#hard stop no questions

[viablemess]

SAY IT LOUDER it is cruel and selfish to expect everyone to be good at something or cater to your specific wishes from the beginning. What's "trash" to one person might be someone else's absolute favorite fanfic. Don't badmouth people who are providing entertainment for FREE. that's free labor, if you don't like it, just scroll along.

I think it's mean how some people talk about fics on AO3.

'Oh you gotta wade through literal trash to find the good stuff'.

Were you not a beginner once? Did you not write crack fic or self indulgent things for your own entertainment?

Maybe don't speak that way about your fellow fic writers? Just because some fics aren't as polished as others, or involve fetishes and tropes you don't enjoy, or are not the style you want your fics to be doesn't mean they're trash.

It's a horrible thing to say and beginners are going to be discouraged from writing knowing that their fics might be considered trash because they're just starting out.

[clownoverrat]

"please learn about my disorder so you understand why I react the way I do" and "my disorder is not an excuse to be an asshole" should co-exist and people should understand the difference

[la-pheacienne]

George Martin, 2013: "In a very basic level winter is coming for all of us. I think that’s one of the things that art is concerned with: the awareness of our own mortality. “Valar morghulis” – “All men must die”. That shadow lies over our world and will until medical science gives us all immortality… but I don’t think it makes it necessarily a pessimistic world. Not any more pessimistic than the real world we live in. We’re here for a short time and we should be conscious of our own mortality, but the important thing is that love, compassion and empathy with other human beings is still possible. Laughter is still possible! Even laughter in the face of death… The struggle to make the world a better place… We have things like war, murder and rape… horrible things that still exist, but we don’t have to accept them, we can fight the good fight. The fight to eliminate those things.There is darkness in the world, but I don’t think we necessarily need to give way to despair. One of the great things that Tolkien says in Lord of The Rings is “despair is the ultimate crime”. That’s the ultimate failing of Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, that he despairs of ever being able to defeat Sauron. We should not despair. We should not go gentle into that good night".

JRR Tolkien, 1962 : "One reviewer once said, this is a jolly jolly book, all the right boys come home [...]- this isn't true of course, he can't have read the story. [...] Human stories are practically always about one thing, really, aren't they? Death. The inevitability of death. . . . . . (He quotes Simone de Beauvoir) 'There is no such thing as a natural death. Nothing that ever happens to man is natural, since his presence calls the whole world into question. All men must die, but for every man his death is an accident, and even if he knows it he would sense to it an unjustifiable violation.' Well, you may agree with the words or not, but those are the key spring of The Lord Of The Rings".

"Lotr is all rainbows and unicorns and Asoiaf is nihilistic and grimdark". Wrong, and wrong. In all its hope and radiance, lotr often gets very dark, and despite all the death and suffering, the hopeful moments in asoiaf shine bright. The meeting point of these two is this: having hope while in despair, and even better, refusing to give up because you have to go on despite not having any hope left.

[artificial-angels]

the overthinkerrrrrr

[crustaceousfaggot]

I think it's so funny that people are behaving as though all the Disco Elysium spiritual successors are effectively equivalent.

Cause Dark Math's press releases are all along the lines of "We're making a super cool edgy detective RPG. It's gonna be just like Disco Elysium, except with less words and more bullets, because who likes reading, am I right? Anyways, it's gonna be sooo cool and way more fun than Disco Elysium 😎"

And Longdue has said "uhhh yeah we're not really ready to talk about specifics yet. There's probably gonna be some weird psychological dream stuff going on. Idk. It's gonna be fun trust us"

Meanwhile Summer Eternal has hardly done any interviews, and if you read their manifesto and blog entries they're all like "Capitalism and insatiable corporate greed have irrevocably damaged the infant medium of video games. Workers in our field are treated as commodities at best and entirely disposable at worst. We intend to do everything in our power to create an uncompromised, complete, and unapologetic work of art, or we will do down trying. This isn't about making the next Elysium, this is about making something entirely new and revolutionary."

[anotherpapercut]

biology hw goin great

[iizuumi]

[novelconcepts]

There’s a line from American Gods I keep coming back to in relation to Yellowjackets, an observation made early on by Shadow in prison: “The kind of behavior that works in a specialized environment, such as prison, can fail to work and in fact become harmful when used outside such an environment.” I keep rotating it in my head in thinking about the six survivors, the roles they occupy in the wilderness, and the way the show depicts them as adults in society.

Because in the wilderness, as in prison, they’re trapped—they’re suffering, they’re traumatized, they’re terrified—but they’re also able to construct very specific boxes to live in. And, in a way, that might make it easier. Cut away the fat, narrow the story down to its base arc. You are no longer the complex young woman who weighs a moral compass before acting. You no longer have the luxury of asking questions. You are a survivor. You have only to get to the next day.

Shauna: the scribe. Lottie: the prophet. Van: the acolyte. Taissa: the skeptic. Misty: the knight. Natalie: the queen. Neat, orderly, the bricks of a new kind of society. And it works in the woods; we know this because these six survive. (Add Travis: the hunter, while you’re at it, because he does make it to adulthood).

But then they’re rescued. And it’s not just lost purpose and PTSD they’re dealing with now, but a loss of that intrinsic identity each built in the woods. How do you go home again? How do you rejoin a so-called civilized world, where all the violence is restricted to a soccer field, to an argument, to your own nightmares?

How does the scribe, the one who wrote it all out in black and white to make sense of the horrors, cope with a world that would actively reject her story? She locks that story away. But she can’t stop turning it over in her head. She can’t forget the details. They’re waiting around every corner. In the husband beside her in bed. In the child she can’t connect with across the table. In the best friend whose parents draw her in, make her the object of their grief, the friend who lives on in every corner of their hometown. She can’t forget, so she tries so hard to write a different kind of story instead, to fool everyone into seeing the soft maternal mask and not the butcher beneath, and she winds up with blood on her hands just the same.

How does the prophet come back from the religion a desperate group made of her, a group that took her tortured visions, her slipping mental health, and built a hungry need around the very things whittling her down? She builds over the bones. She creates a place out of all that well-intended damage, and she tells herself she’s helping, she’s saving them, she has to save them, because the world is greedy and needs a leader, needs a martyr, needs someone to stand up tall and reassure everyone at the end of the day that they know what’s best. The world, any world, needs someone who will take those blows so the innocent don’t have to. She’s haunted by everyone she didn’t save, by the godhood assigned to her out of misplaced damage, and when the darkness comes knocking again, there is nothing else to do but repeat old rhymes until there is blood on her hands just the same.

How does the acolyte return to a world that cares nothing for the faith of the desperate, the faith that did nothing to save most of her friends, that indeed pushed her to destroy? She runs from it. She dives into things that are safe to believe in, things that rescue lonely girls from rough home lives, things that show a young queer kid there’s still sunshine out there somewhere. She delves into fiction, makes a home inside old stories to which she already knows the endings, coaxes herself away from the belief that damned her and into a cinemascope safety net where the real stuff never has to get in. She teaches herself surface-level interests, she avoids anything she might believe in too deeply, and still she’s dragged back to the place where blood winds up on her hands just the same.

How does the skeptic make peace with the things she knows happened, the things that she did even without meaning to, without realizing? She buries them. She leans hard into a refusal to believe those skeletons could ever crawl back out of the graves she stuffed them into, because belief is in some ways the opposite of control. She doesn’t talk to her wife. She doesn’t talk to anyone. It’s not about what’s underneath the surface, because that’s just a mess, so instead she actively discounts the girl she became in the woods. She makes something new, something rational and orderly, someone who can’t fail. She polishes the picture to a shine, and she stands up straight, the model achievement. She goes about her original plan like it was always going to be that way, and she winds up with blood on her hands just the same.

How does the knight exist in a world with no one to serve, no one to protect, no reason propelling the devastating choices she had grown comfortable making? She rechannels it. She convinces herself she’s the smartest person in the room, the most capable, the most observant. She convinces herself other people’s mysteries are hers to solve, that she is helping in every single action she takes. She makes a career out of assisting the most fragile, the most helpless souls she can find, and she makes a hobby out of patrolling for crimes to solve, and when a chance comes to strap her armor back on and ride into battle, she rejoices in the return to normalcy. She craves that station as someone needed, someone to rely upon in the darkest of hours, and she winds up with blood on her hands because, in a way, she never left the wilderness at all.

How does the queen keep going without a queendom, without a pack, without people to lead past the horrors of tomorrow? She doesn’t. She simply does not know how. She scrounges for something, anything, that will make her feel connected to the world the way that team did. She moves in and out of a world that rejects trauma, punishes the traumatized, heckles the grieving as a spectacle. She finds comfort in the cohesive ritual of rehabilitation, this place where she gets so close to finding herself again, only to stumble when she opens her eyes and sees she’s alone. All those months feeding and guiding and gripping fast to the fight of making it to another day, and she no longer knows how to rest. How to let go without falling. She no longer wears a crown, and she never wanted it in the first place, so how on earth does she survive a world that doesn’t understand the guilt and shame of being made the centerpiece of a specialized environment you can never explain to anyone else? How, how, how do you survive without winding up with blood on your hands just the same?

All six of these girls found, for better or worse, a place in the woods. All six of them found, for better or worse, a reason to get up the next day. For each other. And then they go home, and even if they all stayed close, stayed friends, it’d still be like stepping out of chains for the first time in years. Where do you go? How do you make small choices when every decision for months was life or death? How do you keep the part of yourself stitched so innately into your survival in a world that would scream to see it? How do you do away with the survivor and still keep going?

They brought it back with them. Of course they did. It was the only way.

[elllisaaa]

this is so sunghoon </3

you're so real for this sweetie, i couldn't agree more and you know how much we love the sunghoon x bookworm agenda in this house so here we go again 🤭

SUNGHOON who always feed on your obsession for books and literature, spoiling you with a new one every chance he gets. he loves how sparkly your eyes become when you talk on and on about the new book that you finished, and he loves to see you so passionate about it, he could literally listen to you during hours.

what he does not like though is how he asked you to get ready for your date night almost one hour ago and how you're still in your pyjamas, laying in bed with your book. when sunghoon asks you for the ninth time when you plan on starting to prepare yourself to go out, you claim once again that you just want to finish this chapter. and when he asks you one more time and you answer the same thing again, sunghoon cannot take it anymore.

"hoon ? what are you doing ?" you asked, confused, as he climbed on the bed, settling between your legs and spreading them. you try to push his hands away but his grip is too strong.

"i'm teaching you a lesson, since you're too smitten by your book to listen to me." your voice and the protestation you were about to let out die quickly in your throat, replaced by a loud moan when sunghoon fingers pinch your clitoris harshly through the material of your panties. "you're going to read out loud for me doll, and don't dare miss a word or i'm not letting you cum."

you knew better than to answer him directly, only nodding your head at him as he pulled your panties off your body. you were only wearing one of his shirts now, while sunghoon was already in his pretty outfit, hair neatly done. and the way he looked at you through his lashes when he dived into your cunt had you moaning uncontrollably.

but you still tried to follow his commands, reading each word carefully however very slowly. with each passing second, your voice was shaking more and more, your hands barely holding your book up.

"hoon, please…" your plea forced your boyfriend to detach himself from your pussy, his lips swollen and covered in your juices. but that didn't stop him from landing a harsh slap on your cunt, making you cry out and almost drop your book. "i don't think your book says that babydoll. stay focused" and the smirk on his face is just as annoying as it's attractive. you want to wipe it out and at the same time, all you want is for his mouth to be back on you. and he does just that, gaining another noise of pleasure from you.

and you really try your best, but the way sunghoon is eating you out like a starved man while pinning your hips down to the mattress is driving you crazy. you can feel his cocky smile against your folds when your speech starts to get slurred, far too fucked out to form a coherent sentence or even see the words on the page in front of you anymore. "i-i can't hoon ! need to cum, please, please ! i'm- aah !" - "you're so miserable with only my tongue, it's cute."

tears begin to gather in your eyes when he starts teasing you with his fingers too, the pleasurable feeling ultimately becoming too much. you didn't even make the effort to read anymore, your vision too blurry to see anything in front of you. you tossed it to the side, taking a hold of sunghoon's hair instead, only able to whine and beg at this point.

"you're such a brat, but whenever i touch you, you lose all your attitude, isn't that funny doll ?" sunghoon loves how you're only able to moan in response. "come on, cum on my tongue since you've been a good girl." that was all you needed to let go, messing up his perfect hairstyle but sunghoon couldn't care less as he reminded you once again how much better than your little books he was.

[muchmossymess]

Im a body horror fan so when the lifers started beep booping I didn't think "oh haha they've turned into robots that's cute I'm going to draw them as robots" I thought "their mouths turn into speakers a la the gas mask scene in Dr who"

[sysig]

Experimentation (Patreon)

[metalchem]

could you turn a synth into a walking bong. cus if you can would hancock turn nick into a bong and just shotgun from him whenever he felt like it. i feel like he would

[sapphicseasapphire]

Since we where given permission to ask about time here it goes. Give us the tea on his and malon kids!

Actually so cruel of me to tell you to send an ask and then not answer it. In my defense, life has kind of slapped me in the face recently. HOWEVER I AM HERE NOW!!

Time is… an odd one, that’s for sure. For the entirety of this adventure, he’s clinging so tightly to his humanity. Rejecting his Godhood. And he keeps his loved ones close to his chest. He has good reason to try to keep them a secret! The more people that know about them, the more danger they’re in. He may be immortal… but they are not. He will not put them in danger.

(Time and his secrets… that’s not going to come back to bite him later).

So the entire time he’s traveling with the rest of the Cryptids, they don’t know about his family. Not until a mysterious portal drops them right at the comforting gates of Lon Lon Ranch. A woman with red hair runs out to greet them… along with two children, shouting for their father.

Needless to say, the others are shocked. The children are twin girls, both with their mother’s striking red hair and telling Marks on their faces. They’re identical save for their clothing and hairstyles- one wears a single braid and the other has pig tails. They are young- perhaps five years old? And Time kneels to embrace them, smiling wider than they’ve ever seen him smile. He calls them Raine and River.

The red haired woman- Malon, they hear Time call her- sits with him on the grass and plants a kiss to his lips and the others all have to look away. Except for Wild, who Couldn’t Care Less and is just curious about the new people! It’s not for another ten minutes (ten minutes of cuddles and shouting children and ‘welcome home’s and ‘I love you’s and ‘I missed you’s) that they’re given proper introductions.

And this, my friends, is the first step that leads to the others thinking of Time as more human.

[captaincrazycreative]

Lemony Snicket will go through the most, horrific, traumatizing experience you can imagine and still find the energy to be a little bitch about it

[rockin-mobbin]

Dude, I don’t fucking know, why are you asking me hard questions.

[aroanthy]

kiryuu sibling stasis post-32 is so interesting to me. nanami tries to leave and is (temporarily but also, crucially, violently) prevented from doing so by touga and akio. after this experience she puts distance between herself and them: she leaves touga’s phone in the car, she resigns from the student council (though she dons her old uniform still), she repeatedly dismisses and undermines the authority of the rose code, of end of the world, of akio, of touga. but she’s still in ohtori, isn’t she? uncomfortable with the idea of leaving, uncertain if it’s really possible. she tried before, and it hurt her. deeply. it’s so interesting to me, nanami’s agency and how she limits her exertion of it after 32, when she realises it for what it is. contrast that with touga, who accepts this weird stalemate between them, who is, really, uninterested in having any relationship of any kind with nanami if he can’t gain something from her. he’s very passive with her after 32, compared to the passivity he’d always feigned towards her before in order to stoke reactions from her and then exploit them. i was thinking about how touga has always been able to sever his relationship with nanami, but chosen not to; first out of a sense of obligation (‘we should live to help each other’) then a realisation of how that could be exploited. i was thinking about how nanami has never realised her ability to leave, in part because it is limited by touga and the harm he does her. i was thinking about the desperation and confusion akio calls out to anthy with as she leaves. i was thinking about how different that is to the kiryuus’ strange semi-breakdown; touga doesn’t want or need nanami, and nanami might love her brother but she cannot trust him or feel safe around him, doesn’t want to see him anymore; she’s itching to leave, and just a little scared (you know, because last time she tried that her brother assaulted her), and he’s not doing anything because ignoring her means he doesn’t have to deal with the emotions of her leaving or staying. something something gendered power dynamics something something tragic siblings