#i might articulate more thoughts when i'm done processing all of that

[skydigiblogs]

me: i have a lot of digimon to rewatch

my brain: only appmon

me: b-but... my rewatch project

my brain: only appmon

anyways i read the manga and that certainly was uh.

interesting.

[mrhaitch]

Harry Potter and the Language of Power

[Someone asked so you're all in danger.]

“It matters what matters we use to think other matters with; it matters what stories we tell to tell other stories with; it matters what knots knot knots, what thoughts think thoughts, what descriptions describe descriptions, what ties tie ties. It matters what stories make worlds, what worlds make stories.” - Donna J. Haraway

As you can guess I've got some thoughts about Harry Potter, and this largely going to be a brief discussion about magical systems within fantasy, and how they can be viewed through a political lens. Are we ready? Not yet you're not.

Below is a video of M Nourbese Phillips giving a reading of her poem "Discourse on the Logic of Language". It's about seven minutes long and it's a poem I used to teach, and in fact a lot of what I'm going to say comes from one particular class I taught about a year and a half ago. Go ahead and watch it, I'll wait.

Amazing, right?

The central idea of that poem is that language can shape and determine our social realities. The loss of a language can further a community's alienation, feelings of 'separateness' and even dehumanize them. Or, to play on that Haraway quote at the top there, it matters what languages we use to communicate. It also matters, within fantasy, who has magic, and who doesn't - how magic is taught, passed down, enhanced, developed, used, and activated.

Fantasy and magic go hand in hand, with the latter being a staple of the former - you might almost be tempted to call it a cliche, but it's as essential to the functioning of a fantasy narrative as the presence of electricity to science fiction. It is often the very thing that makes the world turn, and can often be used - sometimes deliberately - to articulate an idea of who has power, or even who should have power.

Just touching on the broad strokes, magic is frequently viewed in an academic context and taught much like any other form of knowledge - at school - with practitioners assuming the guise of academics. In other narratives characters arrive at magical prowess by making pacts, deals, and agreements with entities whose own power arises from their connection to or part of the supernatural order of the world (gods, spirits, fairies, etc.). Now I hope I'm not stepping on anyone's toes when I say that pre-1990 these magic practitioners who typically white cishet men of a typically European persuasion - with the notable exception of Le Guin's Earthsea books, although the protagonists ethnicity rarely survives the adaptation process. There's been a distinct shift in recent years, most noticeably since NK Jemisin's Inheritance Trilogy which laid the connections between magic and power bare, by building a world where magic rests entirely in the hands of a single royal family who participated in the enslaving and slaughter of the gods.

With me so far? God, I hope so.

So let's talk about Harry Potter, a series increasingly maligned for its tone deaf portrayal of race, and its author's increasingly unhinged behaviour - which I won't touch on, others have done a far better job. Instead let's look at the magic.

It's all fairly straightforward: you have a magic tree branch that's bonded to you, prescribed movements of the hand and wrist, and then there's the magic words - which are Latin. Latin holds an interesting place in the western world, both politically and culturally, seeing as its native culture more or less fell apart just under a thousand years ago but has persisted as the lingua franca of power in Europe, especially in Britain. We can largely thank the Catholic Church for that, but a considerable hat-tip to Petrarch and the renaissance for its later revival - particularly the reintroduction of Ancient Greek and Latin to secular political life. Its grammatical rules were later deliberately applied to English in the 16th century, in an effort to centralise the language and diminish and discard regional dialect.

Latin also holds a distinct place in British political life - as it is largely the domain of the upper classes, outside of the medical and legal professions, being taught in only the most exclusive of public schools. Since 1900 there have been 25 Prime Ministers, of which 6 attended Eton college, with a further 11 attending some form of privately funded highschool and 14 receiving their degrees at Oxford. That's not even touching the slew of ministers and members of parliament who have passed through similar institutions of which there are many. Latin and Ancient Greek have been a central part of the public schooling system in Britain since their inception, partially due to its prevalence prior to mass-printing and the push towards using the languages people actually speak for the written word (a decision which, in the early days, could attract a heavy amount of censure, if not execution). It's persistence into our current age, and the exclusive nature of the schools that still teach it, has earned it the reputation of being the language of the ruling classes in Britain.

Using it as a magical language brings some interesting, if not concerning, connotations. I will be charitable and assume this wasn't intentional, but taken in the broader context of wizarding society as a whole and it's relationship with the larger world it contributes to a reading of Harry Potter through the lens of social and political class.

We have a small, naturally gifted, separate society housed within our own who are privy to the innermost workings and closely guarded secrets of our world. They possess godlike powers capable of altering the physical makeup and laws of our world to suit their whims, and they use Latin to do so. There's also evidence, in the later books, of a relationship between their government and ours - where the Ministry of Magic assume the role of shadowy advisors or, even, puppeteers. While this isn't explicitly stated in the books, it's a small stretch of the imagination to believe that in a partnership whichever member can kill the other with a word is steering the ship.

What this all amounts to, in my mind, is a restating of class divisions within the UK. There's no critical element, no serious engagement, let alone metamorphosis - this is a direct transplant informed by an author's preconceived notions about how the world does and, potentially, should work.

Much of this has been coloured and affected by my interpretation of Rowling's politics, and I make no excuses for that.

Does this answer your question?

[strwbmei]

I'm sending this anonymously but i am one of your mutuals (guess who >:3) and I wanted to request a Vertin X shy!S/O fluff cause i'm completely in love with her (hint: i like a certain pink haired girl and i love Italians)

pairing(s): vertin x gn!reader

a/n: Hello!! Truth be told, I could tell just from the ">:3" emoji alone haha, it's always such a joy to talk with you (:

I'll get to all of the thirsts in my inbox I swear, I've just been really in the mood to write fluff lately

Vertin with a Shy!Reader

: ̗̀➛ Vertin isn't really shy, just more of an introvert who has a hard time expressing what she feels. Because of her past experiences and the people she has lost, she never really saw the point in building a relationship with someone whether it be platonic or romantic.

: ̗̀➛ That said— one thing that the Timekeeper has always been is curious. Your naturally shy and closed-off character piqued her interest even more so than the others, and she wanted to know everything about you.

: ̗̀➛ It's in her nature to be inquisitive and prying about everything; you, in particular, are no exception. Although it's true that her that this has gotten her into trouble more than a few times, she can't really bring herself to care if you're involved.

: ̗̀➛ After a while, her curiosity wasn't only for you and everything about you, but also for herself. Poor girl is usually so rational and calculated, but once she's in your presence all of that is completely gone. She believed herself to be a person who's very self-aware, yet you have her questioning everything as she knows it.

: ̗̀➛ Why does the world, usually so dreadful and miserable, feel so much more colorful when you're around? Why can't she take her eyes off of you? Why is it that whenever there is danger, her first concern is if you're alright? What is this... thumping in her heart that just can't seem to stop whenever you so much as look at her?

: ̗̀➛ It's love. Vertin was well aware of that fact, and it scared her. Scared that you might not feel the same way. Scared that the two of you will go back to being strangers once you find out. Most of all, terrified that you'd be put into danger because of her actions.

: ̗̀➛ You may have been shy, but you're not oblivious. You're aware of how she treats you differently from the others and you can feel how she gazes at you with unbridled love from across the room. You also know that Vertin would never tell you how she truly feels because of her fears.

: ̗̀➛ Sure, confessing your love to her despite all of that might have been a selfish move, but do you regret it? Not at all. You're prepared for the worst— as long as you're facing it with her. The process of the confession, though? The two of you were bumbling idiots who couldn't properly articulate their feelings even though you both have thought of this exact scenario a million times before.

: ̗̀➛ Still, it was worth every second. Vertin might not show it, but she's completely over the moon. Suddenly, the world isn't such a negative place— suddenly, she has hope. It's just a spark, but it's enough to keep her going.

: ̗̀➛ She's very patient with you. She knows that all of this about relationships and feelings is entirely foreign to you, and while that may also be true for her, she makes sure to put in the effort to be extra understanding since she knows of how timid you are and all she wants is for you to be happy and safe.

: ̗̀➛ Of course, she also tries to improve her ability to communicate. You're the only one who she feels like she can be vulnerable with and finally let the walls she's built around herself down. It's the first time she's felt so... secure and loved in someone's presence, and she wants to make sure she's the best version of herself for you.

: ̗̀➛ Until she's done with that though, expect random shows of affection throughout the day. Mostly her just remembering she hasn't kissed you or shown you love in the past 30 minutes and spontaneously deciding she needs to give you a peck on the cheek.

: ̗̀➛ Her sudden touches surprises you sometimes, but it's cute! You're just happy to see Vertin getting more comfortable because both of you were very hesitant to even hold hands at the start of your relationship.

[spandexinspace]

Some random fluff that got out of hand.

_____________________________

It takes Querl a few blind, fumbling moments to realise he’s awake. Another few to realise that he’s awake because the bed next to him moved, shifting in a way that feels entirely too strange and foreign, that sets his entire being on edge until his REM-laced brain has time to catch up with his nerves. 

"Where are you going?" Querl mutters, though he suspects his sleep laden voice makes it come out more as a string of sounds than a comprehensible sentence.

"Oh, you're awake! I didn't wake you, did I?" Lyle’s hushed voice sounds considerably more lucid than he feels, so he feels justified—perhaps even vindicated—in only making a noise in response. "I'm just going out into the lounge, I usually try to stretch out in the morning, so I’m going to go do that."

Querl makes another affirmative noise, blinking heavy eyes against the dim light as his still slowly awakening brain processes this information. Somewhere far away the door to his—their?---bedroom slides open and then closed again, once more leaving him alone in his bed. Except for the first time he's not splayed out in the middle of it like a multi armed invertebrate, but pushed to one side, pushed to the side by a rapidly cooling indent and mess of blankets on the beds other side.

It's not the first time he's woken up to Lyle. There'd been nights before, even one dangerously early morning, but those had all been Lyle leaving, trying to silently pull on his clothes and slip out the door before anyone came asking for either of them. At times he'd thought it thrilling, like something out of those old, inane holopics some of their teammates adored so much, but the thrill never lasted long enough to make up for the hollowness his departure left behind. To Querl's surprised, as if the last few months hadn't been full of surprises already, it hurt so much more to see him go than to not have him there.

They'd been fine like that. Everyone didn’t need to know what they'd started sharing, he told himself. Told Lyle, those times he’d implied anything else. Except over time, as they stole away more and more moments together, it became harder to stop himself from reaching out, from saying and touching and doing all those things they had far too little time to do. He started to crave those times away from the others more than he'd done even those first few years, when remaining alone had seemed like the most pertinent goal in his life. Solitude still became him, but the duality, the fire beneath his skin and beating of his heart, became nearly as desirable.

Lyle always seemed so unbothered around the others, floating through life as if he wasn't weighed down by life-changing secrecy. And perhaps the truth was that he, who had done this very thing so expertly before, wasn't. Except one time, after one mission that had started without farewell and ended with grave injury, he'd pulled Querl so close and whispered muffled gibberish into the crook of his neck. He might have shaken, it was so hard to tell what was him and what was Querl. It only lasted another couple of days after that, the secrecy falling away like cracked glass from a window frame. No one needed to know, but perhaps they had to.

The initial teasing and exclamations of foreknowledge were not nearly as hard to bear as the angry, mocking pantomimes in his head, nor as long-lasting. As it turned out, what was life upturning to him was of very little interest to anyone else. Almost anyone else. It all meant so little at the end of the day, paled in comparison to the exhilarating touch of Lyle’s hand in his own. The way kissing him, still a little fumbling, trying to learn how to do it right, filled him with emotions he’d yet to learn how to articulate.

This, however, this is even newer. Lyle, for all his experience, must have been thinking about it for some time, but the thought had regrettably not even crossed his own mind until Ayla brought it up. She had of course been characteristically uncouth in her approach, and mocked him, but despite her manners he had to begrudgingly admit she was correct in her assessment. Though his room had become littered with Lyle's things over the last few months it was not in any official capacity his space. Not until now.

Querl stretches his arms over his head and rolls his shoulder, letting the too early morning roll over him like a tidal wave. Then he slips out of bed, not letting the cold floor deter him too much as he makes his way out of the room and into the lounge area. It's not a large space, he'd accepted its existence mostly because he hadn't been around to object to it as the habitable planetoid was being  constructed, but he'd kept it spartan. A small food replicator next to an even smaller kitchen setup, a pristine grey couch pushed up against a wall. And now, Lyle, in the middle of the floor space, contorted into an odd, forward leaning pose on top of a bright blue stretch of some kind of foam-like material. He unfolds himself as Querl enters the space, revealing that he's dressed in tight, black pants—possibly his uniform pants—and not much else. A thin layer of sweat gives his exposed upper body a strange sheen in the pleasantly dimmed lounge light.

"I didn't think you were that awake," he says, smiling despite a slight strain in his voice. "I'll be done in ten minutes or so."

Querl nods mutely, trying and miserably failing to not stare. Then, because he's not sure what else to do to preserve at least a shred of his dignity, he walks over to the food replicator and keys in the code for tea. It's not good, and the food replicators seem intent on overheating the water in a way Val claims ruins the ‘true integrity of the leaves’, but out of the two socially acceptable Terran hot beverages it's the least repugnant one. He then turns back towards Lyle, like a compass to a magnetic pole, and leans back against the counter. Lyle glances at him and rolls his eyes, but there’s a quirk to his lips and a glint in his eyes.

Querl watches in silence as Lyle stretches and contorts in front of him, a display so flagrant it’s hard to imagine it’s not in some way a perfomance. There's a pattern and deliberateness to it, every pose and movement seeming too deliberate to not be based on practice, though Querl feels he must admit it's not a pattern he knows how to recognise. Nevertheless, it's an amazing display of Lyle's body, his brain thinks before a more reasonable part of him has time to stop that thought from rising to the surface. Which means he must further concede that that is true and that he remains at least partially as weakly flesh-minded as he always feared he would be. In front of him Lyle shifts once more, wiry muscles moving in steady, perfectly controlled movements. Perhaps he must simply learn to live with this weakness, he thinks, as he lets his eyes travel along the lines of Lyle’s wonderful body. 

Eventually the routine seems to come to an end, and in a movement Querl doesn't entirely feel like he makes himself, he pushes off the counter and crosses the room to where Lyle stands, panting slightly. His tea threatens to spill over the rim of his mug.

Lyle sweeps the back of his hand over his face, leaving his already messy bangs in an even worse condition. "Hi," he says, lips red. Something churns in Querl's stomach.

"Do you do this every morning?" his mouth feels painfully dry.

"Pretty much. I skip it sometimes if I'm away or sick or something, but I always end up feeling just a little worse when I don't so I try not to.”.

"That would be logical." Querl swallows and tries with all his might to hold back any further comments. There are so many comments.

"So, any specific reason you've been standing around like you're watching a train derail?"

"I've never observed a train derailment."

"Totally what I meant, Brainy. You know what I actually mean." 

"It was nice. You're nice. Physically." Lyle snorts.

"Only physically? I really thought we had something going on." 

"Yes, you should know that you're a real nass to deal with in every other respect." 

"Ouch. Do you stare at me like an animal in a zoo, then? A pretty display piece for only the greatest of connoisseurs, to be seen and not heard?” Taking a step forward, Lyle closes the gap between them. He grabs Querl’s jaw and tilts it down, closing in the slight difference between their eyes. “Hm?” His hum sends a jolt of electricity up Querl’s spine and he makes another noise, one perhaps best described as undignified.

“You’re unbearable, Norg.” As unsteady as his voice his free hand fumbles, eventually settling on Lyle’s hip, right on the edge between bare skin and thin uniform, thumbing at the edge. “Unbearable, and remarkably attractive.” Under his thumb Lyle shudders.

“I aim to please.” He pulls Querl forward, kissing him softly with his warm, salt-tinged lips. 

"We do have a, ah, meeting in half an hour. You do know that," Querl says, because someone has to. And he must believe he's not ready to face that particular embarrassment. 

"I don't think that'll be an issue.”

[princesjackpot]

Speaking of Yuna, have you thought of voice actors you think would suit her yet? Because I remember you having some difficulty deciding Riku's but eventually deciding on some. I'd be interested in hearing your thoughts processes on that.

OH thank you for the question :3

I'll use Yuna as an example for how I decide voices for my characters. When picking a VA for a character I tend to have a specific voice for that character in my head. Some voices are definitely clearer than others but in general I have some idea of how they sound.

That is usually based off of their personality and how I think they'd speak/what phrases they'd use (which like. sounds obvious). This is part of the reason why Yuna doesn't really have a VA (or a selection of VAs) at the moment - Yuna as a character has never really had a set personality in my head, I've had several iterations of her if that makes sense!

I've been thinking more about her and her role in the plot, I think I have a bit of a clearer view now. Yuna is quiet but she's quite confident in herself and isn't afraid to ask questions - she's passionate about journalism (key for her character)! I imagine she has a very sure voice, a bit calm, very articulate. She would still sound young - she's about 14 in the story. Like Riku she is very kind too! So I think that would come across in her voice too.

And now that I have that in my head I'll generally just spend a bit of time looking into VAs that I think might fit! The easiest way for me is actually to go on Behind the Voice Actor and look at games I've played LOL and just kinda browse there for a bit. Other times it might just be I see a clip of a show and go "huh that could work for [character}" and I'll go and watch clips from the show to see if it would fit. And other times it might just be a recommendation from someone! That's actually how I picked Riku's japanese VA (shoutout to the lovely anon who suggested Nobuhiko Okamoto for him). I'm kinda open to all inspiration really (so if anyone had a suggestion for Yuna I'd be more than happy to hear!).

And that's kind of my process really! Pretty simple but its basically a bit of research based on what I have in my head already. In general I just have headcanons for their English VAs (for all my characters) because that is the ones I would be most familiar with but in Riku's and Yuna's case where they are Persona OCs I want to make an effort to have Japanese VAs for them too.

And seeing as you mentioned him I thought I'd just list the current list of potential VAs for Riku because it's changed quite a bit:

Zeno Robinson - I absolutely adore Zeno and I think he would make a great Riku. I picture him using a voice similar to his voice for Hawks from MHA. I picked him before he got announced as Junpei's new VA lol.

Cedric L Williams - I only found out about him fairly recently - he voices Kabru in Dungeon Meshi. Something about his tone just fits Riku imo!

Jordan Fisher - I don't think he has done much video game work outside of one (Until Dawn? Maybe?) but I think he has a lighter tone than the other two (more playful? It's hard to describe lol). And the massive bonus with Jordan is that he can sing - and Riku is canonically supposed to be a good singer.

Those are the choices for his English VAs, his Japanese VA is still Nobuhiko Okamoto (I know he's in P5X but whatever lol he fits way too well). I may end up polling it one day but honestly if anyone had any opinions/thoughts I'd love to hear it!

Thank you for the question, it was a great question, I hope the response was interesting 😌

[toiadeenovels]

The Conversation Pt 2

18+ Minors DNI

AHEM....dang now I'm trying to catch my breathe and clear my throat. I was not expecting baby girl to come out the bag on me like that. Wow I never thought that's what be going through her mind. I'm tryna take my time with this situation cause it's delicate. I BEEN feeling her for the longest of times. But never really took it anywhere because my best girl had been hurt and was just living her life, and me I had me a good thang. Sweetness is my best-friend though we hang tight she have me doing shit I would' ve never thought about doing before. I always find myself laughing more because of her goofy like behavior. Like right now sitting up in the frozen yogurt place and she looking like a whole good ass time and was trying to keep myself to myself but now shit. Now I gotta talk to my wife about some real shit cause she done swung the door wide open. It makes no since but I should have listened to my baby's sixth sense. See my wife she told me... yeah, she warned me that my best friend had a thing for me. She always said that "it was just a matter of time" before she blows up and spilled the contents of her and and the need of her pussy all in front of me like I'm at Golden Corral buffet.

I know that she is awaiting a response from me but it seems like I'm stuck. I can't articulate any of my feelings into coherent words so I just stare for like a good minute. I'm making her nervous, I can tell by they way she starts to fidget. I had hoped that this situation would never come because I'm a man and I get super weak when it comes to babygirl. I know this and my wife knows this. I guess that why she always said. "When the time comes bring her home and let's talk." When she said that to me I was floored I'm like let's talk, let's talk about what? But I never received an answer. Damn come on think faster... say something she looking like she trying to gather her stuff getting up to leave. Sweetness.. babygirl hold up wait don't leave like that. Let's go get in the car at least I tell her trying to give myself a few more minutes to think of how I should go from here. Getting in the car my mind has started to process everything that she said and I'm realizing that I honestly don't know which way to go. I mean damn I got a lot of love for Sweetness. We sitting here in this car and she saying she regret it and shouldn't have said nothing. My wife happens to call while she saying what she...

"Hey Ma" I say as I answer the phone "Hey baby, can you stop by Mama's Damn Good Chicken for me and order the Finger-lickin platter for me. Oh and tell your bestie I said Hey." "That's all you want babe?" I ask as I looked to right making sure babygirl ain't hit the switch to get out the car. "Yeah thats it." She answered with a chuckle. 'I just know you better get your own platter, because if you don't, you might lose a finger." I laugh in response say goodbye and hang up the phone.

I knew the time had come for me to say something so I'm sad to say I panicked and asked "Sweetness, what do you want me to say. I'm mean for real. You avalanched me with all your thoughts and feelings and I'm feeling at a lost here." I could see the tears glistening in her eyes. As she stared at me and answered "I wasn't expecting anything I was just being stupid and (she mirthlessly laugh) purely selfish. I don't even know why I even opened my mouth." Suddenly before she could say another word I reach for her and pulled her into my lap and kissed her. Realizing what happening she adjust her body til she is straddled on my lap as she began to make love to my lips. The kiss is hot and wet. Our tongues deeper into each other tasting and sample the forbidden flavor of each other. Like thunder crashing loudly her phone vibrates and rings causing us to break away and look at each other. In our faces there is not guilt nor shame just acknowledgement that what this is... it's real and we might be fucked.

[redhoodinternaldialectical]

3. What are your top three most commonly used tags on AO3?

10. Is there a character or ship you'd love to write for, but haven't yet?

and 31. What fic meant the most to you to write?

-mel 💜

A wild @melodyatlas appears :3 !

Oooh let's see...

3.

S&M, Humor, Fluff <- yeah that tracks!

The only reason "crack taken seriously" isn't on there is bc I decided that the coke was being taken too seriously to be labeled coke in the first place lol, but 99% of my stuff starts with a goofy non-sense premise that I proceed to take way too fucking seriously heheh

10.

If we're counting stuff that I've only kinda outlined and never published, then JaySteph, I've been wanting to write a specific story for them called Four and Twenty Blackbirds for a while now - but like since I have written some of that out I'm not sure I should count it, yaknow?

Other than that, though, idk, I might like to write a Boostle fic! That is really the pairing that got me into writing and comics as a whole, so like, idk it'd be nice to revisit that and give something back someday

31.

Falling Into the Night (not to be confused by the three other AO3 works sharing the same title lol)

Holy shit did this fic genuinely change my life. Like, writing it down and sharing bits of it is basically the reason I have a good relationship with my Father and the capacity to process my own feelings??

It's also finished, even though it isn't done, and I deleted what little I published off of AO3 years ago.

The plot is far from complete, I never got further than a certain point with it, and I lost my favorite scene of Jason walking through shoulder high grass in the wind up to the hill to visit a mausoleum to speak to himself and the stone - but it's still done. It did what it needed to do, and I'm done processing what it was written to process. It's not done for all intents and purposes, but for my own it is.

It's also possibly the world's most spectacularly bizarre soulmate AU???

Honestly, some of the scenes in it are still powerful and delightfully invocative even on their own - and, ya'know what, go ahead and have the first couple scenes and maybe I'll end up reposting the rest of the damn thing too sooner or later

Warnings for body horror that was written by a profoundly unwell teenager who had read basically zero comics other than nu52 Red Hood and the Outlaws lmao

A baby, swaddled in something blue. They would have been cute except for the fact that instead of eyes some one seemed to have drilled tiny holes out of their skull. Each one was slightly larger than their little eye sockets should have been. Jason thought that filling the holes with darkness would have been a mercy. As it was, he could see every bit of skull and viscera that lined the rough cut-outs. They didn’t bleed much either and that was horrible too. He wouldn’t be able to articulate why it bothered him so much until he was years older but it all seemed so much more real without the excess that would have accompanied a Halloween decoration or horror movie.

He knew in the very pit of his soul that the baby was watching him. It seemed content, almost happy.

4-year-old Jason Todd woke up like a man being dragged behind a horse. He clutched, trembled, and cried until exhaustion brought him back to reluctant sleep. The baby writhed in silent laughter when he returned.

At 14 Jason was a proud, grade C-, delinquent hoodlum in an under-funded public school. He had all but begged Bruce to let him come here and not an upper crust private school. The way Jason saw it, schools weren't much more than brain washing, regardless of how rich they were. He’d either get taught to sit down and shut up in disgustingly sanitized white florescent halls, or he’d get taught to sit down and shut up in the comfort of a gutter where everyone knew what kind of scam they were in. Besides, he figured that if he could only barely get through a gala without committing arson, then spending every day with a bunch of snobs would drive him straight to supervillainy. So, during school he sat in desks and made them his by carving cool S marks and dicks into them. Then he went home and learned calculus, bio-chemistry, forensics, acrobatics, pyrotechnics, anatomy, and martial arts from Bruce and Dick at break neck speed.

He was currently in health class doing his level best to tune out a slide show about "Soul Mates, and how to find them!! :D ". The font was inevitably comic sans. The colour scheme was obviously supposed to evoke thoughts of joy, but accomplished that about as well as a hamburger made with moose-shit.

Jason absently mused, <em>"It's pink-on-yellow lies are hollow, and scorch the retinas of its audience."</em> He filed that line away with all the other cool lines he would never write because he absolutely refused to become some edgy emo loser who wrote angst poetry. It was bad enough that he lived with a guy who regularly got accused of being a vampire.

There were always rumors surrounding their strange little family, and to be honest, Bruce deliberately cultivated a sort of urban legend status. The latest version of the vampire rumor held that Batman was using his dark powers to summon fiendish and colourful Imps. It was an unfortunately reasonable conclusion, all things considered. The batclan knew better, of course, and so their hairbrained rumors were much more nuanced. Every member had long ago concluded that if <em>anyone</em> around the manor was a vampire, it was Alfred Pennyworth.

Batwoman had tasked Jason with gathering evidence of Alfred's ‘true nature’. He was pretty sure she didn't expect him to find anything, and it was just a way to hone his detective skills. Vampire hunting was way more fun than reading endless cold case files though, so he took it without complaining and resolved to give it his best effort lest someone decide he had too much idle time.

Speaking of that, he had heard Alfred and Batman talking the other day. Bruce had turned to him and said, "It feels like we've always been old." And then Alfred made that funny little hmph sound of gentlemanly displeasure and replied, "Speak for yourself, Sir. I've always been a youthful man at heart." It was still only circumstantial <em>but-</em>

"Jason!"

"Huh, what?"

"Jason, can you tell us what this presentation was all about?"

Jason rolled his eyes and replied completely deadpan, "Everybody meets their one true love in prissy little fairy tale dreams and if we ever look at anyone else The Devil will eat our slutty asses."

He took a <em>very</em> long smoke break on his way to the administrator's office.

Honestly, Jason already knew that thing slowly growing up in his dreams was his soulmate, and that stung more than he would ever admit. He wondered what having an abomination for an “other half” said about his half. Did it mean he was going to end up lovesick, addicted and dead like his mother? Did it mean he was going to end up a puppy kicking piece of shit like his father? Was he, deep down, just as horrifying as it was? He ended up chewing on these thoughts like a swollen tongue that grew more inflamed every time he bit it until it filled his mouth and every move he made scrapped painfully against it.

During a brief lull in his ruminations he realized that he’d absentmindedly bitten through the end of his cigarette. He spit it out, grimaced at the bitter taste, lit a fresh one, and kept on walking.

Soulmates are only supposed to meet in dreams when both of them are asleep, but that thing never seemed to dream. He was convinced by this point that it didn’t even exist outside his head. It just perched in the corner of his mind and watched and stared and looked with its empty gaping holes.

Eventually, his smoke break took him all the way back to the manor.

"Hey, how's it goin'?" Jason gave a wave to the butler as he strode across the hall.

"It’s a fine day, young Sir. I daresay you couldn't have picked better for your afternoon stroll. Though, I must ask after your reasons for taking it when you should have been in school."

"How do you do that?! " He was certain he had been out of sight of the manor while he waited for the bus to roll by.

"I am the caretaker of three generations of over dedicated, self-taught ninjas, Master Jason. I have had no choice but to out-match my wards. Now, enough stalling. What happened?"

"We had a stupid fuuh-uurducken presentation on soul mates and it was so useless. Like, the health teacher doesn’t even care and it just kept talking on and on about how perfect and <em>normal</em> you <em>have</em> to be. And it’s totally useless! Because it’s not like they’re saying anything we haven’t heard a million times before, and they’re getting most of it <em>wrong</em> too! Like they took a whole 30 fuggin minutes to do some nasty comparison about a girl being like a chewed piece of gum and how nasty they’d be and how a soulmate wouldn’t want their love being gum as though humans are fucking pieces of gum! And I know that frickin coach tells kids their dreams aren’t real if they don’t <em>perfectly</em> match what hers were like, and- and- I mean it’s screwed up and I told them so and obviously they sent me to the administrator’s office, ain’t <em>no way</em> I’m gonna talk to that bi-ugh!” He shook his head and shrugged in tight, closed off movements, “Whatever. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Am I grounded or not?”

Alfred put his hand on Jason's shoulder and gave him the gentlest look his titanium reinforced upper lip allowed for. "You have a wonderful moral passion young Sir. Foul language, undignified as it may be, does not change the fact that you were only standing up for what is right. Go get some rest, dinner will be ready in a few hours, and you'll need your strength for tonight's patrol."

"Thanks, Alfred."

"Of course, Master Jason."

As he flopped down onto the comfiest couch in the living room, black, guilty bile rose at the back of his throat. It felt wrong to be called ‘Master Jason’, same way his old neighbor Rosa had said ‘Sir’ to the man whose house she cleaned. Jason could still remember how that man had fired her when she got too sick to clean. Rosa had decided to just let the sickness take her rather than leave her daughter with nearly a million dollars in debt. He never learned what she was sick with, but he knows her daughter makes a half decent living working as a maid.

He wanted to hope that Bruce wouldn’t ever do that to Alfred. That Alfred means more to him than Rosa had to her employer. But as a dozen other suffering friends and family who worked serving others cascaded through his mind he found himself incapable of imagining a happy ending to Alfred’s life. Or his own for that matter.

It took far longer than Jason wanted for sleep to pour those thoughts out of his head.

He knew that sleep had finally overtaken him when, once again, Jason found himself in the dreamscape that held only him and his soulmate. The space held no indication that it was anything other than infinite empty void, but Jason knew, in the certainty of dreams, that it had a shifting, hidden geometry. One of the few constants was the distance between him and it.

That distance was measured in: three small steps, five seconds of sprinting, one scream, four bouts of being dragged by the ankle as his mind fought between the standing dream and lying body. Two more small steps.

Maybe that meant something? Maybe it was bullshit.

He stayed still, and just stared into the nothingness. Looking into absolute blackness was much easier than looking at it. He could tell it wasn't a baby anymore. It just wore a baby's swaddle and skin and fat, and the head didn't fit right anymore. It was like the skull just kept growing even though the rest of it had stopped.

The way this space screwed with his vision didn't help either. The problem was, Jason and it weren't illuminated, or even glowing. They were just perfectly visible; utterly without shadow. The subtle wrongness of that just made everything worse.

Suddenly, every fiber of his being tried to pull itself inwards at the disgusting sound of fingers being bent until they snapped. That wasn't supposed to happen, it wasn't supposed to move, WHOSE FINGERS-

He whipped his head around to face his 'other half'.

The eyeless baby wearer had managed to pull its tiny arms out of the swaddling and was now moving it’s fingers like a nefarious villain in a cartoon. It was still watching him. The little fingers crackled, bending right bending wrong *SNAP* bending right bending wrong *SNAP* out of sync and mesmerizing.

Jason screamed. It just seemed like the thing to do, really.

He watched, transfixed, as the fingers stopped, and its right hand reached over to the left fingers and tugged. The flesh slipped off smoothly, like a satin glove that was just a bit too big. There were no bones underneath. Only a loose structure of needles in almost the same shape one expects bones to be in.

Those needles looked so dainty. Pin, sewing, hypodermic, all moving with a grace that didn't fit. They were, of course, far, far too long to have fit in the little sleeves of its baby coat. With the very tips of the needles, it delicately pulled the flesh off its other arm. Same easy glide to remove. Same needle bones beneath.

For the first time since it had appeared Jason felt it's gaze shift off of him to look at it's new hands. The relief of regaining some small privacy washed through him while the disorientation of losing a life-long constant punched him in the gut. Under its gaze he had felt raw and exposed, scorched by its constant unceasing gaze. Now he thought that maybe that constant watching was all that had been keeping him upright and there was a gut-wrenching sensation of being dropped from an obscenely high cliff.

He hardly noticed that it had lowered its fingers down to the surface of the dreamscape until it started moving towards him. It definitely wasn't <em>walking</em> on its new fingers. It was more like the little baby body was a balloon bobbing on the end of needle covered strings. Rather than supporting its weight, the hands were tugging it along as they crawled across the floor.

As it began to explore the empty space anew, it seemed unable to decide whether it wanted to look at its novel and silvery limbs, or return to looking at Jason. This was obviously a time of wonder and excitement for it.

His last thought before waking up was, "It's like the world's most sick, fucked up chicken."

[fluideli123]

What is your favorite fic you've written?

If you were to ask me what my favorite fics I've ever read were, I feel like this would be easier to answer. Not because I look down on my own creativity to such a degree, but because I enjoy the affects art has on people.

Usually I am drawn to a piece of media and creativity because it stirs something within me. That applies to my own work too. Because, yes, obviously, everything I write something from Me, something within Me that compels creation and emotion to the point that I've spent years of my life writing to bring it to life. But, that is a given, it comes from me for me.

So, it would be moments in my own writing where I poured my heart and soul into, instead of an entire piece of writing.

But, that's also not how I'mma answer this question because I think this is a great time to showcase these:

[IMAGE ID: A series of Ao3 comment screenshots. The first is by random_alien_winn, stating:

How dare. You don't understand, I'm literally crying! I relate to Alberto in this story a little too much…

Beautifully heartbreaking, 11/10 /END ID]

[IMAGE ID: User JustAnother Fool states:

Wow. Okay. Let me just say your fic is great and I had to take a good break after reading to process it before commenting. In a good way. It brightened my day.

The part about Alberto doesn't knowing what drowning was like, but being far too familiar with suffocating? Beautiful! And the whole part with Luca's mom and the gate! And Massimo's story to cheer Alberto up!

And I don't know how to explain but the hot shower scene was exactly what I needed to read today. And Alberto's thoughts and how everything piled up.

The abandonment issues and how good things are so scary when you are used to neglect. The imaginary clock ticking to when everyone will inevitably leave.

I also loved when Massimo arrived! Alberto's breakdown felt really natural. Like how he didn't even feel the words leaving his mouth and started talking in circles. And how Massimo's approach at comforting was more physical and silent. Surely suits him. The part with Alberto struggling against the embrace just to become limp afterwards? Beautiful.

So… Thanks a lot for writing it. I bookmarked it already and I wish I could articulate more how your story helped me today. Thank you again. /END ID]

[IMAGE ID: User, YouramenacetosocietySlashpos (Guest), states:

How dare you. You can't just STROLL in here and plop down a fic that calls me out SO ACCURATELY you made this so accurate that it hurts my very core and soul of my very being, heaven may as well of fallen down and hell might of well had a earthquake due to how well written this fanfiction this is i swear to god, not in my 8 years of mindlessly reading fics on wattpad and here have I gotten as viscerally GUT- PUNCHED as this fic has achieved.

>:(

Very amazing fic tho [cried my eyes out/10] /END ID]

[IMAGE ID: User, Lizord_Lord, states:

AAAAAAA oh my god you have no idea how excited i am to see someone fully UTILIZE the System! Raph headcanon!! I've seen it done a couple times and while I don't think any of them were particularly offensive (though i am a singlet so i might have missed stuff) i do feel like they didn't take full advantage of having a system in your story. Seeing one of the alters actually fronting, some co-consciousness, mention of the fact that alters look different in the inner world and their mannerisms might carry over, alters not always being aware of the same things, and the comment from Raph about being pushed back to front implying Red is a gatekeeper in their system is just so fun to see! /END ID]

[IMAGE ID: User, ciaobay, states:

i'm crying /pos, the way you portray systems and plurality is so real and normal. it's so comfortable to read and seems so realistic… I'm sorry you're going to have to deal with my rambling on all of these chapters because this has already become my new favourite comfort fic you have no idea I am attached attached /END ID]

[IMAGE ID: User, ExtraTiredOfYourCrap, states:

Seriously though, the way that you describe mental illness and all that fun stuff is so realistic, a lot of the things that the brothers talk about are things that I know that I myself have thought or experienced and it's so cool to see them out on paper like this, keep up the great work!! /END ID]

[IMAGE ID: User, disastor, states:

i think its so fucking funny when its like

really devastating and like highkey relatable fanfic "follow me on tumblr <3"

anyway, I really felt this. shadow is literally just autism. thank you for your time /END ID]

These, right here, are my favorite fics I've ever written because of what they did for the people who read them. I always enjoy writing emotions, real-life situations, conditions, and not often represented minorities. Because of the way it resonates with people, the healing and rawness of it.

Everything I write its is for me, yeah, but it's also to the people just like me, and when they reach those people who need it most, or see themselves within something I created with my own two hands, it means more to me than anything else. Because it's fulfilled it's second purpose:

To make you feel.

[swanhookheart]

Thoughts on AI writing, the WGA strike, and ways to help

This whole post is a hot mess, but I think it communicates the point I'm trying to make so I'm gonna hit "publish" and call it a day, peeps!

In the last four years, I have worked as a writing tutor, a teaching assistant for first-year composition, an embedded tutor for ESL writing workshops, a reading partner, editor-in-chief of my school's literary magazine, and as a freelance college essay coach. I'm also a novelist (unpublished but working on it), a poet, recipient of my community college's 2021 Outstanding English Student Award, a voracious reader, and in possession of a two-year degree in Creative Writing (four-year Berkeley literature degree coming in Spring). I guess you could say I like words.

I could go on for days about all the reasons I hate ChatGPT being used as a writing aid (especially by students—ffs, pls don't make me have to report y’all for academic dishonesty; it will be a shitty experience for both of us), but here’s one I really care about: vulnerability.

As it is, ChatGPT's ability to generate prose rivals my own at about age eight (that is, it looks like a thesaurus vomited all over the page and still struggles to spell the word "fluorescent" when prompted—fuck that word, to be fair). But let's envision a world two, maybe five, years down the road where AI is capable of generating a flawless sentence. It's well-structured, the grammar checks out, everything's spelled right, and the words the algorithm has chosen work to communicate its thoughts. Even then, AI wouldn't be able to replace or compete with even the most inexperienced writers among us. Why? Because, in my opinion at least, imperfections are what make art, art.

Any time I get the urge to overthink something I've created or edit it to the point of unrecognizability (which is often; I have OCD, fam!), I like to think of this sentence in Latin:

perfectus est.

To those who have not subjected themselves to completed 2 years of Latin, this might look like it'd translate to "it is perfect", but the actual, direct translation beside the adjective "perfectus, -a, -um" in all my textbooks and dictionaries has been, instead, "finished, completed". Proper classicists can feel free to correct me here, but the original Latin doesn't seem to carry with it quite the same connotations of quality or superiority that we have in the English word "perfect", and that's low-key fucking inspirational. I think about it like this: things can be "perfect" without being flawless. They only need to be done, and "done" leaves a lot more freedom for self-expression. If just being "done" makes something "perfect", then whatever peculiarities that piece possesses are also perfect. This makes total sense in my mind, but I feel like I'm on the verge of having a stroke trying to articulate it.

Art, for me, is never about the completed piece itself. It's the quirks, it's the process, it's the slight imperfections—like finding out 14 years after starting my fantasy series that the surname of one of my main characters is slang for "severe diarrhea" but being too committed to the name at this point to change it. It's the brushstroke in a painting that doesn't quite stay in the lines or the musician’s voice cracking as they sing through an especially personal set of lyrics. Some wise person once gave me a variation of this advice, and I’ve just kind of run with it ever since: the little details in our creations we convince ourselves are flaws are, more often than not, just spaces where our humanity is seeping through. They’re not bad. They’re just instances of us, as creators, making ourselves vulnerable in the name of our craft. Whether it's in a writing workshop, therapy, school, or anywhere else, I think we all feel a bit self-conscious or even uncomfortable any time we have to share pieces of ourselves with others. Baring our souls is scary. But I like to think humans are generally good at heart, and the kinds of things they typically have to say in response to these instances are designed to enhance the bits of humanity they find in our works, rather than erase or destroy them. So, making choices as artists that force us to feel vulnerable and get us out of our comfort zone because we think we’re “not doing it right” are not just welcome experiences to those intent on growing, but essential. And AI cannot do that. It can't feel, it can't think, and so these moments of vulnerability never occur. The opportunity to generate real, human connection has been lost.

The human brain is a remarkable thing. It’s "trained", as it were (in the same way ChatGPT is trained), to think the way it does not just because it's consumed a lot of other people's material, but because it's experienced a lot in its own right. We've all experienced love, we've mourned, we’ve endured trauma, we’ve laughed to the point of tears, we've left the fucking TV remote in the refrigerator again dammit, and all of these things affect how we relate to the world and to certain topics we may write about. We’re not even touching on how neurodivergence and other brain stuff can further change how we experience life; there’s even more variety to be found when factors like that are taken into account, but I'm not trying to write a dissertation here. As the products of all these influences, our brains make very intentional choices when we write (even when it feels like we're just slapping stuff on a page and hoping it sticks). The formal features of our prose are all going to be dependent on a combination of things we’ve done, felt, and read.

I mean, I guess some might want to use the Infinite Monkey Theorem (the idea that, if you leave infinite monkeys with infinite typewriters for an infinite amount of time, they will inevitably produce a finite number of texts, including the Complete Works of William Shakespeare, an infinite number of times) to argue that writing is actually more formulaic than artistic and so maybe utilizing these algorithms is totally fine. I guess the algorithm is being compared to infinite monkeys here. I don’t know. I’ve gotten hungry since sitting down to write this silly blog post and so I’m getting a little distracted. But humans aren’t alive an infinite amount of time, and the brevity of our existence necessitates a certain urgency in what and how we write—an urgency that leads us to conclude it’s better our work be flawed but out there than faultless but stuck inside our heads. So we write. We write good shit, we write bad shit, we buy a copy of Scrivener or MS Word, we join Tumblr dot com and publish all kinds of silly memes and dick jokes, and we get a world full of funky, crazy, chaotic art that reflects our funky, crazy, chaotic selves. Our humanity seeps out with every word we commit to paper, and we let it because it’s better to live in a world filled with jagged edges and mismatched hues than it is to live in one created by something that is literally fucking incapable of feeling.

You might think this is a great blog post. You might think it's garbage. You’re valid either way. But AI couldn't have written it. It’s full of tiny little pieces of me that just kinda slipped their way in as I was writing. It’s not super polished. It’s a bit all over the place because oh my god I’m craving a cookie but want to finish writing this before I leave my desk to go and get one. No matter what anyone’s thoughts are on my particular voice, though, I think we can all agree that it exists. It exists because I write often—daily, if I can—and because I feel, I think, I am. Those things come through, and they’re what make this a semi-coherent (I hope) blog post as opposed to a smattering of random words ChatGPT probably couldn’t define for you at gunpoint. Whatever you think about this post, AI couldn’t have written it and that’s the point.

This is just one of the reasons why I support the WGA strike and will continue to do so for as long as it takes the union to get the deal they deserve. I am not and will likely never be a member of this union, but the work they’re doing with this strike to push back against AI and its wildfire-like proliferation across creative industries is essential. Algorithms simply cannot do the work that humans do—not today, not ever. Not because they’re not advanced enough, but because vulnerability is what make art, art. Connecting with other human beings—which is all any of us ever really hope to do with our art anyway—requires that vulnerability.

I’m just some random dweeb on the internet, seeing marginalized workers struggle because a bunch of crappy billionaires don't want to come to the table and feeling like shouting some words into the void about it. Maybe nobody will see this post, and that’s okay. But maybe they will and I can do some good with it. I haven’t got a lot of money to help (I’m in my broke college student era). But donations to the Entertainment Community Fund are being accepted and these funds go back into the hands of union (WGA and SAG-AFTRA) members as hardship funds if they need financial help during the work stoppage—this is my understanding, at least; pls correct me if I’m wrong!

Link below:

If you can’t donate, please reblog. I know it would mean a lot to me if I were in their position.

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary420

11/17-18/24

sunday - monday

up too late, need to sleep soon.

and not a lick of drawing done. but that's okay. tomorrow, there is always tomorrow, today the thought of sundowning got put in my head, forgetting the sun comes up, that some people feel that dread. it is good i live my life as if tomorrow always comes, though, you never know i guess, you can die, or the world could end.

i was just reading some of my friend's poetry book he's working on, it is good, moving stuff. i thought earlier in the shower, how it's good to know people who are making art of any kind that is inspiring and interesting and jumps that little hurdle a lot of stuff made by people you know might have, where it is meaningful to you the way other things are, influences the way other things might, feels like it's doing something you feel strong and strange things about, i wonder if part of that is knowing, beyond the hard work of just doing it you know, the thought process laid out, even people who i don't talk to so much, when they make that available to read or something, although, in this example i am thinking of (i imagine eventually you will see this, if you think this is about you, it is (you always see these, eventually)), their work was rather interesting to me pre ever seeing/knowing, but still the thought put into things, beside the work, ultimately though i'm not sure. i guess i just tend to like certain things, and i've found people who make those things, and i am happy for it.

i watched 2 more alan clarke films today, scum and the firm. those are both insane films, i seriously don't know what to say about them honestly. one is about pig brutality, oppressed youth, the 2nd is about nationalism in britain via football hooliganism and its transposition up into middle classes kind of... really insane film that feels harder to parse than scum. it's such a pointed image at the end though, a huge cluster of men now joined together by a dead man, a ritual sacrifice almost, wearing german folk dress (brings to mind the notion of the 'volk') with the union jack printed all over, their country's colors. a hideous image. utterly strange film. it's not like he hates football, it's about this insane social apparatus, even at the end there's this ad lib one of the actors did, if it weren't football, we'd do it over boxing, snooker, anything, because we want to. it's almost like they don't give a shit about football anymore, it's just this thing that gives you access to violence, and that violence is a bonding thing and a way to gain a buzz. again, it feels like those negative forces, violent pulsions, cruelty, the need to destroy and waste, put to use, as bataille might put it. it's insane to see in clarke's films this feeling that he articulates theory like that in the texts of his films but maybe that's just the plays he is adapting being genius. or he and the plays are genius, cooperating in that way. in scum, we see along multiple lines the racism, classism, and the cooperation of the pigs and the boys in the borstal in criminal enterprise, and this too occurs on racial lines, thus making everything, not complex i suppose, it's plainly obvious, the horror of the state, but the complicity of the state in inventing these situations, and especially in the case of the criminality, that there is an acceptable and useful criminality that the state seeks out because it can be used / manipulated / attenuated as a type of valve for, not transgression though maybe in part it is the transgression that refers back to the law / needs the law (always transgression does, this is its rule, its fact), but i guess it isn't a valve, it is useful because the state can gain benefit from it, capital disciplinary, as in, in this alternate hierarchy, there is a chain of command and if they have access to the head, they have a point from which to operate, just as well, with the head underneath them, they have a particularly anxious individual in their pocket, as he always must prove to others what he is and remain useful to them to no receive infraction, as always as they are on top, and are aware, though pretend to not be (and by pretending to not be, they can wrangle more 'trouble' in whatever aftermath appears by what they turn blind eyes to (often this can be used to impose racist desires upon others)), they remain in control, it is another valve for control i suppose.

but yes, complicated and odd films, or complex if you look, or think in these ways but in truth they're very obvious and if one wants to see these ideas in action, in an approachable way, i think honestly they are incredible primers for this sort of reading. or perhaps mid-points or capstones, they demonstrate it to you, give you a sense of it, by illustrating this reality, the potential for some way out, as begged for in road, appears perhaps. in scum, certainly, there is a scene of collective action, and it made me tear up. how strange it is that his films work like that.

okay...what else. i did some writing today, a good idea came to me, so i did it... that feels good, and i finished that song, for that contest, of course no winner but here it is:

guitars are a little shaky, um, that's okay, my voice too since i'm not screaming it's been a while since i've done delivery like this. very fun though, i liked doing the bit of writing for the lyrics when i did this last night, iterating very quickly on the ideas i was having, that felt good, like learning how to run. it always does when i work like this.

this week's theme was sex songs, so this is a sex song basically. not really a happy one but, oh well, who cares.

okay now i;m watching some stupid video about slop... what ever... i just need to sleep,

so,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

Hi em :) I have been binge reading your tfota analyses and they are all so well articulated and feel so spot on, even when I barely noticed most of the clues and what they potentially meant on my own. I feel like I was completely absorbed in the story and the characters but then I read your analyses that flesh the story out in such a real and epic way! Do you have any advice on how I can start reading more critically and see more things that aren't explicitly stated like you do?

hiya nonnie! oh, this makes me so happy to hear 🥺🥺❤️❤️ i'm so glad you've enjoyed my analysis posts!! there's so much specific advice that i could give you, but i'll start with the general stuff and if you have questions, feel free to follow up.

i would say, first and foremost, the number one rule of critical reading is that you must leave all of your earthly notions and morals at the door.

this is something i wish they would teach in schools. it's great to immerse yourself in a story, to have reactions to it. in fact, i would argue it wouldn't be good art if it didn't evoke a reaction. but your thoughts after the reaction, are what determine a critical reader from a passive one.

for example, when Taryn betrays Jude and doesn't tell her she's been seeing Locke, and Jude figures this out at the coronation ball, what is your reaction? if it's "GASP! that bitch!" followed by "i hate her now and forever because she betrayed her sister and what kind of a person would do that? only a terrible one!" you are a passive reader. if it's "GASP! that bitch!" followed by "omg but why???" you're on the right track to becoming a critical reader.

critical reading of a fictional story is impossible to do when you let real life and personal values seep into the work to muddle your comprehension. bringing morals into fiction ruins the art of it.

are you bored by the classical western literature canon? this is why. because centuries ago, moral stories were the only ones allowed to be told. aren't you so glad we are no longer subject to such crude chains?

second, my biggest piece of advice is to read every word on the page.

none of this "speed reading", skimming, scanning, "glance at the line and comprehend it" stuff. i understand some of you are quite good at that. i have never been afforded that luxury. if i do not see, hear, and listen to every word in my head as i read it, i comprehend next to nothing. and in fact, studies have proven reading comprehension and absorption deteriorate the faster you read. it's faster, yes. it gets the job done. you'll understand the basic concepts (unless you're me lol). but it won't help you understand more.

understanding is time-consuming. critical reading is time-consuming.

also, if you're only going to read the book once, i would advise against binge reading the whole thing in one sitting, as tempting as it might be. critical reading is a kind of meditation. if you're trying to understand something, the answer isn't going to be wrung out of the book by its spine. and the author is certainly not obliged to hand it over to you on a silver platter.

critical reading means giving yourself time to process the events. giving yourself time to remember what happened. so unless you're definitely planning on rereading the book, may i suggest spreading the book out over the course of say, two or three days? you don't have to do this with every book. just the ones you like.

and finally, the question is always "why?" and the answer always comes from a place of compassion. or at the very least, inquisitiveness.

your mind is capable of making hundreds of connections in the span of a breath. if you set your sights on understanding why something happens or why a character behaves a certain way, you'll more easily be able to set aside your own values and emotions regarding a specific event or character, because it puts you in charge of finding the answer instead of the author/text/character who may or may not give you what you want word-for-word. and to be quite honest with you, that is true immersion.

curiosity is your most formidable weapon of intellect. use it.

–Em 🖤🗡

theories & analysis masterlist

[comicaurora]

Waaaaiiit you grew up an undiagnosed neurodivergent? I feel like I should have a tom of questions because I've recently begun to wonder if I'm neurodivergent too, but I can't articulate my questions at all. So I guess what I'm asking is, what was that like? How were you diagnosed? What's the story behind that? Are you comfortable sharing your experiences with growing up "undiagnosed neurodivergent?"

Big, big caveat that I have not been diagnosed with anything. Smaller caveat that it's looking about 98% likely that I'm very ADHD, which would certainly help explain

"she's very bright, if she would just focus more in class and be less disruptive she'd be perfect" on every single report card I ever got

I'm listening, I promise, I'm just not looking at you, and if you make me look at you I won't be able to keep listening

if I cannot doodle in class I will Die

did I miss the day where they passed out a handbook of social rules

nah coffee doesn't wake me up or disrupt my sleep schedule at all, if anything it makes it easier for me to focus, guess I'm just weird that way

I've finally finished the thing I was working on and I just realized I've been sitting cross-legged for six hours without moving, I'm hungry, everything hurts and I really need to pee

why do I feel so weird and bad AH yes I have forgotten to eat

didn't I make tea sometime in the last four hours

hey wanna hear me talk about the media that's been consuming my every waking thought yea you do here goes

there's a car a block and a half away whose brakes are squeaking so I didn't hear anything you just said

I tried doing the assignment you asked for but it was so boring I wanted to melt so I did this cooler thing instead can I still get a good grade

I already know how to play this music, this is boring, I'm going to play it twice as fast so I'll be done quicker and wait for the rest of the band to catch up, because that is how music works

"oh yea that person hated you for years for some reason, they talked about it all the time, you really didn't know?" no but thanks for letting me know I guess

what do you mean I have to put both my feet on the floor when I sit in a chair, do you want me to die

hey wanna hear some cool space facts yea you do here goes

I'm ten years old in a class of less than twenty people and I don't understand why a solid dozen of those people won't stop making fun of everything I do and say but I've at least figured out I have no way to make them stop so I'm going to try leaning into being proud of being weird even though I'm not really proud I just feel dumb and confused and alone but I can at least pretend I have some control over this situation because I'm receiving zero support because the school administration doesn't know how to address bullying that doesn't involve physical violence and I can't work up the nerve to even be angry at most of these guys even though anger would make things so much easier to emotionally handle because when they're not making fun of me they're friendly and fun to be around and that's really all I want from them and I don't want to push them away when they're being friendly to me because then they might start just being terrible and I'll be even more isolated and I don't even realize I'm scraping along emotional rock bottom for years until

I'm fourteen years old in a new school where I don't know anybody but nobody thinks of me as the designated bullying magnet and people actually act like they like me and think I'm new and interesting and fun to talk to and invite me into friend groups and social gatherings and the things that made me weird and hurt before are what's making me interesting and fun here and I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop but it never does so

I'm seventeen years old at a high school class retreat and I'm clumsily trying to explain to the rest of my grade how much they've done for me just by being kind and I had a plan for what I wanted to say but the minute I got up on the podium it all turned into a blur and I still have no idea what I actually said to them but I hope they got the message

I'm eighteen years old with a close-knit friend group I still can't quite believe is real and I don't think I'll ever be able to explain to them how much they've done for me and I'm really worried we're going to splinter when we split up for college but we don't because sometimes people really do care about each other

I construct a youtube channel specifically designed to let me infodump all my directionless media enthusiasm into carefully-crafted serotonin machines so I can stop boring my friends to tears with them and start inflicting the infodumps on willing audiences that actually seek them out

I very gradually start processing that the fact that my life kinda sucked for several years had nothing to do with my worth as a human being and everything to do with the fact that I was stuck in a bad situation with a lot of other unhappy people, and that things being good now isn't some temporary fluke doomed to fail

I'm twenty years old and I see someone online mention "rejection sensitive dysphoria" for the first time and a whole lot of things about me start making more sense

Everything gets better and I'm happy, well-rested, and not alone

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

(pt 1) i really enjoy all your atla analyses & you've done a great job breaking down the usual arguments re how eip shows that kataang shouldn't have happened. i'm curious about your take on one specific argument that i just saw today, in an analysis of the show by a zker that was otherwise quite good and respectful (i know you've already talked about eip a lot, so no problem if you don't feel like rehashing). the premise: aang didn't just pressure katara in eip, he threatened her.

(pt 2) they point to when katara joins aang & asks if he’s alright: “aang: no, i’m not! i hate this play! katara: i know it’s upsetting, but it sounds like you’re overreacting. aang: overreacting? if i hadn’t blocked my chakra, i’d probably be in the avatar state right now!” the suggestion is he’s threatening her when he says ‘i’d probably be in the avatar state right now’ to describe his anger. i think this take exaggerates and oversimplifies it, but interested in your thoughts on it.

Hello my friend!! It is true I am Old inside and don’t like rehashing dhdlksjslks BUT your comments on my posts are always incredibly kind and insightful so I am more than willing to do a bit of rehashing for you 🥰 Besides! I’ve seen this general take before a few times and it’s always irked me for the exact reason you point out - it simultaneously exaggerates and oversimplifies the situation (and honestly that’s an impressive duality since it’s seemingly contradictory, so hats off to them lmaooo) - and now is as good a time as any to address it. So, for starters, let’s go ahead and get the excerpt they love to focus on so much:

Cut to Aang standing alone on a balcony. Katara enters and walks up to him.

Katara: Are you all right?

Aang: [Angered.] No, I’m not! I hate this play! [Yanks his hat off and throws it on the ground.]

Katara: I know it’s upsetting, but it sounds like you’re overreacting.

Aang: Overreacting? If I hadn’t blocked my chakra, I’d probably be in the Avatar State right now!

Here’s the thing about so-called analyses of this excerpt: in a manner extremely convenient to the poster, they never seek to contextualize this moment. (I mean, to do so would deplatform their entire “argument” - perhaps that’s why they avoid performing a full analysis?) So let’s avoid that pitfall from the start.

Firstly, below are some links to related posts; I’m going to do my best to summarize the most relevant parts, but for anyone who desires greater detail, I gotchu 😤

This post explains why EIP (the play, lol) is imperialist propaganda and is intended to belittle the entire Gaang.

This post explains how Aang never acted “entitled” to Katara’s affections, particularly in regard to EIP.

This post breaks down the infamous EIP kiss like Snopes Fact Checker, covering common misconceptions, important perspectives to consider, etc.

Alright. With that out the way, it’s time for some context.

Aang and Katara have this conversation on the balcony after watching 95% of “The Boy in the Iceberg,” a play chock-full of Fire Nation propaganda that demeans the entire Gaang in order to prop up the Fire Nation as superior (hence why the play ends with Ozai’s victory). Here is my general breakdown of Aang and Katara’s treatment in particular from a previous post:

- katara, an indigenous woman, is highly sexualized and portrayed as overly dramatic and tearful, because the fire nation objectifies women not of their own people and views them as less intelligent and less emotionally stable

- aang, the avatar, the sole survivor of the fire nation’s genocide of the air nomads who is incredibly in-touch with his spirituality and femininity, is portrayed as an overly-airy and immature woman. the fire nation portrays him with a female actor to demean him (like, that’s classic imperialistic propagandist tactics) and furthermore writing his character as a childish airhead reinforces the fire nation sentiment that the air nomads were weak, foolish people who did not deserve to exist in their world

In other words, these kids have just watched almost an entire play that preys upon their insecurities and depicts them using racist and sexist stereotypes about their respective nations. It is completely understandable that tensions might run a little high and that their interactions would not be as balanced as usual (Katara and Aang have a great track record of communicating well with each other, as it happens!).

So we have to keep that in mind when examining the aforementioned excerpt. But there are other factors to consider, too! Namely: they are kids. Children. Teens. Aang is 12, Katara is 14.

If we want to be scientific, a person’s brain doesn’t finish developing until they are 25, lmao, and the preteen/teen years are when the prefrontal cortex that controls “rationality,” “judgement,” “forethought,” etc. is still developing. This doesn’t mean Aang and Katara are irrational and make poor decisions 24/7 (obviously not), but it does mean that in an intense, highly emotional situation, like after watching a play that intentionally demeans them and depicts them as inferior, they are more likely to overreact, more likely to be emotional, and more likely to make mistakes. Like, I’m serious, lol. “Teens process information with the amygdala.” That’s part of the brain that helps control emotions! It’s why teens sometimes struggle to articulate what we’re thinking, especially in situations that require instinct/impulse and quick decisions, because we’re really feeling whenever we make those choices. Acting more on emotion. Our brains simply haven’t finished developing the decision-making parts, lmao.

In sum: Aang and Katara are both kids, not adults, and should be interpreted as such. This doesn’t negate their intelligence, because they are both incredibly smart and Aang is arguably the wisest of the Gaang, but they are human. Young humans. They have emotions, and we should not be so cruel as to assume they’d never act on them.

So taking that all together, we can now acknowledge the high stress Aang and Katara are under, understand why they might be upset (*cough* imperialist propaganda is hurtful *cough*), and examine how their youth might play into their emotional reactions. And funny thing - all analyses that come to the conclusion of Aang “threatening” Katara here do not usually bother with this context. I can’t imagine why!

And you know what, let’s add one more piece of context: Sokka states that Aang left the theater “like, ten minutes ago,” which is what cues Katara to go look for him on the balcony. The reason I mention this line is because to me, it suggests Aang knew he was more worked up than usual! He chose to separate himself from his friends so he could process his frustration! He did not take his anger at the play out on them; instead, he purposefully took time and space to be alone.

With that in mind, I don’t understand at all how Aang’s Avatar state quote could be interpreted as a threat? Canonly, Aang is someone who was aware enough of his frustration to separate himself from the others - yet the logical next step is him threatening Katara as a result? He knew his intense emotions were because of the play (which he says himself), so the logical conclusion is that he then pinned the fault on Katara? What?? Sorry, that interpretation has no textual basis, lmao. But I digress!

Aang tells Katara, “If I hadn’t blocked my chakra, I’d probably be in the Avatar State right now!” As you said, this is the line people point to in an attempt to justify their (baseless) conclusion that Aang is “threatening” Katara. So let’s bring in the two key pieces of context: imperialist propaganda and age. Given that Aang is 12, and given that Aang has just watched almost a full play that demeans him and everything his people stood for (and let’s not forget it also mocks his and Katara’s love for each other)…

His reaction is understandable. An exaggeration and needlessly dramatic, but understandable. He feels vulnerable and insecure and Aang is human. He is human and flawed and he overreacts here and I love that A:TLA shows how even our heroes, even people who are truly good at heart and in soul, can get overly upset (especially given the aforementioned circumstances!). Would Aang actually be in the Avatar state at that moment, had it been possible? Of course not! He’s young and he’s hurt and as such he says something dramatic to convey his anxieties and frustrations. The line is not meant to be taken literally, and seeing people do so despite all the factors that should be taken into consideration when analyzing it… Cue a long, tired sigh from me and so many other A:TLA fans.

And to be honest? I cannot fathom how people watch this episode and come to the conclusion that Aang is “threatening” Katara. To me, this episode - besides being a recap episode - is one that humanizes our cast even further. Aang snaps at Katara, kisses her when he shouldn’t (which the story appropriately treats as wrong). Katara pushes down her true feelings and retreats into herself, afraid to start a relationship with the boy she loves because she’s already lost him once before and can’t bear to do so again. Zuko further confronts the hurt he’s enacted upon others, especially upon Iroh. Toph practices being vulnerable and accepting vulnerability from others by conversing with Zuko. Sokka witnesses how others have erased his contributions and labelled him as nothing more than the token nonbender in the group. Even Suki learns that she is not the only person who holds a place in Sokka’s heart and that she can never replace what he has lost.

To watch this episode where our heroes must come to terms with how the Fire Nation deems them inherently inferior, with how they have more fights to overcome in the future with the Fire Nation than a single war, and to come to the conclusion that… that what, Aang is abusive? A monster? Irredeemable? That he would threaten his best friend, someone he loves in every way?

Wow. That says more than enough about the viewer, doesn’t it?

[lukah-o]

atla rant

bare with me through this little rant as i try my best to explain myself lol. as you can see from my other posts, i'm not the best when it comes to articulating my thoughts. several years of school has done nothing for me unfortunately.

but first, i would like to get this out of the way, i still do believe atla is one of the few good western animated series especially at story-telling. and yes, i understand that this is a "kids' show" but i think it would be beneficial for everyone if they went into more depth on the consequences and process (?) of colonization. she-ra is also a show that fails horribly (in the end) to do the same as well. anyhow...

i rewatched atla a couple of months ago and i was left pondering and angsty over its entirety. i'm so not sorry. i just have to get this off of my conscience. i do not like uncle iroh one bit and i hate how they wrote his character. i hate how they made it as tho he's such a gentle and tea-loving old man.

he's literally a war criminal omfg!!!!! and then he had the gall to be shocked that his son was killed...while he was trying to colonize and destroy a group of people's culture/land/lives. like duh after going from tribe to tribe, pillaging and killing people, that everything would turn out in your favor?!!? i- just wow...and i'm still in shock at this. and the fact that he's able to, in the end, live peacefully and comfortably...wtf?!!! idc about him feeling guilty. he, as well as the other fire war-criminals should face some type of harsh consequences.

and yes i have a soft spot (somewhere) for zuko, but there was rarely ever a scene (especially in the beginning) where i wasn't rolling my eyes in annoyance. i mean...he was such a brat and it seemed as though he lacked any critical thinking or a backbone for gods sake. and he also should've faced some consequences in the end. i mean, he might not have done it as long but he also went around terrorizing innocent people, too.

now...onto my next victim...aang

now don't get me wrong i love the guy and i love him like i adore kutaang...and that's a lot (zutara slander is more than welcomed). i love how they've written him as a pacifist. it's so in line of what i imagined an air-bender would be. i love his childlike nature and just all of him. he's so adorable and idk...his character kinda resonates with you once you think about it. however, it was just that...him being a pacifist was too much and it interfered with his duties as the avatar. anyhow i truly don't have much to say for aang. especially for the fact that he's the last of his kind...that really sucked after letting that alone resonate.

now...for my last victim...just kidding. i've said my piece with the cast (for now), but i would like to give my appreciation to the best of the best *ahem, drum roll please* toph and hama. now i'm sure you don't need yet another introduction to toph and why she's perfect...but HAMA on the other end...she deserves so much more!!!! she was robbed by the gaang themselves. i'm angry at it as i'm writing this. the fact SHE of all people and i mean even out of all of the actual WAR CRIMINALS was IMPRISONED!!!!! I'm still upset to this very day. i mean...yeah she had a few screws loose but she wasn't wrong!!! and she had every reason to do what she's done. that simple fact is why i can't ever hold atla to the same light i originally did.

it's just crazy how your childhood shows had so much wrong with them once you view them later in life...

[bettsfic]

Hi Betts! I was wondering if you had any advice on writing dialogue that's both in character and also get across the necessary points of the conversation. I feel like a lot of the time I'm either letting my characters wander off on tangents or they sound like robots expositing or saying weird quips to get plot points across

dialogue is certainly tough. one time i asked one of my favorite writers why none of his novels have any dialogue (every time a character speaks it’s embedded in the narration), and he, a man who can articulate all of his craft choices using fancy words i have to look up every time i’m done talking to him, said simply that dialogue made him feel awkward. which goes to show that everyone struggles with it at least a little.

here are my quick tips for good dialogue:

pare it down by (at least) half

if a character says 8 words, cut 4 of them. if a character says 100 words, get it down to 10. with dialogue, less is always more. sometimes you have to over-write in order to find out what a conversation is really doing. and once you figure it out, get it down to almost nothing. 

i hate to break out the whole “writing is re-writing” but you have to get it wrong in order to get it right. and when it comes to dialogue, sometimes you need to write 200 lines to drill it down to the handful that matter. 

every interaction is a transaction

which is to say, every character wants something out of an interaction. as the writer, it’s your job to figure out who wants what and how they’re going to get it. ask yourself: what is being transacted here?

let dialogue stand on its own

if you write the line, “get back here!” you do not then need “he shouted loudly.” you probably don’t even need “he shouted” because the exclamation point is doing all that work for you. 

your characters’ voice should be strong and distinct enough that you can cut almost all clarifying dialogue tags unless 1) the way they are saying something changes the meaning of what they are saying (ex: “i want to die,” he said cheerily), or 2) you need to straight-up state who is doing the talking. 

utilize concise punctuation

if you listen to the way people actually talk, they pause and start and stop and use fragments. maybe you don’t need to do the “i-i-i-” stammer (unless your character has a stutter?) but you could do something like, “i, i just wanted to tell you, i have feelings for you.” or, “look, i just. i don’t know. i have feelings for you, okay.” see how the commas and periods are placed at natural pauses rather than clunky punctuation like ellipses and em-dashes*? 

*i do use a lot of em-dashes in dialogue, but usually when someone hard-stops mid-sentence or is interrupted. note also that if you have an interruption, you usually need to go two or so words beyond where you want them to be interrupted.

(ps problematic opinion but i love the word “like.” i use “like” all the time, both in speaking and in dialogue. some people rely on “like” to get their point across. if it’s right for the character, it’s right for the dialogue.)

pay attention to cadence and patterns

people speak in rhythms determined by things like their upbringing, the shape of their mouths, their given audience. we usually say things in short bursts. almost no one monologues, and when they do, it’s mostly only to tell a story. even the most verbose of us only speak a handful of words at a time. 

i used to date a guy who had this bizarre rhythm to everything he said. it was like, “xyz, whatever.” three quick things in a row, followed by “whatever.” that was the first time i really noticed cadence.

my grandma does this thing where everything she says sounds like she’s spilling the tea. she repeats phrases to emphasize all her points. “they said this should all be done by april, and i say it’s not realistic. it’s not realistic!” or “milk was two-forty-nine, can you believe it? two-forty-nine!”

watch your go-to bodily markers

he bit his lip. he bit his cheek. he licked his lips. he fidgeted. he ran his hand down his face. he pinched the bridge of his nose. he scratched the back of his neck. or god forbid, he SMIRKED (if i never read the word “smirk” again it would be too fucking soon). 

you may need to write these out for your own sake; we write as the process of thought, so sometimes we reach for these descriptions while we are thinking about what we need the character to say. later, almost all of them can be cut. the ones that can’t be cut are the ones that are not in line with what a character is saying and therefore add additional meaning or complexity to the dialogue. 

if your character is nervously rambling, for example, we do not then need 17 physical descriptions of the nervousness. however, if your character is pretending to be nervous, then we might need a hint or two that they’re putting on some kind of performance, and what they’re saying is not matching up with their body language.

read out loud

sorry to parrot hemingway right now but this is the realest real. if you read your dialogue out loud and you cringe to yourself and think, no one would ever say this? that’s a good sign you need to keep tweaking it until it sounds more natural.

of course, to caveat all of this, you are not obligated to make dialogue realistic. you always get to choose the aesthetic aims and style of your work. if you want your story to sound like an aaron sorkin screenplay, then that’s your vision and you should go for it. all writing is valid and important, and all interests are valid and important. 

i hope this helps! thanks for the great question.

ko-fi | commissions open | writing advice tag

[struwwelzeter]

I'm pretty sure tumblr ate my ask :))) ofc I don't remember what I said after that, but it was also something about Till's dress looking like it belongs in a fairytale. Unrelated to that: thoughts on the new making of. I want a novella. Enjoy your writing XD

Oh it does, doesn’t it? I am still not a 100% certain that that is where it came from. But yeah.

Anyway, making of. I might have to come back to you on that on a later point because I’m still not over it enough to be articulate, but here are a few things from the part of me that is not just lizard brain:

1. The scale?! What the fuck. I don’t wanna know what building that ship set alone would cost. I’ll be honest, I am a bit worried about how the covid crisis is gonna impact them financially because they are still registered as a GbR which means a version of company where the individuals still are held responsible for any financing. Maybe the have somethng else set up for touring etc, and I know it sounds silly because they’re millionaires and a huge band etc, but I don’t want them to lose what they build in almost 30 years and idk. This set me at ease a bit because if they can pour that stuff into the first album in 10 years they are probably alot better off than I can imagine as a permanently broke person. Good for them!

2. I love that the focus is set on the people making it, not them. They have done that before of course, letting the directors speak, letting the designers speak, letting the photographer speak. I know we all want them to talk to us, but honestly, as someone who works in exactly that industry you don’t know what that means. It makes me feel so appreciated and I obviously wasn’t even involved. You know, many stars will say something like «we designed it», or «we build the set», and I go «no, you didn’t. You had an idea maybe, and then you had a team of talented, passionate and hard working people, you most likely underpaied to read your mind and give shape to your vision» because that is how this industry works 95% of all times. They don’t do that. They openly say «we have big as fuck visions and we can’t do it alone.» When Richard talked about the A million degrees, he even mentioned the graphic designer and their influence on finding the title somewehre. Thank you. We really needed to hear that. We’re part of the process, not just pixel pushers. Love that.

3. Speaking of graphic design, Rocket and Wink, the studio that designed the untitled packaing, and their Tour promo, just got awarded an high profile Art Directors Award for the Tour stuff. They’re one of the best and most creative studios in germany, and one of the few I would really, really love to work for just based on wha they do. They did brilliant with the untitled. When I first saw the photos in the booklet I admired how extremely right it seemed for them in that understated way. If you had asked me what kind of photoshoot I expected for them before the release of the album, I would have said something like the Titanic stuff: Over the top scale, lots of retouching, big bigger biggest. But the went with a matchstick, clean white and a minimalist photoshoot in the end. You light a tiny little thing and it becomes a stadium full of flames. That’s Rammstein. They don’t need to prove anything to anyone anymore, and by that they prove so much more. It was brilliant. Every single one of the people involved in this was brilliant, and I just love that so, so much.