#been hitting a real creative block recently

[ohno-the-sun]

Doodles of sun from Luca au

He’s just a silly little guy

[happilysmythe]

❥ 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧

trent frederic.

word count: 5.0k

warning: explicit content

"can you blow my mind?" — tyla

A/N: i recently received a request for trent and a leafs fan. i was given creative freedom and this is what i came up with. hope you like it, nonny <3

- - -

Bruins win Game 7 in OT.

The headlines came out at a rapid rate, informing the rest of the world that the Boston Bruins made it out of the first round and turned the Toronto Maple Leafs into mulch. Again.

Trent Frederic, along with a few teammates, were on too much of a high to return to their rooms at the hotel they’d been staying in just yet. Though they were home in Boston, coach Jim Montgomery thought it would be smarter to have the guys stay in a hotel instead of going back to their homes and apartments. Team bonding, he said.

The bunch set off for the bar inside the hotel, only a few blocks away from TD Garden, waiting a few hours before slipping in nonchalantly. They weren’t trying to get outed too fast, and they usually didn’t. Even once they were recognized, not much came of it. Most people were too drunk by then to make a scene, anyway.

So they sat down at the bar and ordered a few beers, celebrating accordingly and talking amongst themselves. They would finally let loose for just a night before the inevitable start of round 2 in just two days. They’d be having practice the next morning and flying down to Sunrise, Florida to face the Panthers, who were on their extensive break after knocking the Lightning in just 5 games.

Trent decided he’d had enough after his fourth beer, so he left his share and stood up to make his way out. As he turned around, his body hit something with a thud. He looked down and saw what it was that he came into contact with; a thin blonde woman with her arms out, jaw slack, and an empty hand that once held her drink.

Oh, and a Maple Leafs jersey.

“Oh, shit,” Trent muttered, compressing his lips.

You scoffed, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I can get you a new one.”

You looked up, a look of guilt on your face as your hands fell back down to your sides. “Shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve been looking where I was going, too—”

You paused.

“Where do I know you?”

He remained silent, shooting you a look as if to tell you that it should be obvious. It wasn’t long before your face dropped and it hit you. He suppressed a grin at your realization and parted his lips to speak.

“Name’s Trent,” he spoke smoothly, “but something tells me you already figured that out.”

“Well, you’re one of the last people I’d like to see right now,” you rolled your eyes, arms folded. “What’s a guy like you doing at some random bar at,” you looked at your watch, “12 in the morning after the game where you just knocked my team out of the playoffs?”

“Had to celebrate somehow,” he winked.

“Oh, god,” you grimaced. “I really do hate you guys.”

“Well, aren’t you a little ray of sunshine,” he laughed, putting his abnormally large hands on his hips. Your eyes subtly followed their path.

“Lighten up,” he teased. “C’mon. What’s your name? I know you’re not a,” he pinched the fabric of your jersey and pulled it to see the numbers, “Marner. Unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

You sighed at his remark and told him your name, but he made a face afterward.

“Too long.”

“Too long?”

“I think I’ll stick to Marner,” he told you, much to your dismay.

“Gross,” you replied irritatedly. “I don’t particularly feel like giving you the privilege of using a nickname. Just use my real name like everyone else. ”

“I’m all set, actually. I think I’ll stick to mine.”

“God, you’re annoying.”

“You gonna let me buy your drink or keep bitching about who I am?”

“Fine,” you sighed, “buy me the damn drink.”

He and you made your way to the other side of the bar, far enough away from the rest of the guys and the few friends you went with that you wouldn’t be noticed. You sat next to each other on the bar stools, Trent talking your ear off and you reluctantly replying with mostly one-word responses.

“You can’t be that angry with me,” he finally spoke, breaking another silence. “I’m not the whole team, you know.”

“I can and I will,” you shrugged, sipping your almost-empty drink.

“If you won’t talk, then I’ll just have to make you talk.”

He put his elbows down on the table and turned his head to face you, “Why’d you decide to come out in public after that game? I wouldn’t have even bothered to show my face in a bar wearing that. You here with other people or something?”

“I came with a couple of friends.”

“Doesn’t answer my first question.”

You looked down. “They wanted to come down here. I told them it was probably a bad idea because of the fact that we’re, you know, Leafs fans. They did it anyway so I just tagged along.”

“Bet you didn’t expect to run into me,” he nudged you with his shoulder, bringing a faint smile to your lips. “There you go,” he teased when he noticed your expression. “See? I’m not so bad.”

“Fraternizing with the enemy is a bad look for a woman like me,” you retorted, a playful undertone to your words. It was uncharacteristic compared to the closed-off manner you had with every other response. You wouldn’t admit that, however.

“Oh, she jokes,” he took the final sip of the drink he’d bought himself upon sitting with you, even after deciding he’d had his last beforehand.

“Shut up, Frederic.”

“We’ve regressed to my last name now? Can’t even call me by my first?”

“But you won’t use mine at all,” you rolled your eyes, “Trent.”

You looked at him for maybe a tad longer than you should’ve, eyes slowly moving down his body. He wore a white collared shirt that hugged his arms and gray dress pants that looked awfully tight around his thighs. You couldn’t help but notice the facial hair he’d grown since the start of the round, giving him a gingery mustache with a somewhat patchy beard. You’d seen what he looked like before that and were undoubtedly intrigued by it, regardless of whatever grudges you held against him. But you couldn’t let him know that.

So you turned to face the television above the bar, watching the commercial in a quiet trance as if nothing happened.

“Hey,” he tapped his finger on the bartop, diverting your attention back to him. “Tell me something,” he softly requested as you looked back, adjusting his body to face yours. “Why did you let me buy you the new drink if you weren’t going to talk to me, hm?”

You swallowed, “I wasn’t going to be rude.”

“The real reason,” he pressed.

“There is no real reason.”

“Alright,” he nodded, “so why were you staring at me before?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He lowered his voice and brought his face just slightly closer, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “You’re not a very good liar, you know that?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I mean,” he laughed, shrugging his shoulders, “unless I didn’t see you looking for a while there. But I’m pretty sure I know what I saw.”

“Just…just shut up, Trent, alright?”

“Sounds like I hit a nerve,” he noted and you rolled your eyes. “You know, you’re cute when you’re irritable.”

His grin widened when you shook your head again, promptly informing him of how annoying he was once again. “But if I’m really being honest here,” he lifted his fingers and gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, “I think you’re pretty.”

At this, your hardened exterior softened. Your head turned just slightly so that he was in your field of view and you sighed gently. “Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

“I, um,” you cleared your throat, taking a breath, “I was looking before.”

“I know,” he softly responded, hand slipping down until his palm rested on your thigh. Initially, you flinched at the contact, but your muscles relaxed when you realized it was a warm gesture rather than one with malicious intent.

“You don’t have to be so cold,” he told you. “No matter who I play for, I’m just a guy.”

You were more attracted to him than you wanted to let on, and it surely didn’t help that he was being nicer to you. You suppressed a smile and faced him fully.

“It’s not that, it’s—it’s the point,” you flatly responded.

“You can look at me again,” he teased, thumb rubbing your thigh. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t count on it.”

Your gaze lingered on him again, eyes flitting down to his lips before you looked away. It wasn’t hard for him to see through you—after all, you allowed him to keep his hand where it was, even after refuting his words. He took notice of your wandering eyes and finally pieced it together.

“Like the new look, eh?”

Your brows furrowed and you swallowed, “What new look…?”

“I think you know what I’m talking about,” he replied with certainty. “You have a thing for the scruff?”

“Please. I don’t even know what you looked like before that,” you lied, taking an unsteady breath.

“Doesn’t change that you were looking at it, does it?”

“Well…” you trailed off, lips parted as you tried to think up an excuse. “No,” you finally gave up, letting your head hang down. “It doesn’t, because I have seen you before and I do have a thing for it. For you,” you shook your head, laughing at the reality of how weak you truly were. How stupid you must have looked to him. “So tease me all you want, say that you told me so—you’re right.”

A ringed finger slipped under your chin and tilted your head toward him, his face mere inches away from yours.

“I’m not going to tease you.”

You swallowed, expression falling as your eyes locked with his. They were brown, you noticed. And they were…warm. They largely contrasted how he looked at you previously. It brought you to an entranced sort of state.

His touch was soft, comforting. But in a way that made you want him more. Caused your mind to wander to places you knew it shouldn’t have gone. It felt good. Really good.

And you had no business wondering what the rest of him would feel like on you.

“Where are you staying?” you blurted out.

“Upstairs.”

“Take me,” the words left your mouth before you could protest.

An eyebrow raised and his grin turned to a smile. “Gladly,” he whispered, lowering his hand and standing up.

He held his hand out and you hesitantly took it, allowing him to discreetly walk you toward the exit of the bar. You ducked when you saw your friends, praying that by some miracle they didn’t see you walk out with Trent Frederic.

“Trent,” you whispered, clutching onto him harder now that you couldn’t be hidden by the darkness of the bar any longer. “What if someone saw?”

“You would’ve known by now. Trust me,” he reassured you as the elevator doors slid open. You walked in and the doors shut, enclosing you in the small space. “And if anyone did,” he started, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck, “it’s none of their business, anyway.”

“Mhm,” you agreed softly, eyes beginning to close when you felt his warm breath on your neck.

“See? Not so hard to agree, is it?”

“Mm…no…”

He laughed softly in your ear and pressed a tiny kiss to the skin behind it. He intricately placed a few more on the exposed skin, prompting a faint hum from your lips as the doors slid back open. His hand found its place on your waist as he gently pushed you out, guiding you down the hallway and finally stopping in front of his door.

By now, you’d become urgent—urgent to feel his lips on yours no matter how much you told yourself it was a stupid idea. You lived in Toronto; a whopping 500 miles away. And he played for Boston, the team you hated with a passion so strong that you vowed to never let yourself be endeared by them. Yet there you were, standing next to the forward who contributed to your favorite team’s loss, wanting nothing more than for him to make you feel oh, so good.

And he would.

The door clicked open and he pushed the lever down, stepping aside to let you in. He was quick to pin you to the door with his body, arm coming up behind your head to lock it and toss the room card to the side.

“I can’t believe I let you charm me.”

“What can I say,” he rasped, leaning in closer, “I know how to get a girl in my room.”

His lips finally connected with yours and you immediately reciprocated, hand flattening against his chest and gripping the material of his shirt. You pulled him closer, slipping your free hand around his neck before tilting your head to deepen the kiss. The hair above his lips rubbed against your skin, the feeling eliciting a faint hum from your mouth into his. He grinned at this and hooked his fingers under the blue jersey you wore, pulling away promptly and carefully lifting it up.

“Taking this shit off,” he mumbled, pulling the fabric over your head and discarding it to the floor. “You’d look much better with mine.”

You rolled your eyes, “Not going to happen, Trent.”

“We’ll see,” he grinned, moving his lips to your neck and marking up the skin, drawing whimpers from your mouth.

Your hand snaked into his hair, fingers threading between the dusty ginger strands as you pushed his head closer. He kissed up to your jaw, sliding his hand up to your neck, the other placed on the bare skin of your hip. His fingers pressed into the nape of your neck and his thumb rested just under your chin, hand pressing the back of your head against the door as his lips kissed a path down your jawline.

“Shit,” you moaned breathily, reaching for the buttons on his shirt as his mouth returned to yours hungrily.

You worked your way down, the material of his shirt parting and exposing his skin as each button fell open. His tongue slipped between your lips, grazing your teeth before rolling over yours languidly. Soft fingers untucked his open shirt from his pants and began to trace his stomach, moving slowly up to his firm chest. The action caused the large hand around your neck to tighten its hold, prying a moan from your throat.

“Didn’t know,” you panted, “—didn’t know you wore a chain.”

“Like it, mm?”

The way he grinned down at you brought a lump to your throat. He made you nervous. Weak, even. And the height at which he stood compared to you surely didn’t help. So you nodded curtly in response, hoping he’d take the hint and not press you further.

But he took it and instead removed his hand from your neck to slide it down and meet the other at your lower back, promptly hoisting you up. Your hands moved to his face and held it while you continued to kiss him, him walking the two of you away from the door and in the direction of the bed. You kicked your shoes off just as he grabbed a towel from the rack on the wall outside the bathroom and laid it lazily atop the sheets. He then lowered you onto your back and let go, allowing you to lie comfortably on the bed as he remained on his knees in front of you.

He quickly shed himself of the torn-open shirt and tossed it toward the empty bed on the other side of the room. His body soon hovered over yours, an arm on the bed on each side of your head as he kissed you again. His lips moved to your neck once again, working the skin until soft moans slipped through your parted ones.

“Trent,” you exhaled, chest rising and falling deeply, “isn’t…isn’t someone else staying here with you? There’s—mm—two beds.”

“There was,” he mumbled into your skin, moving down to your collarbones.

“So couldn’t we get—”

“Was,” he repeated. “He already went home to his girlfriend. And I have both room keys.” He chuckled softly and reached around your back to unclasp your bra, the fabric coming loose on your chest. “So relax.”

You nodded and lifted your arms for him to pull it off, him letting it fall from his hand before kissing a path down the valley of your chest. His body moved down as he continued down to your stomach, then to your waist where his fingers hooked in your pants and slid them down your legs.

You kicked them off and opened your legs, allowing Trent to slip between them. He gently kissed your inner thigh, slowly working his way up until he reached the lacy fabric that covered your skin. He looked up, making and not breaking eye contact with you as he took the waistband between his teeth and tugged the fabric slowly down your legs. As he rose upwards, they and your pants were dropped to the floor.

Warm breath fanned the skin between your aching thighs, awaiting his touch oh, so impatiently. His fingers brushed the area, dragging themselves slowly up and down. His eyes flitted up to you, a faint grin playing on his lips before focusing back down.

“God, you’re wet,” he rasped, leaning down and settling his face between your thighs, your legs atop his shoulders. His hands wrapped around your outer thighs and gripped them, pulling you in promptly.

“Especially for someone who claims to hate me so much.”

You rolled your eyes and groaned, “Think that’ll make me like you any more?”

“No, but maybe this will.”

With that, his mouth wrapped around your clit, tongue swirling around and eliciting a gasp of shock from your parted lips. Your eyes widened as he sucked gently, hands kneading the warm flesh of your thighs.

He then trailed downward, planting small, light kisses on the sensitive flesh, all before his tongue carefully parted your folds and delved slowly inside. Your fingers gingerly threaded into his strands, palm flattening itself on the back of his head as you pushed him down, your body weak with the need for more friction.

The hair that had recently grown above his lips brushed against your skin, rubbing back and forth forcefully and bringing meaning to the term, ‘hurts so good.’

“God, fuck,” you groaned, hands tenaciously gripping the sheets and his curls as his tongue moved in a rhythm that was just enough to make you long for more.

He lapped at you mercilessly, expert movements of his tongue coaxing soft moans from your mouth. A cocky grin stretched across his lips as he brought you to the brink, then pulled away, forcing a whimper from you at the loss of contact.

A large hand was removed from your thigh and brought between your legs, knuckles once again dragging lazily along the sensitive, needy skin, but refusing to give you the satisfaction of doing what you wanted most. He was teasing you; punishing you for the way in which you treated him earlier without giving him as much as a chance to prove himself.

“Trent,” you whined impatiently, hips writhing involuntarily against his bearded face.

“Mm…what?”

You refused to admit the irrevocable attraction you had to him because you didn’t want to let him win. And now he was being a bitch to you, just like you were to him. He chuckled softly and pressed the tip of his finger to your entrance, allowing you to feel the small bit of pressure that came with it. 

“Please,” you whimpered, fingers tightening in his curls.

Enough was enough and he pushed the finger in, drawing a moan from your lips before adding another and thrusting them in and out with no room for complaint. The cold metal of his ring brushed against your sensitive inner walls and you gasped at the initial contact, your rampant mind having forgotten about the jewelry to begin with. And deep down, you loved it.

His mouth returned to your skin, tongue licking small stripes on the mound of flesh above his fingers, the scruff on his chin rubbing roughly against it. You knew you were going to have burns on your skin caused by his facial hair but you didn’t care; you just wanted to keep feeling him.

“Trent, don’t stop.”

He laughed quietly and sped up the pace of his fingers, urging you even closer to the edge. Your thighs closed in around his head, hand still pushing his head down. He hummed in satisfaction, the noise vibrating against your skin as he felt you clench around his long fingers.

His lips sucked on your clit in a steady pattern, causing your release to rip through you, prying a moan from deep within your stomach. You fisted the sheets tighter as your hips writhed against his face and fingers, legs beginning to shake from the pressure. Trent continued to work you through it, tongue lapping up the wetness that accumulated until you sunk back down into the mattress, spent.

Slowly he removed his fingers, first bringing them to his lips to lick them clean before rising back up. You inched backward on the bed until your head pressed against the pillow, Trent following and planting himself on his knees between your legs. His fingers reached down and fumbled with the buckle on his belt, eyes never leaving your body in the process. It wasn’t long before his belt haphazardly hit the floor, then his pants and his painfully hard cock was freed from its constraints. A rough palm placed itself on your knee, rubbing it slowly.

“Trent,” you swallowed, drawing his attention back up to your face. “Con—”

He raised his hand to cut you off, a gold wrapper resting comfortably between his index and middle fingers. The action having rendered you silent, he promptly took the foil between his teeth and pulled, spitting out the excess before taking out the latex and rolling it onto himself. You soon felt the pressure of him at your entrance, legs subconsciously widening to let him slip between them further, then heard the sound of him groaning as he pushed into you.

You swore it was the sexiest thing you’d ever heard.

He leaned forward slowly, giving you just a moment’s time to adjust to his size as he stretched you out. Your breaths were unsteady, eyes screwed shut as your fingers maintained their forceful grip on the sheets around you. Your mind was racing, but you knew one thing for certain—the man was about to fucking blow it. His body hovered above yours as he kissed a path from your stomach up to your neck, hands pressing into the mattress on each side of you.

“Where did you,” you breathed, “get that?”

“Pocket,” he rasped, mustache brushing against your neck.

Eyes wide, you responded, “That’s not—”

“Relax,” he mumbled, the corners of his lips slightly upturned. “I put it in there today.”

Then you impatiently lifted a hand to the back of his head and pushed his lips onto yours, kissing him urgently and wordlessly telling him to just move. He obeyed your silent command and pushed his hips into yours, burying his dick into you before pulling back, leaving only the tip inside. He repeated the process at a steady, slow rhythm—tortuously slow, at that—until your back was arching, hand in his hair sliding down to his shoulder blade as the long, coffin-shaped nails dug into his soft skin. The chain that you’d noticed earlier tapped against your cheek, the feeling provoking you to throw your head back against the pillow.

His hand slid up your front, fingers curling around to the nape of your neck and thumb resting under your chin once again, pulling your head back up as he quickened his pace, driving into you with more force. Every inch of his thick cock slid smoothly along your velvety walls, your mouth frozen in its open state as his lips worked at your neck again. And god, you just couldn’t understand what made you hate that guy in the first place. It must have slipped your mind completely.

Upon the first thrust of his hips, he felt just how tight you enveloped him. The immense pressure of you wrapped around his strained length, practically squeezing it. The age-old trick of conjuring up the most repulsive of thoughts seemed nothing but moronic to him in the past, yet for some reason he found himself naming off presidents in his head to prevent from coming so fucking soon. He only wished that he could feel it; really feel it, if it weren’t for that godforsaken rubber that separated him from you.

And he’d make it his mission to do so, whether you lived five hundred miles away or not.

He just hoped he’d last when he finally did.

The hand around your throat closed just slightly, using just enough pressure to threaten your intake of breath without causing any pain. It was delicious. You didn’t have the will to fight it—your body had already submitted to him long before, and there wasn’t much that you could focus on other than the feeling of him roughly thrusting into you, lips marking up one side of your neck while his hand firmly gripped the other.

The sounds of your mixed moans bounced off of the walls and you began to wonder whether anyone could hear it or not; if any of his teammates were close by, walking back to their rooms from the bar. The thought instilled enough fear for you to weakly voice it.

“What if—ah—what if someone hears us?”

“Let them,” he rasped, kissing behind your ear.

“But—”

“God, shut up,” he pushed his lips to yours, swallowing your words, moans, and expletives that threatened to destroy your mediocre attempt to stay quiet. His tongue rolled over yours, low hums reverberating in your mouth and filling your ears.

Finally, he released his hold from your neck, allowing the air to flow smoothly into your lungs once more. The hand reached for yours, roughly threading his fingers between yours before pushing the two forward and pinning the back of your hand to the headboard behind you. You let out a whimper at the sudden contact but quickly gripped his hand with a matching force to his as he hit the sweet spot inside you and a familiar pit in your stomach formed.

“Close,” you panted, back arching off of the bed and forcing your front to press firmly into his.

“I know,” he told you, grip tightening as the taut line in your stomach snapped.

His mouth enveloped yours again to swallow your noises, tongue swiping against your bottom lip. Your inner walls constricted around his length as you hit your climax, nails digging into his back as you grasped desperately at him for stability, support—any sort of strength that he could provide you with. And he did, grunting sporadically as he fucked you through your second orgasm, thrusts growing sloppier.

It wasn’t long before he twitched inside you, hitting his own peak and letting out a deep moan. Your name—to your surprise—left his lips in a slurred form, repeating it softly as if it were a hymn. Sweat coated your forehead, droplets dripping slowly down your face, and the frontward strands of your hair had grown wet. His curls dripped with his own sweat as his lips hovered just centimeters above yours, warm breath fanning your face and gaze aligning with yours.

You finally swallowed, “Wow.”

“Mm,” he hummed, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, hand letting go of yours and gently running up and down your side.

He waited a moment and carefully pulled out, the action drawing your eyes shut before he slipped off the used latex and disposed of it. You adjusted yourself as he did so, ridding the bed of the towel and briefly cleaning yourself up before you felt a piece of fabric hit your arm. You looked down to see a large, black t-shirt on the bed and grabbed it, quickly slipping it on as he walked back over. He motioned you under the sheets and you silently obliged.

Your back pressed against his chest, chain pressing into the skin as an arm wrapped around you and a hand flattened on your stomach. His other fingers pushed your hair to the side, exposing the skin to his eyes, and he saw the faint marks his fingers left on your neck. A pair of lips brushed against your ear and the soft rasp of his voice returned.

“You know, that’s a Bruins shirt,” he teased, scruff grazing your damp skin as his lips connected with your shoulder.

“Mhm,” you flatly responded.

“Going against your word pretty fast, eh?”

“Yeah, well,” you started, nuzzling back into him. “I told you I hated you and ended up in your bed, so,” you turned to him slightly, “unreliable source.”

He chuckled softly and brought his fingers up to brush your hair back, pressing a light kiss to your cheek. “Night, Marner.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, and he laughed one final time before closing his eyes and relaxing into you.

So, against everything that you stood for just hours before, you fell asleep in Trent Frederic’s arms without much forethought. In his shirt and his bed, effectively leaving your friends behind because they’d for some odd reason just slipped your mind completely.

And when Trent woke up the next morning, he was no longer in your company, much to his dismay. Any trace of your presence the night before had perished, down to the towel on the floor. But there was one thing—one saving grace that caught his eye as he scanned the room.

A piece of paper on the nightstand with a phone number scribbled on it and a small note below it that read,

“For the next time you’re in Toronto.”

[imptwins]

Why making any concessions to puritan rhetoric is a bad idea

(note for the uninitiated: 'anti' is short for 'anti-shipper', 'anti-ship', or 'anti-fan'; in this context it refers to people who get very vocally militant about opposing dark kinks/problematic ships in media, especially creative fandom spaces. Proship is simply the opposite, people who vocally believe people should be free to make/indulge in whatever as long as a line is drawn between fiction and reality.)

(note 2: this was written for cohost, i cbf rewording it lol)

I very often see people - both websites and individuals - making a concession to the people who come up to them yelling about problematic kinks and guilt by association and 'why didn't you block this person' blah blah blah. It's happened with a few BNFs (big-name fans) in the UTDR scene lately, I've seen it from artists I respect, from friends, hell I used to be in this camp myself. And, of course, it happened to this website about a year back, and the conversation has come up again recently due yet another tumblr exodus.

It makes sense. The most common stuff that antis go after is stuff very few people are into: lolisho/cub, ferals, heavy gore, heavy noncon. It's niche, the real-world applications are unquestionably vile, it's very easy to just say 'I also find this icky regardless of whether I really believe that all people into it are secret criminals, so, I'll just block the people who they say are bad and move on.' I can't tell you the amount of times I've seen someone respond to proship/antiship discourse with "I'm an adult with a job." Going to bat for this content is high risk, low reward. You're not going to make friends, you're going to lose them. YOU WILL LOSE SUBSCRIBER, etc. As a result of all this it's very easy to assume that anyone defending it must be into it.

But I'm not. I'm a writer who often deals with darker subjects, but most of the first-on-the-list anti stuff, I'm not into at all. I'm not into ferals or gore period, noncon I like purely as character exploration, lolisho I can enjoy from the perspective of what I call 'trauma repair.' There's probably a proper term for it. But the tl;dr is I've never been actively aroused by any of these things, not in fantasy and especially not otherwise. Whenever I write them, it's just fascination or character analysis. Whenever I have a 'this character can be any age you want' fic, in my head, they're 18+. Writing noncon is a weird challenge for me because I'm constantly battling with the alternate ending in my head where the victim breaks free, beats the shit out of their captor, etc. This isn't me trying to claim virtue through this, just stating my position.

So… Why do I go to bat for these things? Why do I get annoyed when websites block lolisho, when artists have 'proship DNI' in their bio, etc? It's lost me a couple friends, it's certainly cost me followers and general reach, it's gotten me blocked by countless people I respected the work of. It's earned me a few callout posts, multiple with 1k+ followers, and one particular obsessed stalker who tells anyone who will listen that I actually groomed a child (despite all evidence otherwise). It's caused me a really significant amount of trouble. Why die on this hill?

The answer's kind of simple, when you boil it down: fictional fantasies either affect reality, or they don't. This is why I go to bat for things I'm not into, but it's also why whenever you see someone making concessions to antis, it's never enough. Cohost banned lolisho last year (I believe it's still banned?? Unclear), but the antis still make constant callout posts about this site and its owners. Some of the team have even gone out of their way to state very firmly that they're against these things, they've gone above and beyond just 'ban the bad thing' and broadcast their views about the morality of it. You'll frequently see artists write some huge apology or clarification when a callout post hits, usually involving some variation of 'I do not condone x y z and think it's disgusting.'

It's never enough.

But it makes sense, when you think about it. By drawing a line, you have essentially agreed with the core angle of the people screaming at you: that a fictional fantasy affects reality. That it's dangerous. You will, by necessity, now have people start to work down the list. Incest, ferals, gore, noncon, sure. Any relationship with any kind of skewed power dynamic. Sibling-coded, minor-coded, postminor nonsense. All of these things are less easily agreed to than lolisho, I've seen countless porn artists concede with the core idea that lolisho is immoral, then they act like it's unreasonable that people just keep going until they're being told that a knot on a furry is bestiality, or a 23 year old dating an autistic 21 year old is pedophilia. These are genuine examples of things I've seen people dogpiled for. Seriously look up "postminor" if you want to see how bad this can get, on top of being absurd it's one-for-one the kind of gross ableist shit that Autism Speaks gets into.

But YOU AGREED TO THEM. You agreed with the core concept, that the fantasy must reflect reality. Of course they're going to keep demanding more; by the logic you used to agree with them, you are doing immoral things. If fictional lolisho is immoral, so are the rest of them. It's way easier to look at your average pic on baraag or inkbunny and go 'oh, eugh, vile,' but at the end of the day the cutesy played-for-laughs sleeping kiss, the dubcon bondage that you don't call dubcon, or the meet-cute where they're a bit too drunk, they're all immoral fantasies.

That's not even to get into non-sexual stuff. If the lolisho fantasy is wrong, so is running down civilians in GTA. Suddenly your notifs are full of 16 year-old Jack Thompsons with rainbow flags in their bios.

This really is an all-or-nothing debate. If fictional fantasies affect reality, then even the immoral fantasies that you're personally comfortable with, the cutesy coy playful ones, must be immoral. If fictional fantasies don't affect reality, then even the ones that make you uncomfortable, the ones that have you scrambling to close your browser in case the feds are looking, must be fine.

It should have become very obvious over the last decade that you cannot fence-sit on this. There's a huge internal disagreement going on among progressive/queer/compassion-minded people, on whether these kind of things affect reality, or whether they don't. You can learn to apathetically dismiss stuff that squicks you, or you can learn to sanitize everything you ever make so there's not a trace of contentious theming left. Immoral fantasies are immoral, or only immoral actions are immoral.

You're going to have to pick one.

[journey-to-the-attic]

Hi Kin. I wanted to ask, how did you manage things like writer's block or creative burnout while writing JTTA? I'm midway through a longfic now and it's kind of exhausting. I feel like I'm whining but I barely get any comments or asks or anything.

hi anon! honestly i'm not sure if i was the right person to ask this, because i... kind of didn't? as in, i didn't really have these problems - boring answer, i know!

i got lucky because i hit a sweet spot where the base story and characters were strong, but with just enough gaps in plot, worldbuilding, development, etc. such that the momentum of filling everything in carried me through the whole process. but there were definitely a lot of occasions where i sat there thinking "okay i have no idea what to do now"

in those cases, often i had to just step back and ruminate on it for a little while - i've pretty much constantly got little ideas bouncing around my head, and sometimes they hit each other like snowballs and form into more fully-fledged plot points, scenes, dialogue, so on. i try to keep track of these in notes apps, personal discord channels, etc, and dip into them if i'm stuck on something!

not sure if your fic is for obey me, but this could still apply even if not - with all the pop quizzes and devilgrams that put the characters in a bunch of new contexts, it's helpful seeing how that character's static vs dynamic traits persist/change depending on them, and often that'll give you inspiration as well. depending on what you've got available, you could browse through source material, or brainstorm aus, whichever you enjoy most

i'm really not sure HOW i've stuck with obey me for so long, but somehow it's just stuck with me. i don't remember being so invested in it before jtta, so that's probably why, but i just really love these guys, and i suppose that's why i never burnt out of it? i think it was also because i knew what story i wanted to tell, and i really wanted to make sure ik got her happy ending, and that carried me through as well

seriously, though - do take breaks. every writer's mileage varies, so take a step back whenever you need to. writing fics should be fun! sometimes it does feel like a chore, and it becomes more like 'the only thing i hate more than writing is not writing', but it happens to all of us. sometimes you've just got to rest until your second wind comes along

in terms of comments and such... yeah, it's a tough one! the unfortunate thing is that a vast majority of readers - even if they really enjoyed your writing! - won't leave a comment. don't take this as a direct reflection on your writing! often the reader can't think of what to say, is too shy, or quite simply forgot

again though... i'm not sure if i'm the best person to ask for advice here! i started publishing jtta without much expectation for an audience, given the genre of game it's written for, so any attention was more a nice surprise than anything. i suppose that, later on, when the fic was more well-established, i did start holding some expectation of response - and it really is tough when you don't get as much of one as you were hoping for

i've seen people talking about how the ask culture on tumblr has died down a lot in recent times, so i'm sure you're not the only one feeling like this! all i can suggest is trying to find more friends (mutuals?) and... networking, i guess? i've seen advice saying to share your fic within communities of writers, too

i can't honestly say if these things'll work, because i'm very bad about interacting with a wider fandom in anything - i usually keep to myself, so often i don't have much of an expectation for how and when people come chat. as in real life, i'm only a chatterbox when approached first haha

i'm not sure how helpful this has been, but i'm rooting for you! if you'd like to share your fic here, please do - though i understand if that's something you'd rather keep to yourself as well.

creating things is a joy - it might take some searching to find a circle, but the beauty of the internet is that you will, somewhere out there! wishing you the best ^^

[astoundingbeyondbelief]

Kaiju Brooklyn 2

This year marked my first time attending a kaiju convention that wasn't G-Fest. In my defense, there were no real options besides G-Fest until very recently, and those options kept getting scheduled during my semester (All Monsters Attack) or had hefty travel costs attached (the cons in Texas, Arizona, and California). But Kaiju Brooklyn's sophomore outing caught my eye, not the least because it was being held in my home state.

Kaiju Brooklyn's existence is fairly serendipitous. Artist and set painter John Belotti Jr. scored the t-shirt rights to the Ultra Series in 2022, but Tsuburaya didn't approve his designs in time for him to sell them at any of the major New York City conventions. After learning that an event space had opened up in Brooklyn's Industry City, he hit upon the idea of a kaiju convention—and thanks to the twin WGA and SAG-AFTRA strikes, he had ample time to plan one.

Kaiju Brooklyn 2 expanded significantly on its predecessor, adding a full lineup of panels, a second film screening, a Friday night VIP party, and an Ultraman screening room. I sprung for the VIP package because I thought it would better justify the trip and I was originally supposed to go with my vastly more outgoing QPP. I ended up skittering around the outskirts of the party like the wallflower I am until some of the volunteers noticed my Wikizilla shirt and started gushing about the site/channel. (Keeping the site up to date has been seriously draining as of late, so that really meant a lot.) The swag bag consisted of a Kaiju Brooklyn-branded string backpack and lanyard, a sticker for the night's movie, and a Blu-ray of Superior 8 Ultra Brothers. At first I thought the Blu was the big prize, but the backpack ended up making my life a lot easier the next day. @mainblag (April) showed up for the outdoor Mega Monster Battle: Ultra Galaxy Legends the Movie screening. The crowd was enthusiastic and the venue terrific; unfortunately, the overhead lighting never dimmed, making the picture hard to see. I had seen the film enough times to be able to follow it regardless, but it was April's first viewing. Mill Creek Blu-ray, Japanese with English subtitles. (I hoped in vain for the dub.)

I arrived at the con early the next day to see how far I could stretch my limited funds in the dealers' room. There was a TV at the entrance to the hall playing Godzilla Minus One, serendipitously added to Netflix mid-con. (Enough of us stopped to watch the atomic breath scene in Ginza that we briefly blocked said entrance.) The dealers were splendid. I recognized a few from G-Fest; speaking of the Chicago con, it was refreshing to see so many kaiju artists in one room again. Amazingly, no Toho lawyers descended from the ceiling. My haul is here. Took me long enough to pick up a MinusGoji. Also, props to Tsuburaya for having a booth; the free Ultraman: Rising cards went quickly.

I went to three panels: Ultraman Goes West with Belotti Jr. and Ultraman Connection's EJ Couloucoundis; A Tale of 2 Godzillas with Shin Godzilla PA Yoko Higuchi, and Kevin Derendorf's incredible one-hour encapsulation of the Godzilla franchise right before the night's movie screening. The Ultraman panel was a real how-far-we've-come moment. Tsuburaya is doing far more to make their back catalogue and their ears available to U.S. fans than Toho at this point, and I was really impressed with how eloquently Couloucoundis spoke about the Ultra Series. The 2 Godzillas panel was hamstrung by the absence of Will Caban, who worked on TriStar's Godzilla, but Higuchi had more than enough stories about Shin and thoughts about kaiju to fill the hour. Great moderator too. There was also supposed to be a meet-and-greet with Monster Island Buddies; unfortunately, he had the flu.

The Cosplay Contest, held on the same rectangular turf lawn as the screenings, was great fun. Creative costumes; great performances for the crowd; a minimum of photographers lunging in front of everyone else for the perfect shot.

The outdoor showing of The Return of Godzilla was my first time seeing the film with a crowd, and I believe my first time revisiting it since my big Godzilla series rewatch in 2019. I took it in with the lovely group I had sort of glommed onto later in the day, along with April and the college friend who I was staying with. I much prefer the Kazuki Omori films that followed—the pacing here tends towards the sluggish—but it takes some big swings with the Cold War angle and, as one of only two Godzilla films made in the 80s, has a unique look. The crowd enthusiastically booed the American flag on the ambassador's car. The source was the Kraken Releasing Blu-ray, Japanese with English subtitles.

I want to end by talking a bit more about the venue, Industry City. This is a line of historical warehouses and factories now largely occupied by various small businesses, including The Shops at Japan Village. It's a vastly more engaging space than a hotel, at times even beautiful, and helped make up for the two-track nature of the con. If you weren't up for the current panel and had tapped out your Dealers' Room budget, there was still plenty to look at. The panels were held at various spaces throughout the venue, and getting to them was sometimes a bit of an adventure. The Higuchi panel was decidedly cramped. It seems inevitable that the con will keep growing, given Godzilla and Ultraman's ever-climbing popularity in the States, but I wonder how much physical room it has to do so in Industry City.

If you're on the East Coast, Kaiju Brooklyn's well worth the trip. For as much as kaiju fans bicker online, the ones who come to in-person meetups remain a blast to talk to, and they know how to put on a show.

[realmackross]

PARTIES: @notstinky, @realmackross TIMING: August 3rd at Mistwood Park SUMMARY: Waka Waka Waka Waka....Howdy Partner! WARNINGS: None!

Mistwood Park was bubbling with life; the rumbling sound of voices like a swarm of insects hung over the clatter of legos and occasional fits of laughter. Thea could pick out bits of conversation: people who had gotten narratively invested in their lego creations, people who were complaining about the heat, someone who thought a lego hot dog was a real hot dog and now had a chipped tooth. Thea had come down to watch people build their lego creations for the contest tomorrow, mesmerized by how tiny blocks could form blocky recreations and works of art. The creations ranged from lego animals to spaceships (Thea liked those best). Someone had even built a large lego castle with a winding, maze-like interior. Thea, who maintained that the most creative thing she was capable of was color coding her notes, was impressed. 

Thea walked through the park, approaching the end of the displays where a large lego Pac-Man stood, built up from hundreds of yellow legos. His accompanying ghosts and circle pellets were still being made, but she thought the scale and accuracy of the Pac-Man was impressive enough. Having walked through all of the entries to the lego building contest, Thea turned to leave when her body crashed into another’s. “Oh!” she squeaked, holding out her hands to catch the stranger if they fell. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was….” Thea trailed off. That was a familiar mess of blonde hair. In fact, that was a very familiar set of features. “Oh my god…” she blinked. “Wait a minute, are you Zoey Ross?” 

—

It wasn’t Mackenzie’s plan to go look at Lego sculptures in the park. In fact, the last time she had played with a Lego had been years ago, but she couldn’t stay cooped up forever after the Barbie Nightmare Sleepover fiasco. In fact, she had only recently cleaned her house. But it was nice out and instead of living life as a complete hermit, she opted to go see other people’s talent with small plastic bricks that hurt like a motherfucker when you ran one into your foot. But being dead, did this mean she was immuned now?

As she let her eyes wander up and down the rows of colorful bricked creations, she was caught off guard by a hard thud, which resulted in a Roblox type of noise escaping her mouth. If it hadn’t been for the person who bumped into her, catching her, Mack would have hit the ground, “Hey, it’s no problem. I-” Before she could finish, Mackenzie heard a squeal of recognition, but with the wrong name. It had been a while since anyone had called her Zoey. Her fellow actress on Dropped dawned the same last name, which always made for an interesting conversation after the fact, when she would have to explain the mix-up. “Uh, yeah. That would be my co-star. I’m actually Mackenzie Ross, no relation to Zoey, but I see you’re a fan of the show?” An uneasy smile crept across her features.

—

Thea didn’t watch a lot of TV, she didn’t watch a lot of anything. It was hard to stay interested when it wasn’t animated or filled with enough gore to make her sick; either she liked shows and movies intended for children or things that no child should ever watch. “Oh, um…” She willed recognition to come to her. This was not Zoey Ross, she told herself. This was someone called Mackenzie Ross. And Mackenzie Ross was famous for… Thea didn’t know. She might as well have been talking to a rock and not The Rock but a literal rock. “Oh, are you two sisters?” Thea asked with a smile. “Um, actually, I didn’t like the show. I thought it was kinda…” Thea waved her hand in the air. “Um, like unseasoned chicken.” She paused, flushing. “No offense though! I’m sure you were great in it! Not that I remember who you played—I remember Zoey Ross—but maybe it just wasn’t for me!” Thea’s hands flew around her body, trying to keep up with her rushed words. 

“W-what brings you to the LEGOs?” Thea gulped. “This, um, this Pac-Man is really nice.” She gestured to the large yellow LEGO sculpture beside them. “Um, it’s not done yet, but when they run the contest tomorrow I bet it’ll be a hit! W-what do you think, Ms. Ross-but-not-Zoey?” 

—

Mackenzie had never been so insulted yet entertained in her life. Unseasoned chicken. That was a new one, and as much as she wanted to be upset by the comment, she just couldn’t. Would this person still consider Dropped unseasoned chicken, if she had known that I had died on the set? She pushed the thought from her head. “Uh, no. We’re not related. She was just another person that worked on the show. And you know, not everybody’s gonna be a fan. I’m just not sure I’ve ever heard it be compared to unseasoned chicken before.” She laughed.

Glancing over at the huge life sized Pac-Man set up next to them, she admired the dedication it took to build it, “I think somebody has a lot of talent, and I would hate to make that thing angry if it ever came to life.” It was a LEGO sculpture, and that couldn’t happen right? I mean she knew this town was weird, but still…It was made from plastic. “And you can call me Mack.” She looked back over to the woman who was clearly nervous.

—

“Two people who worked on the show had the same last name and weren’t related?” Thea could imagine the nightmare of it. To ease the trauma she assumed Mack’s had with her last name, she smiled softly. Not that smiling ever eased any trauma, but it was the only thing Thea could offer. “I just mean it’s bland,” Thea elaborated despite the fact an elaboration wasn’t needed. “Like it wasn’t funny. For me. Or good. In my opinion. Or entertaining. To me.” Thea shrugged. “My favorite show is NOVA. Y’know? The science documentary show?” She paused, there was probably a reason she didn’t find anything live-action entertaining unless it was educational or a gore-fest.

Thea’s attention snapped away from Mack as a WAKA burst through the air. Thea stared at the Pac-Man, whose mouth was now closed. Strange. It must have always been closed, now that she thought about it. The sound must have been programmed into the stand; authentic Pac-Man noises. She turned back to Mack. “I don’t think it’ll come to life. that would be weird,” Thea laughed. “What? Would it chase us around and try to crush us under its large lego mouth?” She smiled, shaking her head. “Did you move here to lay-low?” Thea asked. “You couldn’t have picked a more normal town! I’m pretty sure, like, nothing bad happens here.” Just as she said it, something. behind her snapped. 

—

“Yeah, it wasn’t too bad considering we mostly went by our first names.” She smiled softly and wanted to keep smiling, until the insults just kept coming. The woman had definitely gotten her point across with the unseasoned chicken comment leaving Mack feeling much like Maddy from Wild ‘N Out. If this woman had said something about the actress putting raisins in her potato salad or liking mayonnaise, she was out. “Uh, yeah. Science is cool. Have you thought about talking to this guy that works at the university? His name is Gael, and he loves science. You know, it might be a little more entertaining…” Mackenzie was gritting her teeth by this point and forced a smile back onto her face.

It had come as a relief when she noticed the woman’s eyes shift to the statue rather than staying focused on Mack and insulting the show she worked so hard on and had literally died on. But Mackenzie hadn’t noticed any odd movements from the statue, since she had been so invested in trying not to slap the science out of Thea. “Yeah, it would, but I feel like stranger things in this town have happened.” The comment about the giant Pac-Man crushing them in its mouth did somewhat worry Mack though. But she couldn’t let the worry of something as silly as that- “Uh…I don’t know your name, since you were more concerned about giving me your honest opinion of my show, but I would move away from the statue if I were you…” Mackenzie motioned towards the Pac-Man that was now hovering in the air off of its stand, as she slowly began to back away.

—

The mention of university made Thea frown. If she hadn’t been bit, she would have graduated this year. Without a cure, without any semblance of control of the wolf, there was no way she could go back to school. She filed the name ‘Gael’ away, regardless, and missed the forced smile and annoyed tone; she was too far gone inside of her head. Thea picked at a loose thread at the end of her sleeve. “Um. Yeah. Maybe. Thanks,” she mumbled. 

“Thea,” she responded, still trapped in the labyrinth of her thoughts. Was it a left to clear them or a right? WAKA. WAKA. No, she must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. WAKA. WAKA. What was that about Pac-Man? Man, these sound effects were really loud. Thea turned around, her nose scraping the lip of the LEGO Pac-Man. It WAKA’d once more, pinching her nostrils. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, yeah. You’re right. We should run.” She pulled her nose free and grabbed Mack’s arm, pulling her along just enough until she was sure the actress was running too. Behind them, the Pac-Man shut its mouth with a thunderous WAKA and screeched like a rusted hinge when it opened. The ground shuddered where it carved a line through the earth, hungry for the flesh of two young women. “I don’t think this is supposed to happen!” she called out. 

—

Mackenzie’s eyes grew wide as the giant LEGO creature nibbled on Thea’s nose. Her legs continued to slowly carry her backwards, until she noticed that the woman had finally started moving away from the thing, but before she could really process it all, Mackenzie felt herself being tugged forwards by Thea.

Hearing its loud WAKA booming behind them both, Mack continued to press forward, but the neuropathy in her feet seemed to slow her down. It was a brief nip on the tush that seemed to give her the inspiration she needed to force herself to move faster. And luckily for her, running out of oxygen wouldn’t be an issue. But that thing was HUGE, and if they both didn’t pick up the pace, it was probably going to end in two flattened people and one large Pac-man destroying downtown Wicked’s Rest.

“THEA! Look!” As she continued to move forward, Mackenzie spotted a castle completely made of LEGOs that was actually rather big considering what it was made out of and where it was located, “Maybe we can hide in there!” Without giving it much thought, she turned left and started running towards the drawbridge gate. If they had needed a mote, the Pac-man could certainly lay the groundwork. But Mack’s mind was on the opening that lay just a few hundred feet ahead; no thought given on if this would be a trap in itself!

—

Running out of oxygen was, however, a big issue for Thea, who couldn’t figure out how to breathe while her pulse cleaved through her body, splintering her bones from the sinew. Her feet thumped on the ground and she tried to remember how running was supposed to feel and supposed to happen and where her feet were meant to land and what her arms were meant to do. Her body moved but her mind hadn’t caught up with the logistics. Mack pivoted left and Thea stumbled as she followed, searing her palms on the gravel before she kicked up and bolted after the blonde. Thea wasn’t out-of-shape—cardio exercise was a constant in her life—but she watched Mack run like a movie star: no sweat, no heaving. Well, she supposed, Mack was exactly that. That was so unfair; Thea probably looked like a personal-sized tornado had swept across her body and Mack looked photoshoot ready. Rich people sucked.

Thea pushed herself into the LEGO castle, diving through the threshold like a baseball player hitting home plate. “Close the doors!” she called out over her shoulder. “Close those intricately made LEGO doors!” Really, the craftsmanship was something else; not only was the castle big enough to house two adult sized women, but it seemed to stretch on into more rooms and halls. The walls were adorned with block sconces outfitted with red LEDs. Thea took only a moment to consider how that was wired. “Are we…” Thea gulped. “Are we safe?” She couldn’t hear the hungry yellow monster anymore. 

—

Mackenzie had managed to slip inside, but seeing Thea barreling towards her like a bull during the Running of the Bulls alerted her to sidestepping just in time to not get smacked. But the Pac-Man was still following closely behind, and at the woman’s request, Mack used all of her strength to close the doors just in time before the thing could WAKA them to death.

“That was so fucking close!” The zombie collapsed to the floor in relief, but also because both running and closing well made LEGO doors that were lifesize had been nearly impossible for one person, “And those doors are surprisingly heavy to be made out of just plastic blocks. Geeze!” Mack looked back up at Thea, who seemed winded, “You okay, Bud? You look like shit.” A small smirk slipped across her lips at the enjoyment of finally getting to insult the brunette back; glad they were both safe, but still getting some pleasure. “So what do we do now? Just hangout here, until that thing outside gets bored and moves onto someone else?” She looked towards a window, only to see yellow slowly floating past which made her quickly look away.

—

Thea couldn’t help it; as Mack collapsed on the floor, she peered over her, inspecting her skin. She wasn’t sweating, she wasn’t flushed—what kind of a personal trainer did she have? Thea’s heart hammered in her chest and she strained to hone in on Mack with her erratic hearing—she wasn’t very good with her strange, new senses, mostly the world was a jumble of too loud, too stinky for her—and found that she couldn’t hear anything from the actress. Well, she wasn’t good at picking up heartbeats anyway. Once, she thought she might use her new senses like a lie detector and found herself listening in on the gurgle of intestines instead; bodies made a lot of weird squelching noises she’d rather not focus on. Thea stumbled back with a flush. “I don’t look like shit!” She blinked, gesturing at Mack. “Not all of us can have…uh, whatever you have going on. Like, you look like those girls in the sportswear ads? Like Nike and Adidas and stuff? You know how they’re doing sports but all their hair is tidy and they’re not sweaty or red? That’s you.” She was too exhausted to hide the amazement in her voice.  

Thea pushed herself off the ground and dusted off. She smiled at Mack, holding out a hand to help her up. “Maybe we can check this place out? I kinda want to see what all the rooms look like. It seems like they built a lot of stuff! That’s neat.” Gone, as if it had never existed, was her fear of Pac-Man. Thea was proud of her ability to deny, forget and repress; if Nike made ads for that, she could totally star in them. 

—

A compliment from Thea? Wow! That had surprised Mack, but maybe it was because of the defeat in Thea’s voice from being winded, “You know? I think that’s the first nice thing you’ve said to me since we met. I’ll take it.” Any chance to mess with the woman, she was going to take it after being humiliated by her earlier. “And hey, Thea? I was in a Nike Ad once. I’ll show you the pictures if we ever get out of here.”

Taking Thea’s hand, Mack pulled herself up and followed suit dusting off her pants, “I’m down. Besides, it’s not like I really want to go back outside right now considering you know what is lurking around the building.” She hated to think of that thing chasing them again and chomping down. Mackenzie didn’t know how much more running she could take, despite not being winded. “Whoever constructed this thing must either be a genius or practice magic. Can you imagine the time it took?” She started to move forward taking in every delicate plastic brick that had surrounded them. “How many Legos do you think it took to make this place?” She looked over at Thea.

—

“Thanks! I guess I…wait…” Thea squinted. “What do you mean ‘first nice thing’?” She thought she was being friendly. Still heaving, she searched her pounding brain for memories of their brief conversation. Yes, in there somewhere, she had accidentally insulted her acting talent. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being a mediocre actress?” she said, thinking more out loud than talking to Mack. “Not that you are one! I just mean, like, if you were. Hypothetically!” Her hands shot up again, waving wildly in the air. “I don’t want to see you in a Nike ad! You’d be half-naked, probably, and I don’t want to see that. I mean, not that you’re not attractive. I mean—it…” Thea gulped, flipping around and storming down the lego hall. If she physically moved on, then perhaps they could emotionally move on and forget she said anything. 

“There’s no such thing as magic!” Thea called back from over her shoulder. “That’s silly! This is obviously like, hard work and science, or something.” At the question of how many LEGOs were inside the castle, Thea started running calculations in her head. The length of the hallway, and the length of a LEGO, and the height of the room… And then she heard it. 

It was inescapable. 

“Howdy Partner.”

The roof of the castle snapped and pebbles of LEGOs rained down on them. The smiling face of a giant LEGO Sheriff Woody peered down. Thea stopped walking. “Mack,” she said, “I think we should just run out of the park now.” 

—

Mack took pleasure in witty banter with Thea. She couldn’t help but snicker under her breath, and then there it was again; an insult wrapped up in a nice pretty compliment. By now, Mack had just come to accept it. And instead of further carrying on the banter, she let it go as she watched Thea move forward.

This day had certainly turned out much different than she had expected it would, and despite the fact that they were almost eaten by a giant Pac-man, Mackenzie had found herself grateful she had decided to venture out since things had seemed to settle down. But almost as if the Gods of Wicked’s Rest had noticed her getting a little too comfortable with her surroundings, Mack quickly heard the boom “Howdy Partner” only to look up to see a giant Sheriff Woody loom down at them both.

For once, Mack had actually agreed with Thea, and without hesitation, she snatched up her new frienemy’s hand ready to haul ass out the back half of the castle to freedom and safety with the goal of them both living to see another day.

—

As Thea ran, she spared one glance at the giant Pac-man and another for the giant Sheriff Woody and one for Mack, who was still not sweaty. As they moved on from the pack, and the giant legos turned shrunk into the horizon, Thea wondered if after mercilessly insulting Mack, they could still be friends.

[daydreamtofiction]

I just wanted to say I absolutely love your work and will always be the first person I’d recommend any BC fanfics to. I found myself the other day, like someone else has said, daydreaming over Father Benedict while at work and sighing haha. Bit of a random question, but I just wanted to know if you had any tips on motivating yourself to sit down and start writing? I’m doing a follow up to one I wrote recently, & have all the ideas wrote down, but I just can’t seem to start it lol

Thank you so much! Very proud to be the source of you guys’ daydreams 😛🤍

Motivation is such a hard one, especially with something creative like writing. You really can’t force yourself to write if you’re not feeling it! And there’s no real hack to make you get over a creative block or lack of drive. So I always say to just leave it alone if you’re not in the mood or if you keep hitting those blocks. Some people may be able to fight through it, but it’s likely not going to produce your best work. So close the document, leave it alone, don’t force it.

You can write without actually putting words on a page; part of writing comes in the daydreams, the mental planning, noting down moments of inspiration throughout the day. Take advantage of that, no matter how fleeting or inconvenient a time it comes, and keep a journal or your notes app for when those ideas come to you.

If you’re struggling to start your story, maybe try skipping whatever parts you feel no motivation to write. Make a quick bullet point or two of what will happen in that part and just move on to the next bit. You can always go back to it later. I always struggle with feeling like I have to write linearly; I will open a blank document and stare at it because I feel the need to write stories in order of how the narrative will play out, but sometimes I’m really excited to write one specific scene that comes later in the story/chapter and it can make everything that comes before it feel like a chore. So I’ve been reminding myself that there are no rules to how you get a story on the page or in what order you do it.

You may also find that you benefit from the ‘crappy first draft’ tactic. The first draft is never good, but it can be a really great way of providing yourself a skeleton that you can build onto in the redrafting/editing process. Sit yourself down and just write your story, don’t worry about making it flow or sound good, don’t worry about grammar or flowery descriptions or repetitive sentences. Write your story in its shittiest most un-writerly form, at least then you’ve broken the ice and got it on the page.

Lastly, try creating a space specifically for writing. For example, our brains associate our beds with sleeping and relaxing, so when we sit in bed with our laptops, it can be hard to get into a frame of mind to work. Sit yourself upright at a desk or table, or on the couch/in an armchair, maybe even try a public library or coffee shop if that’s available to you.

I hope this helps 🥴

[sparkiekong]

Ugh!! Elita back on the smokes again!! Major yuck!! Major turn off. Somebody needs to tell her that. Also she needs to try harder to stop. Chosen one myass!! I bet Lyra and Cat are to blame somehow!

Hi there nonny. Sorry this is gonna be long winded...again.

TLDR: Yeah, it seems she's slipped off the wagon. Addiction is not an easy wagon ride! I'm afraid for some people it's much harder than others. The gang will have relapses and struggles just like anyone else who has addictive tendances. It's not going to stop entirely anytime soon, I'm afraid.

We depict a lot of these types things. Much of mine and @helenofsimblr's writing is taken from real world examples. history, mythology and we do copious amounts of research and add about 300% creativity. Smoking (even the underage smoking) is probably the LEAST worrisome topic in this story and much worse is to come. I hope you're ready nonny... the roller coaster has just started and it's not a smooth ride... It's also completely ok to unfollow for that reason alone if smoking is your line. I promise you that we are definitely going to go beyond that, so stay safe friend! It's quite ok to stop reading. I promise we won't be offended. This story is not everyone's cup of tea and that's ok.

If you're still interested in reading and it's just that I missed adding a trigger or you'd like an additional trigger, please let me know and I will add it. Especially if it's one that you like to use... At the end of the day we're all responsible for our own mental safety on the internet... I can only provide the trigger words to block. You have to do your part. Thanks for the ask friend. I hope you have a lovely and wonderful day.

Rest is under cut with a bit more examples of differences of KSU and IRL world and informational links on medical information on addiction:

There is a key thing to remember about this story and that is that the universe (lovingly called the KSU) is a kind of alternate universe to our own, some scientific developments happened at very different times to our own and smoking science has not yet caught up to ours. In some ways, it's got sort of a sixties feel and in others, it seems like future-vision. It can be a bit confusing, so I'll provide some examples!

A big example is that the KSU recently just discovered ultrasound tech that can be used to check on fetus health and that smoking is generally bad for one's health, but the KSU has been in space for quite a long time, is well established in space and have computers and cell phones... While the real world (the one you and I live in), ultrasound has been around for a long time and is quite advanced, the anti-smoking campaign has been going on for many years with decent success. However, we in IRL we have not until recently (maybe the last 10-15 years) been able to reliably get into space and back safely in various different countries. Admittingly, I don't track all space travel, just the ones that hit the trending list of my news app.

The rest of this is for people who are struggling to understand addiction and/or are suffering or watching someone suffer with it and are looking for understanding. Please! Talk with your family doctors or google your country of origin + addiction help and you can find the help that you or a friend or family member may need.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here are a few links that explain a bit about addiction and why it's not always just as easy as "just don't do that" or "Stop".

[lord-squiggletits]

4, 13, 23, 26, 47, 65 :)

4. what is the plot bunny you’ve been carrying for the longest? optional bonus question: do you ever wonder why you haven’t written it yet and experience deep existential dread?

The first story idea I ever came up with for Transformers/IDW MegOP is a novel idea named "The Blade Called Trust", I literally thought it was going to be my first Transformers fic until the initial concept of Pay Unto Evil came to mind and supplanted it (as I had more/better plot ideas to make an outline).

The main reason I haven't worked on it is because TBCT is intended to be (even when I first conceived it) a magnum opus of IDW MegOP as well as possibly even IDW1 as a whole. It's not just gonna be megop-centric, but it's also going to be me picking and choosing my favorite parts of IDW1 and remixing them into my own fic that's basically an "alternate continuity" of sorts. Though not a fix-it fic so much as as it is a love letter to IDW1, making my own version of it but also paying homage to all of the coolest parts of it IMO.

As such, it's a super mega intense project that I need to do another read of IDW1 so that I can refresh myself on the lore, favorite characters, plotlines/themes I would've liked to see more of, etc. And THEN I can make a proper outline for it, and once that happens I'm home free to actually start writing.

13. talk about a writing experience that has pleasantly surprised you.

idk how to answer this one so I'm just gonna say N/A lkdsfklds

23. how do you deal with writers block?

Cry into my friends' DMs lamenting the limitations of my mortal form and why it is I can't be 100% creative and energized all of the time (not joking, my hubris is real bad). Suffer and wait for it to be over. Get really depressed about it. Usually focus on my other hobbies (gardening, sewing) while I wait for the writing juice to come back.

26. do you like to write one-shots or series, and why?

I don't have a preference. If an idea is meant to be a one-shot, I'm happy to write it as a one-shot. If it's meant to be a series/multichapter, likewise. I think being able to write a one-off piece that scratches some brain itch idea I had in my mind is just as good as an idea that takes multiple chapters/pieces to fully realize.

47. what story are you most proud of?

NOOOOO DON'T ASK ME TO BE PROUD OF MYSELF NOOOOO

Somewhat surprisingly I think it's actually An Endless Form Most Beautiful. I reread that fic somewhat recently trying to motivate myself to finish chapter 10, and holy absolute fuck. Past me was a genius writing it. The pacing is perfect. The slow tension and reveal of OP's backstory is also perfect. The romance between OP and Megatron feels natural and develops in a very deep way throughout the fic, centered on them developing trust and sharing their deepest thoughts/fears/goals/affirmations to each other. Impactor is an amazing secondary protagonist whose platonic love for Megatron hits just as hard as the main romantic plot between Orion and Megatron. The recurring themes of community, friendship, love, and collective support are CONSTANT and reinforced by basically everything that happens in the plot. Past me was a genius. I don't understand why I was so worried about the romance feeling unnatural/rushed or the themes being poorly represented.

I don't really like to compare my longfics to each other since I think each is different, but I think the entirety of AEFMB has thematic strength comparable to the epilogue chapters of Pay Unto Evil. Everything is so tightly knit together, but instead of PUE where the themes of mercy/restorative justice were basically an emotional payoff for a long story of suffering and hard choices, AEFMB's themes are a long, slow burn that keep the reader warm throughout the length of the fic, giving it a much more optimistic feeling.

That being said I'm also really proud of Pay Unto Evil for being the first novel-length story I've ever completed. And also for the fact that people keep leaving me comments saying how deeply the story impacted them or made them cry or gave them hope in happy endings.

65. what is your favourite title for a fic you’ve written? 

Pay Unto Evil is probably my favorite, given how succinctly it summarizes the theme of the entire fic. When you first pick it up, I imagine some readers might take "pay unto evil" to be phrased as a sort of declarative statement, an implication that this fic is going to be about karma and people getting what they deserve based on their past actions. But then you read on through the fic all the way to the end (or you already recognize/know the Bible verse the title is stolen from) and realize the actual plot/theme is quite the opposite.

It's a short, catchy, clever, deceptive (if you don't know the original quote it came from), insightful (if you do know the original quote) and meaningful title all in one. Technically a fic title only needs to make some kind of sense to be "good," but it's always nice as a writer when you find that title that's a real ZINGER, as clever and profound as something that would be published as an actual great work of literature.

But also, shout out to one of my Tarnma one-shots little death because even though it's quite a generic/cheesy title (everyone knows that "little death" is based on a French euphemism for orgasming sdlfdjlsk), it feels really fitting for how cheesy and romantic Pharma and Tarn are for each other in that fic, as well as the fact that Pharma having sparkplay done on him via Tarn's voice literally is flirting with death in a way. Thus, little death.

Other shout-outs: Love's Harvest, Of Tides Inevitable, and the joke titles of the one-shot Not According to Plan leading to a sequel fic called Exactly According to Plan. Besides that I literally get most of my fic titles from stealing song lyrics and/or lines of poetry so lmao 😂😂😂

[short-circuit-the-great]

I was tagged by @magic-ace in this post where they wanted me to answer all of them, so here it is:

🎱 ⇢ post your AO3 total stats

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction?

A classic tale of "my favorite character didn't get enough screen time" led to this.

🌵 ⇢ share the link to a playlist you love

🕯️ ⇢ on a scale from 1 to 10, how much do you enjoy editing? why is that?

Give it a 5. I don't mind it but it's difficult to focus on the proofreading side of it.

🛼 ⇢ describe your latest wip with five emojis

🔥🔥🌞🔥🔥

🥑 ⇢ you accidentally killed somebody, which mutual(s) do you text for help?

@magic-ace @mecha-milkers @i-am-an-omen

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

I haven't finished it, but Descent by Zakharie.

💌 ⇢ how many unread emails do you have right now?

Zero.

🌻 ⇢ tag someone you appreciate but don't talk to on a regular basis

@brockendrems

🐇 ⇢ do you prefer writing original characters, reader inserts, or a mix of both?

Original characters. Reader inserts aren't for me.

🧃 ⇢ share some personal lore you never posted about before

I will share one of my favorite taekwondo stories from many years ago because I think it is funny. Two different short dads I was sparring with managed to accidentally nail me in the face with the same kick on two different occasions, months apart. (You cannot hit the face in taekwondo but going for a headshot it happens a lot.) The first time miraculously didn't knock out any teeth but my upper lip got stuck in my braces and I had to rip it out while laughing maniacally. I looked like a corpse for weeks. The second time was straight in the nose, so my nose is still slightly crooked and makes a crunchy noise if I wiggle it to this day.

Both of the dads felt terrible but I was a teenage boy so I thought blood on my uniform was cool.

The "short dad curse" was real for a bit there and the only reason it hasn't continued is because I am now the short dad myself.

🎲 ⇢ what stops you from writing more in your free time?

I don't have this problem.

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

Knock Out and Breakdown roughhouse a lot.

🧸 ⇢ what's the fastest way to become your mutual?

Reblog my shit with silly tags.

🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

I'm learning to animate, which is cool.

I'm feeling a little more hopeful about finishing my degree.

My friends are wonderful.

📚 ⇢ what's the last thing you wrote down in your notes app?

I don't use the notes app.

🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

I know better than to share that on this hellsite.

🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

Typical murder-related writing searches.

🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

I got a small notebook to write tasks in, things I've done, what and when I ate, etc. This has been very helpful for memory loss and blackouts.

❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

Don't have one, but one of these days I want to write something more hopeful, something along the lines of a 2010s-era superhero cartoon but as a novel. Don't have a plot for that one yet. It's rotating in my head, though.

🌿 ⇢ give some advice on writer's block and low creativity

One of the best pieces of writing advice I ever heard was "give yourself permission to suck." When you sit down to write you can't be fixated on making it perfect the first time. All your first draft has to do is exist. Anything you write down you can change later, but you gotta get it down first.

🥐 ⇢ name one internet reference that will always make you laugh

My roommate and I keep saying "inch resting" and "ingredience" to each other.

🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

Any.

🍦 ⇢ name three good things about a character you hate

He makes admittedly funny puns. That's it. That's all I'm giving Silas.

🥝 ⇢ do you lie a lot? what's the most recent lie you told?

I don't lie except for safety.

🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately

Grief.

🦴 ⇢ is there a piece of media that inspires your writing?

A few.

🍅 ⇢ give yourself some constructive criticism on your own writing

Don't give my characters enough time to "rest"--it's one crisis after the other. That's the way I like it but someone get em therapy what the hell

🐚 ⇢ do you like or dislike surprises?

It depends what kind.

🪲 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here

She barely made it halfway down to the gallows before something slammed into her, knocking her into the side of the building and shattering a line of windows. The crowd gasped and looked up, and then all Suncatcher could see was shadows and broken glass and the gun someone shoved into her face.

“If you can’t sit back and watch nicely,” Crossfire said, “then you can’t watch at all.”

“Go to hell,” Suncatcher said, and the blades on her forearms snapped out and stabbed into Crossfire’s midsection.

☁️ ⇢ what made you choose your username?

Thought ShortCircuit would be a good pen name for Transformers fanfic. It eventually became a new pen name overall, though I still use NobleRunaway in other spaces.

🐝 ⇢ tag your biggest supporter(s) and say one nice thing about them

@magic-ace @mecha-milkers @i-am-an-omen I love you guys so much. May your pancakes always be fresh.

🌸 ⇢ do you have any pets? if you do, post some pictures of them

So remember when I answered one of these with "grief"

🎨 ⇢ link your favourite piece of fanart and explain why you like it

This doodle of Knock Out because it speaks to me.

🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

I wrote an entire rant and deleted it because the internet can't read. But there is something and it falls under mischaracterization.

[ncisladaily]

Everyone was laughing at LL Cool J.

It was the fall of 1984, and the 16-year-old rapper also known as James Todd Smith was full of confidence as he jumped on the mic at a block party in his native Queens. Not only had he recently inked a record deal, but he’d just cut his debut single “I Need A Beat” in a real studio. His bars at the party garnered love… but then things went left.

“My record’s coming in November!,” he shouted to the onlookers with brash smile as he put the mic down — only to have another young dude pick it up and yell “Stop lyin!”

The entire block erupted into hysterical laughter, or so it seemed. “Everybody thought I was lying,” the now-56-year-old artist says with a smile.

LL took an L that day, but he had the last laugh a long time ago. And late last month, just a stone’s throw from that block, he was back in the neighborhood that spawned him for another block party — the annual Farmers’ Day — and for the hoop championships of his LL Cool J’s Jump and Ball Community Camp. And, of course to celebrate his 40 years as the superstar they didn’t believe he was.

Later that week, just a couple of miles away, he also would celebrate the 40th anniversary of Def Jam Records, his label then and now, as part of an all-star performance at the MTV VMAs by Public Enemy, Busta Rhymes and other veterans of the company’s storied roster. (This is part 2 of Variety‘s extensive interview with LL Cool J, head here for part 1.)

“The moment felt full circle,” LL said of the performance. “The sweetest part about it is I got to have my friends Public Enemy by my side. It was dope.”

Public Enemy’s Chuck D, a fellow area native., says, “It was surreal, because we were [performing at the UBS Arena in Elmont, New York] only blocks away from where he grew up. The arena is right on the borderline of Long Island and Queens, so it was sort of a throwback moment. Maybe 40 years ago, I was promoting a concert in Elmont, and [a group named] the Mastodon Committee didn’t show up, and I was scrambling.” Public Enemy producer Hank Shocklee mentioned that he’d gotten LL’s number at a T-La Rock concert.

“I said, ‘What the hell is a LL?,’” Chuck chuckles. But he cold-called LL on a Friday night and asked him to judge an MC contest. Not only did he judge, he also rapped for the crowd for 10 minutes while New York’s Dr. Dre, who would go on to co-host “Yo! MTV Raps” years later, cut and scratched records.

A year or so later, LL was a major star, and he’s been one ever since.

“He was and is the coolest,” says Grammy-winning Atlanta rapper Killer Mike. “All the girls loved him, the older dudes respected him, the little dudes looked up to him. I remember mowing lawns to earn money to buy his music — ‘I’m finnin’ to get ‘Bigger and Deffer’!,’” Mike recalls with a laugh. “He was young, Kangols and leather from top to bottom. He was everything to me that was the coolest in rap at the time. When I was a kid, Michael Jackson and LL came to town and the same time. My mother said ‘You can see one or the other’ and I said ‘I’m going to see LL Cool J!’”

“I call LL the GOAT because he proved it musically,” says LL’s favorite rapper, Big Daddy Kane. “He has a catalog as big as many pop stars and he’s been victorious in many rap beefs.”

“I am so proud of him,” says veteran executive Lyor Cohen, who is now YouTube’s global head of music but began his career in the early ’80s at Rush Management and Def Jam, where he worked closely with LL for many years. “His creativity doesn’t stop. From Queens to Hollywood, performing around the world, he’s an inspiration and a north star for every artist to continue being creative.”

Yet his home borough of Queens has remained a vital part of LL’s life. He might have moved to L.A. and had a 14-season run on “NCIS: Long Angeles,” but he’s always come back to his neighborhood. And on August 31, a few days before the release of his first album in 11 years, “The FORCE,” he was back for a stroll through Farmers Day. After that, he went to Daniel O’Connell Playground in St. Albans for the hoop championships of his LL Cool J’s Jump and Ball Community Camp. He established the free camp in 2005 to help children learn basketball, team-building and leadership skills. He goes back every year.

Derrick Davis, chief of staff and senior adviser to New York State Senator Leroy Comrie of District 14 in Queens, presented LL with a plaque to honor his commitment to the neighborhood.

“We wanted to acknowledge what you do, not only for this park, but for the community — your community,” Davis said. “You’ve never changed, you’ve always been LL Cool J.”

In a short acceptance speech, LL said, “Thank you to the Parks Department and everyone who’s been contributing to this event for 17 years now. To the coaches, you guys have done an amazing job with the kids. To all of these young ones out here playing and having fun, I’m happy to see you guys doing what you love. It’s an opportunity for you to get closer to your dreams and away from everything else that will distract you.  That being said, I’ll say this community has a lot of great DNA. In this community, you can do anything if you put your mind to it. If I can make it off the streets of Queens, so can you.”

Yvonne McNair, CEO of Captivate Productions says “There are kids who have gone on to college and have come back to support the younger generation of camp participants because it meant so much to them growing up.” LL and his manager of 25 years, Claudine Joseph, raised all the money for the Camp themselves for the first 13 years before bringing on sponsors.  Two years ago, McNair was brought on to be a Jump and Ball Camp producer.

“It really embodies the spirit of true community, and it has been such a joy to see and be a part of what LL has built with this amazing event,” McNair adds.

After countless selfies and autographs, LL says, “When you love your community and they give you that love back, it’s a hell of a feeling. I’m just glad I can do it.”

He buys a strawberry sundae from a Mister Softee truck and stops for more photos in front of wall with murals that includes ones of himself and fellow Queens native and “FORCE” producer Q-Tip, from the foundational hip-hop group A Tribe Called Quest. “That’s trippy,” LL says.

Turning more serious, he says, “The main thing I’m trying to show the community is that [achieving dreams] is possible. I appreciate the accolades and the respect and the love, but it’s more about the example it sets for them to do their own thing. And dreams don’t have deadlines: Colonel Sanders started Kentucky Fried Chicken at 65 years old, B. You may feel that your best entrepreneurial years or dreaming years are behind you, but they’re not.”

He’s trying to prove that point with his latest album, with a goal of being “culturally relevant,” as he puts it.

Veteran producer 9th Wonder agrees. “It is very important that our heroes and greats in hip-hop continue to work,” he says. “Sometimes we figure that we don’t have a lot to say or do in this culture, which has a lot of people in their teens and twenties. We never prepared for what happens when our greats get [older]. That’s what makes this album important.”

A week after his album was released, at least part of LL’s dream has come true: His songs are getting playlisted alongside much younger stars. “For real — this is not arrogant, tough talk. But yo bro, my first song came out in ’84, and [my new songs] are on playlists with Lil Durk and Megan Thee Stallion and Glorilla and Sexyy Red right now. LL Cool J is on the same playlists, B! This is facts.”

Havoc from Mobb Deep says, “The album is a Queens street sound, but it’s universal. Everybody could listen to this — I’m listening to it and I could see my kids listening to it.”  

LL and producer Q-Tip reached out to nearly a dozen MCs to jump on songs starting with fellow legends like Snoop Dogg, Eminem, Nas, Fat Joe, Rick Ross and Busta Rhymes.

“From Nas to Bus to Marshall [Eminem], everybody was excited to work with him,” Q-Tip says.

Nas says with awe, “I used to write in my room as kid, trying to find words to flow like the words he used, so being on his new album is still something I can’t believe. I used to hope one day he would know who I was.”

“He’s my idol — he’s the sole reason I rap,” says Fat Joe, who is featured along with Rick Ross on the album’s lead cut, “Saturday Night Special.” “Anytime I stand next to him or do a song with him or collaborate with him, it’s like a dream come true — it puts me back into the memories of me as that kid in Forest Projects who had the ‘I’m Bad’ poster on the wall. There is no bigger honor and privilege.”

With the legends locked in, LL next reached out to underground rappers Mad Squablz, J-S.A.N.D. and Don Pablito for “The Vow,” then he called up a top female rapper for the album’s radio and dancefloor moment.

“He’s a true pioneer who continues to evolve and pays attention to the younger generation of artists,” says Saweetie, who guests on “Proclivities.” “I felt so honored that LL tapped me to be a part of his album. I grew up listening to his music with my parents.”

The esteemed cross-generational company inspired L to step up his own game — he was determined to tap into new flows and concepts, and make sure all of his lyrics penetrate.

“He sounds sharper than ever,” Jadakiss says. “I think a lot has to do with his staying in great shape and still looking like a young wrestler or linebacker,” he laughs. “That has a lot to do with breath control and what he’s doing with the flows and cadences.”

L admits that he lost a little steam and motivation with the poor reception of his last project, “Authentic,” in 2013. L calls that album “experimental”; it is the only album of his entire career not on Def Jam Records. 

“I found out a few things,” he reflects. “One, you can’t be a part time artist,” as he was juggling the album with his commitment to “NCIS” at the time. “Two, you can’t phone it in. You can’t — even unintentionally or unknowingly — be operating from a creative vacuum. It’s about creative execution. Although there’s some interesting moments on [‘Authentic’], it wasn’t what it needed to be. One critic, I believe in the L.A. Times, wrote, ‘This guy forgot he’s a rapper.’” Oof.

“It annoyed me at first,” he admits. “But I started processing it and let it marinate on my spirit. And it took me eight or nine so years to make a new record.”

As he did 40 years ago after that memorable incident at the block party, LL is having the last laugh, this time with “The FORCE.” “It feels like he’s moving the needle on that higher level right now,” Busta Rhymes says. “It’s like he found his Chi.”  

Top Def Jam artist Pusha-T assesses, “Hip-hop is still the youngest genre of music, so we haven’t gotten to see our elder statesmen be competitive at it. But I watched L on the VMAs and was like, ‘He loves it!’ And if you love it, you’re gonna be competitive at it. You’re gonna look at the game and understand how precious it is and take it to new heights.”

He concludes, “L coming back — it’s needed.”

[kinetic-elaboration]

March 29: Jane Notes

I spent the whole day trying frantically to catch up with all the work that’s piling up around me out of nowhere all the while feeling like I had a second set of eyelids behind my real eyes that were constantly closing. But it was nice out after work so I got a coffee and a delicious raspberry Danish and sat outside and wrote some. I actually had a better time doing that than I’ve had in a while, possibly because my expectations were so low. Then I came home and went to sleep for a bit. Now I want to go to sleep again but I gotta work on the drawer fic first… kind of scared of it because I had a meltdown over it last night—well really over my computer. It shut down while I was in the shower so I had to restart it and I got so flustered about it that I hit a major writing block, like I could NOT think creatively because I was too busy freaking out about the time and being exhausted and wanting to gnaw off my own hand, so I just wrote some notes about what I want to happen next and gave up. I guess this technically does count as breaking my streak but I honestly, truly, tried my best. I could not have done more. So today I need to break through that one sentence that drove me over the edge and maybe try to uncurse myself a little here.

Anyway, I wrote some notes about my Daria/Jane College AU story while I was out and I’m just going to put them here. They’re not really about the fic per se but more about Jane’s character more generally as I try to work some stuff out. I want to go back to writing this fic… writing has been really hard recently, just finding time/energy, and I don’t have a ton of optimism about this weekend but… I do want to rally and do it.

The notes:

I was sort of thinking about their flaws and how they could breed conflict. Toying with the idea that [AU] Jane does not have any role models for stability and consistency, other than (sort of) Trent, and that this could lead to questionable decisions. My feelings are mixed. It feels almost plausible but also OOC. Because… Jane’s weak points canonically are not loyalty or stability-related. She and Daria are old married BFFs from the GET. She doesn’t run from Tom when they get serious. She has specific reasons—not boredom or fear of commitment—for ditching Evan and Nathan. Yet I also am intrigued by the vision of Future Jane, how she’s modeled her marriage on her parents’.

The Lanes as a family are flaky and unreliable but actually I feel like Jane has had to overcompensate for them, rather than follow suit. She is sometimes painted (lol) (drawn?) as lazy, loving to sleep—but she’s responsible for the gazebo in Art Burn and Lanebay shows entrepreneurial spirit ahead of its time. Her artistic output is staggering. She’s learned not to expect anything from most family and she’s become self-reliant as well as self-assured as a result.

We do know that she’s impulsive, and fond of creative schemes and theories (DDMD, Art Burn, The Lawndale Files, hooking up with Bobby Bighead, and her bold flirtations with Tom and Nathan). Her creative energy just sort of… runs free. She doesn’t seem to have reins on herself when she gets going. Self-doubt is her kryptonite—she lets any in, she goes off the rails (this jealousy crap—it isn’t me; Fire/DDM, IIFY).

But what does all this COME to? How does it apply HERE? I’m not sure yet.

[binkysh0e]

Hi! Okay so there’s not really a good way to come back after disappearing for 2 years and abandoning all my fics lmao, all I can say is that life got a little tough and procrastination hits really hard. But to anyone who’s still here, I’m sorry for ghosting you.

I completely gave up on writing and pretty much every creative hobby I had, it was like one big art block that I’ve only recently started to get past. But I am writing again, and I’d like to start posting again soon:) my laptops broken so I’m currently doing everything through the tumblr app (so please forgive the ugly posts) but I’m hoping this and any future posts will be passable visually.

Couple Of Notes -

While my character one shots are still up and available, I have deleted all my series and any one shots involving celebrities. I just don’t feel comfortable with putting real people into fictional situations anymore but I may rewrite some of those plots/situations into character fics in the future.

Because of the first point, Shoot Me Down is no more. Logging back in to messages about that fic made it really hard to delete. However I have been rewriting it with OC’s as a side hobby, its a long way off but I will need beta readers for anybody who wants to know how the plot was going to go;)

I’m still mostly writing for the MCU and this is still an MCU blog but I’m active in other fandoms and may write for other franchises/characters occasionally.

There’s no schedules and I’m not going to commit to writing any series at this time, I don’t want to put any pressure on myself to write and post.

I’m still a hoe for Bucky, and will continue to be till the end of time.

I’m going to make a rough masterlist later so my old one-shots are easy to find, and hopefully I’ll be adding new ones to it soon:)

[cas-blog-hanl]

Creativity - Building in Minecraft

Ah... Minecraft. A game of our generations childhoods. It's a name most know, even if only vaguely or in passing. Fully released in 2011, it had changed so drastically from what I remember as a child to now.

Minecraft - for the few who don't know what I am talking about - is a game where everything is possible. Well... maybe not everything. But who cares about most things when you can mine, survive, build and craft? The game is a blocky imitation of primitive life, where you have to hit wood with your fist to begin the gameplay. And before you know it, you are killing the ender dragon with a diamond sword or building phenomenal replicas of real life.

I have been a casual player for the longest time. It stared out with me watching my brother play, sometimes letting me do a few easy tasks such as planting wheat or mining cobble - however the fighting was always left for him. Through the years the game had stayed, sometimes more relevant to my life, while others an afterthought that was brought up from time to time. Recently I had revisited this childhood staple of mine as I wanted an easy way out from reality. The fact that my close friend, who I unfortunetly see very rarely, had asked me to play with her had helped me come back to the game.

Whenever we played together my job was to get the materials, fight the monsters and pretend that I know what I'm doing, while hers was to build a pretty house because that's mostly what she likes doing. I had never been good at building in Minecraft, so obviously I didn't mind the roles.

However, we don't always play together. In my own little world I created I faced the problem of... well I have the materials to build a pretty house but how do I do that? Most of the time I just opted to live in pre-made structures such as villages and just jump from one to another when the time called for it. But now I wanted to actually try to create something.

The thing about building in Minecraft is that it's all blocks. Cubes that don't have smooth curves, so creating circles was impossible ( not actually but that's wayyy to advanced for my humble abilities ). Another thing, which can be seen as both a plus and a minus depending on the perspective, is that all these blocks have textures. Sometimes blocks which where the same colour would absolutely not fit with one another as the textures would crash. While other times blocks that worked perfectly texture wise would fall apart in the colour department.

And yet I perceived. Mostly through watching YouTube videos which explained exactly how to create a house that doesn't look bad... Hey but at least I created some fun structures!

July

[newtalot]

So it begins, the first of what might be many self reblogs, I have no idea what I’m doing

What first drew me in was the cover of, specifically, the 6th book “Heart of Iron” which shares a name with another book I was considering reading, I was then thoroughly derailed for … maybe a week. Anyway the art is stunning, and after some googling, I found that the first 3 were drawn by Tey Ito and I believe the rest were done by others of Humble Squid Creatives. They’ve certainly done a wonderful job

Anyway I really should actually talk about the story. If I’m being honest, after over a million words the first 4 books have blended together but I’ll do my best to set the stage. The world is split into 2 allied factions, with the world falling apart around them. The two factions of course have different reactions to this. With resources dwindling, and a unsustainably large population, the Pan Asian Coalition, or PAC conscripts and flings as many people as possible at the West, whose actual name I can’t place at the moment, all you need to know is that the only actually organized government left with an army is North America, there’s no need to psychoanalyze this, it’s fiction.

There’s more than just dwindling resources to blame for the state of affairs, the weather is intensifying to the point that it’s almost supernatural, how strange. The majority of the population in the US is congregated at major cities which have been renovated into massive blocks of advanced concrete, in order to stave off the effects of the harsh weather.

One of these places is Orlando, where we finally find our protagonist, Gabriel Rivera. Gabriel has recently pulled himself out of the depressive spiral caused by the death of his father with the help of his friend Reylan, and after winning a number of simulated mech tournaments, is looking to pilot the real thing. As soon as his family evacuates Orlando, which is soon to be hit by a hurricane.

Tumblr is protesting so many words, and this is a perfect spot, so this is where I’ll leave it for now

Since I’m in a posting mood this night at 1:11 am, I might as well make the most of it and spill as much of my thoughts as possible out into the void that is tumblr

Anyway, before The Darkness Outside Us I read every currently published book in the Reclaimer series by Waldo Rodriguez

Here’s the cover of the first book

Now that I’ve caught the attention of anyone mindlessly scrolling, I’ll explain what it is and why I’m interested in it despite it not being gay (a tragedy I know). The book is a Sci-Fi “Progression” book which basically means it borrows a lot from the LitRPG genre without actually being an RPG. The book borrows concepts from a lot of popular Sci-fi, mostly Warhammer, and sprinkles in some magic, at least for the first 4 books.

Here’s the complication, there’s currently 6 books and there will probably be 6 more, and each of them are over 200k words, which means there’s currently over 1.2 millions words with just as many on the way. If this doesn’t faze you, you’re quite brave, just the sort of person we want to brave The Crucible. And you’ll have a lot to look forward to since after the first 4 books the genre switches from Sci-fi Fantasy to Fantasy Sci-fi, I’ll let you find out what I mean by that, or you can look at the reblogs I’ve made of this where I go into it more since this is getting quite long winded.

[chocolate-parfait]

Coming home with a puppy - Ikemen prince headcanons (Clavis, Silvio & Yves)

I recently passed one of the most important exams of my life as a student, meaning that I've been very busy lately. Then writer's block came, and it was kind of hard to write anything at all. For now, have this~ Also, as I play through more routes I swear I'll start writing for other characters as well! However, know that Clavis will always be there no matter what I write <3

Clavis

When his eyes first land on the puppy in your arms, a switch goes off in his head. With the help of that little thing, the amount of trouble he can cause grows exponentially...

Clavis' pranks become more and more creative, and they range from "accidentally" shredded important documents to dung findings in the weirdest places of the palace. Sariel is definitely not happy, and once he threatens to kick the little dog out of the palace if you do not train it as soon as possible, you forbid the third prince from using the little guy for his evil deeds, else you will abstain from cuddle time for the rest of the month. For the time being, your abilities as a Clavis-tamer win, but do not be so naive as to think that he won't somehow have his way... (During this time, he may or may not give him the nickname Clavis Jr)

Puppies need exercise and lots of attention! But so does your needy, clingy boyfriend, who has now realized that with a third party in the picture, he is bound to get less attention; your hugs and kisses all go to the adorable doggie and very little are left for poor little him! (*insert Clavis being overly dramatic here*). In this new chapter of his life with you, he starts a rivalry with a dog. Will physically separate you from the lil guy because it's his turn to have you now.

May fake having an allergic to animals a few times so that he can be with you alone. It's kind of endearing to see how much he craves your full and undivided attention.

Acts all jelly and stuff but the dog loves him and excitedly wags his tail whenever the prince appears. Even Clavis isn't 100% immune to those shiny, big eyes, so with time he starts liking the puppy way more than he could have ever thought. Kinda considers him as his and your son after a while.

Silvio

"Hoh? Did the puppy bring home another one of their kind?" KICK him in the face, he deserves it. Acts all smug and haughty like it will be your responsibility to handle, but he actually adores dogs. In no time at all, he becomes the doggy's real owner by "stealing" it from you. He trains it and brings it (almost) everywhere; the puppy doesn't leave his side for a single second.

When you question the man about it, he defends himself by saying that since you brought it home but didn't have the skills to care for it (not true, he naturally started considering it as his own because that's how his mentality works), it is now his duty to raise the animal.

He drops this business-like approach in certain moments, only to show a much warmer side. He lets the puppy lick his face, cuddles him, and even baby-voices him. He'll do this when he thinks he's alone; if you walk in on him, he will explode from the embarrassment. However, if YOU ever get jealous of the dog, Silvio will tease you so much that you will either have to hit him or kiss him to shut him up.

Overall, he's actually an experienced and caring owner. 10/10 (He has had dogs. I don't know if this is canon but I'm 100% sure he's had multiple dogs)

Yves

"Aaaah! Get it away from me! He's dirtying my white clothes!!" "Wait, are we really keeping it?" "Ugh, how are you even going to take care of it? Raising a pet is no easy feat, you know!" Complains, complains, complains. Despite them, Yves is pretty easy to convince, and when both you and the little animal give him your best puppy eyes, the prince sighs in resignation. This amount of cuteness is definitely unfair!

He takes the whole matter very, very seriously. He stays up at night, reading books on how to raise dogs, he goes around and asks for tips from people he knows already have a certain experience with animals, etc. Only when you finally convince him to come and play with the pup does he finally realize that it can be quite a lively and entertaining experience, too.

Learns to love and care for the puppy very well, considers it as his own child, and even spoils him too much at times. Whenever his sky blue eyes land on the little thing, Yves gets this sudden urge to squish its cheeks and squeeze it into a tight hug, pretty much what happens when he sees you (though the intensity of the emotion he feels is quite different).

Yves is definitely the type of person that continuously sneaks food from the table because he cannot resist the gaze he's given when the dog is asking for food. For some reason, he will always deny it to his very last breath, but it's painfully clear how much of a soft spot he has for the puppy.