ball.

3) I have an idea set post BG3 involving Zevlor where he and Cerys (and a few others) are investigating a series of mysterious, gruesome murders where all the victims are people who were previously tadpoled/reformed members of the Absolute.

4) And Minthara and Araj teaming up to take back Minthara's rightful place in her house. Minthara would have Araj help her to request Lloth and assassinations, and eventually they would kiss.

14. Where do I get inspiration?

1) Daydreaming. Whenever I do anything physical I daydream and a lot of that is "what if this character did this?" Most of them are silly but if I get a scene I like I'll write it and that might turn into something. I try to not dismiss any idea.

2) I get it a lot of inspiration from other people. Shadows of the Lost came from a post about imperialism and the Gerudos' relationship with death/zonai came from a post about lore theories. Flowers was based on a tumblr post about flower language. Arcanus Fisticuffus was from the MMMay posts, Wine, Iron and Other Damnables from a post about enchanted weapons. Stranger Flames have Burned was from a @naughtybg3confessions post. I always try to link my sources in fics!

3) Talking with people, especially joking about things. I feel like I'm always taking my jokes to absurd levels, but in Arcanus Fisticuffus the idea for Liam and Cal to be filling everyone's heads with stories about Rolan came from a bit where they were going to make sure he won (as well as the incoming cobra kai jokes). Honeypot came from a joking demand for a thirst fic. Hornoscopes from joking about horoscopes. Sometimes an individual inspires a fic and I usually gift that fic to them.

4) Going off that, writing absurd stuff and trying to make it work, like when Astarion and Minthara crash a patriar party to make sure Wyll is getting the respect he deserves in Dance, or when I explain the "fade to black" sex scenes at Sharess's Caress... and then involve shovel (Sharess's Mess).

5) Exchanges! I've written a lot for exchanges.

6) Fixing problems I have with the story or finding solutions to things that make me uncomfortable. Like, I don't want to write overly gendered language/insults. That led to my current fic-canon (which I don't remember if it made it into my published fics but if not, I'm going to fix that) where Ganondorf being male doesn't make him the leader; it's that he's Ganondorf, the same guy, reincarnated. And that led to Gerudo having a huge reincarnation culture that lined up nicely with the lore post I linked above.

30 A fic I'm proud of

Flowers - not a team up I would expect, Lae'zel's way of speaking is hard-ish for me to write, but I love the result

Embers that Never Go Out - I'm just really proud of it :')

Shadows of the Lost - it has its problems but this fic got me going. It's like a lynch pin, without the others it wouldn't exist, and I had so much flipping fun writing it. I often think fondly of revisiting it and cleaning it up.

[goldenlilium-ocs]

Anything Could Happen

An unedited sequel blurb to The Night We Met, loosely inspired by this tiktok. Ignore the shitty writing and just focus on the vibe M’kay? I wrote this in like 20 minutes

Somehow despite the terrifying events of the last three years, Hogwarts always found a way to end the year on a high note. The unofficial end of year party was in full swing, the escaped convict apparently was no longer a concern, nor the fact that they’d spent the past academic year under the teachings of a werewolf- which itself wasn’t a big deal but still quite a shock. But dementors and secret chambers could never deter the student body from celebrating the end of another year at Hogwarts.

Fireworks from the Weasley twins narrowly avoided blasting chandeliers off their hinges and music blasted from an old gramophone. The combination of the amplification enchantment and the spell to magically change the music made the sound a little tinny, but everyone was in too high spirits to care. In an atmosphere like this, anything could happen.

Cedric had invited Juliette, and Kingston had invited himself in turn. It had been easy to fall into a friendship with the Hufflepuff. He had an unassuming charm, and a seemingly effortless ability to make everyone around him feel at ease. The more Juliette had gotten to know him, the more she’d realised that nearly everyone was so incredibly wrong about him.

They’d parted ways early in the evening to make the rounds with their respective friends. With enough butterbeer in their system to start feeling a light buzz, Juliette and Kingston reigned over the designated dance floor. The intoxication allowed her to move with more ease than usual, her steps light without afterthought or worrying about what anyone else saw. Kingston stood close with his hand on her waist to keep her steady. Their movements were in sync, but not fully coordinated. With each twirl from King, Juliette became a giggling mess. There was another laugh deeper in the crowd and that Ravenclaw curiosity had her looking up to seek out the source.

Suddenly it felt as if the music had slowed to match the tempo of her heartbeat. Because there he was. Cedric Diggory. Perfect Cedric. His stupidly handsome face, ”gorgeous hair and that smile. He was flawless. He was laughing at something the dark haired boy on his right had said. Genuine laughter that made his eyes crinkle and his body heaved just enough that his butterbeer sloshed out of the cup. Oh. The buzz in her chest grew until she felt she might be vibrating. As Cedric glanced up at met her gaze with a smile and a wave her cheeks warmed uncomfortably. It felt like the final puzzle piece falling into place, like dotting the I in the last sentence of an essay or throwing the quaffle into the hoop right as Cho caught the snitch. It felt right.

“Hey.” Kingston clicked his fingers in front of Juliette’s face, slowly bringing the girl back to the moment as her best friend chuckled and stroked her cheek. The concern in his gaze melted away to amusement. “You were in your own little world there, just staring at Diggory. For a second I thought you were falling in love with him.”

“Don’t absurd, King. In what world would that ever work?” Juliette huffed a laugh and took his hand, having to lean up on her tiptoes to raise their hands high enough to twirl Kingston around next.

“In these trying times, Julie, anything could happen.”