#if you want to write a fanfic do it yourself

[addledmongoose]

What is the point of using a cheat tool to write a fanfic story? If you don't want to do the labor, you literally don't have to. No one is requiring you to write fanfiction. The whole point is to write the story in your head, not someone else's.

And if you don't want to do it because it's hard, well, guess what? It'll never, ever get easier if you don't do the work yourself.

just saw a fanfic on ao3 have a dedication for chatgpt... that section is meant for your horny perverted mutual who proofread your work, you violated sacred law and you will be torn apart and laid bare btw

[em-ontv]

Hi I’m the anon who sent you the idea for “sing a song for me” and it’s literally so perfect I can’t wait to read the second part. I might cry a little I’m not even lying this was a dream I had and I was like huh wow that would make a cool fanfic but I can’t write at all. And you made it even better than I could’ve imagined thank you so much 🥰

Sing a song for me. (2/2)

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!fem!reader

Warnings: injuries/scars, comfort/intimacy (non-explicit), language, no use of y/n, Butcher being Butcher, probably ooc Ben (I made him a bit too gentle, we don't need more trauma), not proof-read

A/n: hello, anon! I'm so glad you liked part 1, this is the long due part 2 I promised. Hope you like it <3 sorry for taking so long to write this :'(

Read part 1 here

Word count: 2.4k

The inside of the van was cramped and smelled faintly of oil and sweat. The seats were worn, the leather cracked from use. The night outside was dense, you saw just enough stars to remind yourself that while you were locked away, there was a whole other world out there beyond your cell.

You sat beside Ben, who kept casting glances your way as if he was afraid you'd shatter. But you couldn't blame him... you must have looked terrible. The bruises, the exhaustion, the haunted look in your eyes. You didn't even bother to look at yourself in the reflection of the window on your way into the van. It felt like too much—like you couldn't handle what Vought had done to you. Not yet.

The ride was mostly silent until Butcher finally spoke.

"Alright, love, here's the deal." he said, breaking the silence. His eyes looked over you, his expression calculating. "We need to know now. Are you in, or do we drop you somewhere nice and safe to rot? We're taking down Homelander. It's not a bloody game."

Hughie shifted uncomfortably, his mouth opening like he wanted to say something, but he stayed silent. You stared back at Butcher, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to form words, but your head was spinning.

You knew what he was asking, but it felt too much to make that decision right now. You just wanted to rest—a bed, a moment to breathe without fear clawing at your throat.

"Alright, back the fuck off." Ben's voice snapped, breaking through the haze of your thoughts. The tension in the van spiked, and for a second, it looked like he was ready to lunge across the seat at Butcher and knock all of his teeth out. "Can't you see she's been through enough? She doesn't need your bullshit right now."

Butcher's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he met Ben's glare. "We don't have time for second-guessing, mate. It's a very simple question."

Butcher turned his gaze back to you. "You can help us take down Homelander, the bastard who’s got half the world wrapped around his fuckin' finger, or we can take you back home. But no guarantees, yeah? Vought knows about you. They’ll come for you. Eventually."

You swallowed hard, rubbing a hand over your throat, your mind spinning. Home? That word didn't even feel real. Could that place—that cell—even be worthy of being called something like home?

But then again, if you didn't help, could you ever be safe again? For once in a very long time, the choice was yours, but both paths seemed like a death end.

"She needs time." Ben said, his jaw tensing, quietly observing you as if he knew what you were thinking. The hand that he rested on your back made you flinch slightly, causing him to retract it, his fingers curling into a fist.

Your gaze faltered, your eyes dropping to the ground before you managed to look back at Butcher.

A sharp huff escaped Butcher, his patience worn out. “Time's not a luxury we've got. This ain't a charity." He turned toward you, his tone biting. "Again, you can go back to your cozy little cell, I suppose. Vought’ll just find a new use for you.”

"For fuck's sake, she just got out of an shithole." Ben snapped, his voice simmering with anger. "Give her some fuckin' time."

For a moment, Butcher looked like he might argue with some witty comeback, but after a beat, he exhaled sharply, turning his attention back to the road. "Fine. But time's ticking."

The rest of the drive was quiet. You leaned back in your seat, your eyelids heavy, letting your eyes close for just a moment, the noise faded into the background as you let exhaustion win over.

––––

When you reached the destination, Ben helped you out of the van, his movements cautious, his hand warm and solid on your lower back as he guided you inside. The "safe house" was as secure as it was miserable, but right now, that didn't matter. It was shelter, and it was enough.

The others dispersed, Butcher grumbling quietly under his breath as he stalked off to another room, Frenchie and Kimiko greeted you with a wave before leaving too.

Ben, though, lingered by your side, his hand hovering near yours, gently brushing against it for a second, but he didn't dare to reach for you.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice rough but oddly gentle, his gaze never leaving your face. It wasn't something you expected to hear from him—after seeing his quite violent display in the lab, but here he was, looking at you with more concern than anyone else ever had.

You nodded, a small smile curling on your lips, swallowing thickly. "I'm... yeah. Just... tired," you were almost embarrassed by how weak you sounded, but he didn't judge, a faint understanding in his expression.

Hours passed in a tired blur. You had settled into a room, a worn-out bed, but it was better than nothing. Everyone retreated to their own corners of the place for what little rest they could find. You sank into the mattress, your eyes drifting shut almost instantly.

––––

It was sometime past midnight when Ben jolted awake, a cold sweat clinging to his skin, running a shaky hand over his face. The room was pitch dark, save for the faint glow of moonlight outside filtering through the window. He sat up, his heart pounding, the remnants of the dream clinging to him.

Images flashed through his mind—memories of Vought, of his own time in their hands, of the time when he was betrayed, taken away, being tested on, and then frozen for decades. His breathing was ragged, the familiar surge of anger clawing its way to the surface, but something else broke through.

His thoughts drifted to you.

Without really thinking, he got up, slipping out of his room and down the hallway, to the room where you slept. His steps were slow, cautious, not wanting to disturb you.

He hesitated at the doorway to your room, his breath catching when he saw you lying there, on the narrow, uncomfortable bed.

In the dim light, your features were softened, the lines of worry and pain absent. You looked peaceful, your breathing slow and steady, and it eased something in him, his shoulders sagging as the tension slipped away.

Ben took a step into the room, but the floor creaked under his weight, and your eyes snapped open, sitting up on the bed, startled.

"...m'sorry," he whispered, his voice soft but hoarse, like something was bothering him. "Didn’t mean to wake you."

"It’s okay," you murmured, your breathing becoming steady. Your eyes flickered over his face, the lingering pain in his expression catching you off-guard.

You knew that something was wrong, you'd seen that look before, in patients who had been through a lot, in people who had lost themselves along the way.

He hesitated, glancing away, as if embarrassed by his own vulnerability. He looked like he might turn and go back to his own room—but his uneven breathing made him pause. The sight of you was comforting, and that kind look in your eyes made him move closer instead of backing away.

He took a few careful steps closer, almost unsure. "Just wanted to… make sure you were alright," he said, his voice low.

You nodded, your heart still pounding, but not from fear this time, it was something warm. "I’m okay. Just… hard to sleep sometimes."

He nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. He sank down to one knee, then both, kneeling beside your bed, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him and his slow breaths. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence heavy but comforting.

Without thinking, you lifted your hand, resting it gently against the side of his head, your thumb brushing over his temple. His eyes widened, a brief moment of shock crossing his face.

"What are you—?" his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the touch almost made him wince in pain from how gentle it was. It was like your fingers brushed against some soft spot inside of him, he almost melted.

"It's okay... trust me," you started, trying to reassure him. His eyes met yours, the initial tension easing. He didn't pull away, but instead leaned into your touch in a quiet surrender. "My powers, they'll help," you added softly.

At your voice, his eyes fluttered shut, his expression softening as he exhaled a long, shaky breath. The walls he had built around himself crumbled bit by bit the more he felt your touch.

You hesitated, then began to hum—a soft, gentle melody, barely audible but enough to fill the silence. It felt strange, using your powers willingly again, but different this time... it brought you back to the bittersweet memories of your time before Vought. The tune was simple, soothing, a song you’d sung so many times before. Not destructive, but safe, warm.

As the notes drifted through the air, you felt Ben’s body relax under your touch. His breathing slowed, each exhale deeper, more even, and his hand reached up, covering yours as he pressed your palm closer to his face, silently grounding himself in the warmth of it.

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, a gentle touch, and he felt something he thought he lost... peace. A kind of comfort that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Or something that he thought he'd given up for good, back in the old days, or maybe he'd never had it to begin with.

When your humming finally faded, he stayed there, his hand still covering yours, his eyes still closed. For a second, you thought he might have fallen asleep, but then he spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

"I don’t deserve this," he murmured, his tone laced with a sadness that made your heart ache. "You don't understand what I've... the things that I did."

You shook your head, your hand instinctively wanting to fall from the side of his face but he only held you closer with a conflict—whether he wanted to push you away or pull you into his arms and not let go.

"All I know is that I would've been stuck in that lab if it weren't for you," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "A favor for a favor. I think that's fair."

"Well, it wasn't entirely my choice to break you out," he muttered, that blunt tone of his slipping through, as if it was his last attempt to pull away before sinking too deep.

A soft scoff escaped your lips. "Whatever it was, at least I'm not stuck there anymore."

Slowly, you pulled him up onto the bed beside you, and he let you, his movements careful like he was afraid he might shatter the moment. You shifted, settling so that you were facing him, the blanket fell from your shoulders to pool around your waist, leaving the bruises and scars on your arms exposed under the dim light.

Ben’s gaze traveled over each mark, each scar, but there was no horror in his expression, no pity—only reverence. He reached out, his fingers brushing over a bruise on your shoulder, gentle and careful, as if touching something precious.

"They did this to you," he murmured, a hardness in his voice. It wasn't a question, but a statement. He knew too well.

You nodded, swallowing thickly. "They're fading." you said, looking away for a moment, as if you didn't want to acknowledge the scars.

Without a word, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to the bruise on your shoulder, a feather-light kiss that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Ben...?" you asked hesitantly. The small tremble in your voice made him stop, a flash of worry crossed his face, his teeth biting at his lower lip. He thought he might have overstepped.

"I'm... sorry," he whispered, pulling back. He feared that he had ruined whatever small trust that had begun to form between you.

But your fingers threaded through his hair, hand pressing to the back of his head to bring him closer again. "Stop apologizing," you breathed softly.

His eyes met yours and a small smile threatened to curl up on his lips, a mutual understanding settled between the two of you before his head dipped down to the crook of your neck. His lips brushed against your skin, kissing an old scar, then he kissed another, and another, his mouth trailing over each scar, each bruise, as if he was trying to erase the pain they held. It felt like an apology, like he was mending you.

His touch was careful, almost reverent, and you felt the warmth of each kiss seep into your skin, soothing the ache that lay beneath. You closed your eyes, letting the gentleness of his touch wash over you.

You felt your chest restricting, your breath becoming shallow, you couldn't remember the last time you'd been so taken care of. It was overwhelming, but you didn't want him to stop.

Ben’s hands were rough, calloused from years of fighting, but the way he touched you was anything but. He cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing away the tears that had slipped down your cheek without you even noticing. Then he closed the distance, pressing his lips to your forehead, a kiss so soft, so full of warmth that it made your chest warm and ache at the same time.

"You're safe," he whispered. "You're still here, and I'm with you." It wasn't much, but it was the most reassurance anyone could get out of him.

You leaned into him, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, and he sighed, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, his gaze soft and unguarded in a way you hadn't seen before.

Slowly, he pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you as you settled your forehead against his chest, his heartbeat steady against your ear. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into his warmth. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe.

After a long silence, you spoke, your quiet voice breaking the quiet. "Hey... Ben?"

"Yeah?" he replied, his voice a murmur against your hair.

"I'll help you take down Homelander."

[moonperil6]

Shut up, doofus, and just kiss me already

A/N: For someone so chill, Jason is really fun to write fanfics about. (No I don't have a crush on him what are you talking about)

Pairing: Jason Grace x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Reader being possessed, mentions of knocking the bad boy supreme out.

Requested?: Nope!

Jason watched as you squirmed in your bonds, pure golden eyes darting around as the eidolon inside of you searched for an escape.

He felt his heart leap into his throat as you focused on him, narrowing your eyes to slits.

Then you gasped, the gold clearing from your now wide eyes as you sat up straight and stiff.

“J-jason?” Your voice was barely a rasp from all of the screaming and shouting at your friends to get away from you before the eidolon made you hurt them. 

When they didn’t back off, the eidolon stuck true to its word, evident by the scraps on Jason’s biceps, and the gash right below his jaw. Frank had had to carry Leo out -though unwillingly, he made sure everyone knew that- for the Latino was knocked out cold.

You winced at the memory, remembering how Jason had to hold back Percy from knocking you out.

“No one is hurting her,” he had stated firmly, though through gritted teeth as he held Percy back by the shoulders. “Not now. Not ever. Not under my watch. Eidolon or no.”

Your eyes had softened, just for a millisecond, but Annabeth had taken the opportunity, crashing the hilt of her dagger into your skull.

You had crumpled to the floor, darkness crowding your vision, eyes flickering back to normal.

“What did I just say?” Jason demanded, crouching in front of you, looking over your shoulder at Annabeth, who only shrugged. 

“It seemed like the best option,” Annabeth had tried to defend herself, though rather halfheartedly. 

You had reached out, gripping Jason’s hand. “Probably was the best option.” It was true, you did believe that knocking you out was the best thing anyone could do.

Then you had blacked out.

“Hey.” Jason’s voice was gentle and angelic, and you cursed yourself for thinking the latter. “It’s not your fault.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, your throat seized up and you felt yourself lose control of your body as the eidolon returned. “I don’t know what this halfblood sees in you,” you sneered, and you inwardly curled into a ball, not wanting to hear the rest of what the eidolon would make you say. “Because you’re right. It’s not her fault.” You watched as you narrowed your eyes. “You should have protected her better, and then maybe I wouldn’t be here,” you hissed.

Jason stumbled back like you’d struck him. You wanted to scream, ‘Don’t show your pain. It’ll only make it worse! Where did your poker face go?!’ 

But you couldn’t. You could only watch as the eidolon inside you chuckled, pleased that he got a reaction out of Jason. “You’ll never be a good enough hero for her. For anyone, actually. She’ll never look to you to protect her. Never trust you, nor give her faith. She’ll never love you.”

Jason opened his mouth, hurt etched clearly on his face, but just then, Piper burst into the room. She gave you a long, concerned look before turning to Jason. “Is she ready?” Your friend asked. 

“Yes.” Jason’s voice was heartbreaking to listen to. “Do it now please.”

Piper took a deep breath before starting. She looked you right in your golden eyes. “Eidolon, stop possessing this demigod.”

“N-never.” The once proud eidolon was falling to Piper’s charmspeak. 

With renewed confidence, she continued. “You’ll leave and never come back, never possess any other person on this ship, and most importantly, you’ll leave now.” 

There was so much force in her words, you felt the eidolon slip out of your mind almost immediately. Your eyes returned to their normal color and you groaned, shutting them almost completely. 

When you opened them back up fully, you found Jason kneeling in front of you, clutching your now untied hands. Without a second thought, you threw your arms around his neck and rested your chin on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, Jace,” you said, pulling away again.

“Don’t apologize,” he responded, glancing down briefly at your still interlocked hands. “If anyone should be apologizing it’s me. What the eidolon said- he was right-”

You didn’t let him finish, instead leaning up to put your lips on his. He took that as a shut up, doofus, and just kiss me already.

He gladly complied.

[dimmadoome]

Yall will do anything but actually take responsibility for what you've created. Fanon is literally that. Canon crested by fans. They're all headcanons created by you, yes. Literally you, the person reading this that has written fanfic and drawn comics and posted your essays. You are the people writing stories and sharing art and making tumblr posts. Each an every person on here, commenting on my post outraged that I like the collicteve works of yourself had had a hand in creating fanon just by existing in the fandom. You all speak with such derison about yourselves and its actually making me laugh.

You actually can find fanon from people of color. Many many different ways. From discord servers to tumblr to twitter and beyond. AO3 Is just an archive for writers. It is not the be all end all of fandom. But, while we are talking about AO3.

It is not a streaming service. It is not youtube. The works there are not paid for. They are made by you and me and a billion other people who only want to share their art. THEY ARE YOUR PEERS, NOT A CONGLOMERATE. This whole response makes it sound like you're all complaining about the fucking disney channel queerbaiting you again. If YOU want more Babs stories. Write them. You dont want racist tropes in your fanfiction? Well howdy do you've already proven you can both write and post to the internet just by responding to this post. Write. Create. Build. Just like the rest of us normal people did when we added onto the fandom. If you want Cass to be more present in stories, write those. Jesus christ yall. This is YOUR baby you're trying to throw out with the bathwater.

At the end of the day, you need to step back and realize that if someone is telling you they like your work and the community you built with your own bare hands. Maybe say, hell yeah. Im glad you like it, instead of acting like you're above your own hard damn work.

Also. As a side note. Im an indigenous trans person. I understand what it means to desperately want to see representation for me and to know that i will likely never be able to make it a reality in any canon works. I find that fanon is more likely to be written by people of color, disabled people and queer people than canon will ever be. Fandom is a bigger and more diverse collective than canon. Which makes me love it more. Because I can have my voice heard. Because you can have your voice heard.

Its new and its beautiful and its ever changing and its so, so much better than almost 100 years of writers having to sanitize themselves for the capitalist elite who need every batboy to look the same and cant let gay characters exist without making it tragic or retconning it every two seconds.

In the end all I can say is this

Fanon is beautiful.

Fanon has more for me than canon does. Likely, if you are not white, not straight, not cis or not able bodied, it also has more for you than canon ever will.

You all deserve to love your community too. If there are racists. Well fuck man, do what everyone else is doing by drowning them out with your own, obviously not problematic the sligtest, content. So go. Fix what youre complaing about. But realize that you are part of the problem. You are part of the collective you are angrily decrying and nothing you can say will change anything unless you put your hands to paper and actually start working for the changes you want to see.

Hot take but I prefer fanon Batfam to Canon batfam because at least fanon does its best to give each of the batfam very distinct personalities and looks.

I love living in a world where blue eyed black haired white boy doesn't describe half the group, ya know?

[tnbsecretsanta]

Welcome to the Advent Calendar 2024!

Didn't make it to Secret Santa due to lack of time? Don't worry! This year, there will be a complementary event called "Advent Calendar" where you can spread your love for the series without sticking to a schedule!

What is an Advent Calendar? Traditionally, an advent calendar is a special type of calendar that counts down the days until Christmas Day, starting from 1st December.

How do I participate? Simply create a Tumblr or Twitter post with the activity indicated for the day and use the tag #TnBAdvent24, and we'll reblog/retweet it!

Do I have to participate every day? No! The point of this side event is for you to spread your love for the series without the pressure of a schedule like in the Secret Santa! You can participate any day you want: one, two, ten, all of them! Your choice!

Can I participate in the side event if I joined the Secret Santa? Yes! This event is entirely free, so that you can participate at your leisure.

If I missed an activity from a previous day, can I still post it? Yes! Just use the tag we'll reblog/retweet it! We just suggest that you don't use an activity scheduled for a later date and wait until the indicated day to publish it.

Happy creating!

See below the cut for the text version of the activities indicated

1st - Start reading a Fanfic (emphasis on start, no need to finish it the same day)

2nd - Create a NEXT power

3rd - Which Proverb would make for a good episode title?

4th - Share your favorite piece of official art

5th - Post a WIP (This can be any work-in-progress related to T&B, a merch collection, a shrine, a cosplay, art, MMD video, ita bag, progress of your read-through of the manga, that stuff!)

6th - Share your Favorite Tiger & Bunny-related song (This means any song made for Tiger & Bunny specifically, including character songs and music used in the episodes and credits)

7th - Re-watch any episode of Tiger & Bunny (and then feel free to post a review of it)

8th - What do you want Tiger & Bunny to collab with next? (Collaboration in this context is a collab with another property, such as a company like Sanrio, a store chain like 7-11, restaurant/fast food chains, games, and similar)

9th - Make a fancast for a hypothetical Live Action Adaptation of Tiger & Bunny

10th - Share a headcanon - new or old - that you have

11th - Share an instance of "Tiger & Bunny Spotting" you've seen IRL (T&B Spotting is seeing things like their colours or associated animals-theming in unexpected places. Pets can count for this; If it's not your pet, ask for permission before posting.)

12th - Come up with a food or drink themed around a character. Actually making it is entirely optional!

13th - Come up with an 'Alternate Universe' (AU) plot. You don't have to write anything beyond a plot synopsis or roles.

14th - Ramble about your favorite character or pairing!

15th - Share either a "hidden Gem" fic, or your favourite fanfic! Maybe it's both?

16th - Pitch a Season 3 or Third Movie plot

17th - Post a meme you really like, or make a meme from scratch

18th - Share your favorite OR your most wanted piece of Tiger & Bunny Merchandise

19th - Tell us about your favorite Villain

20th - Picture/Write about yourself as if you lived in Sternbild

21st - Assign a song you like to a character or a pairing

22nd - Share your favorite piece of fanart! Make sure to credit the artist, or repost the art directly through reblog or retweet or similar features.

23rd - Share your favorite piece of trivia about any Tiger & Bunny character

24th - Tell us what Tiger & Bunny means to you

25th - Free Day! Happy Holidays!

[urheavenlylux]

Just read a few chapters of a popular overlord Huskerdust fanfic. So many parts are just blatantly written by ChatGPT. I’m so fucking sick of this shit. Has anyone else noticed this??

It’s the vague descriptions/abstracts. ChatGPT fully relies on abstracts so what you get are odd phrases like “Angel displayed romantic emotions” and “The beautiful garden unfurled before them, full of gorgeous scents and pretty blooms.” It sounds so alien. Unnatural. Maybe because it’s written by a fucking computer. And this fic has tons of kudos too.

IF YOU USE CHATGPT TO WRITE FOR YOU, YOU ARE NOT A WRITER. PERIOD.

Also, how hard is it to warn your audience that you use AI to write?

[nibbelraz]

If Bingqiu gets their own little stories, then I'm sure people would also start writing about the cold and powerful Demon King of the North and his most trusted advisor

[corntired]

Fanfiction is so goated actually

No monetary incentive, just writing in one's free time. Some incentive for like kudos and comments, because who doesn't want to hear that someone else enjoyed what they wrote. Just writing a story that is good and/or enjoyable, no real-life pressure to keep it going because god forbid you and other people are depending on it financially.

Writing a story because you want to write a good story, so you can write what they want the way you want, at a pace that is realistic for you, with exactly the plot pacing you want there to be.

[thatrandomblogsays]

I learned that there are people who sell bookbindings of fanfiction and so many things about this piss me off:

1. You can’t do that. It’s illegal. You’re asking to be sued, you may get the actual author of the fanfiction sued

2. Fanfiction was/is hotly contested for a long time & gotten take down A LOT! the big reason we have ao3 is because it’s FREE! & you’re trying to fuck that up for us??

3. It’s not even their own writing! - it’d still be a bad idea - but the audacity to steal someone else’s writing that they published for free, & then feel entitled to make a profit off of it???

4. People commissioning bookbindings… you’re paying someone to bind a book for you, but not giving money to the original author or fanfiction author doesn’t seem slimy to you?

[wander-wren]

so anyway

obviously some people are using programs that are not chatgpt, or might be referencing the ai but not actually using it to write, but let’s say for a moment that there are about 500 ai-generated fics on the archive. which i think is a lowball, but we’ll see.

my official stance is that if you’re using ai to help you write due to a disability, different native language(s), or what have you, that’s fine. it is a tool. i have also seen artists use ai to generate backgrounds or buildings and draw a comic around that—that sort of thing is neat! as long as you’re building on what the ai gives you and making it your own, cool.

what i take offense to is things like this:

(the final two are from the same fic. i took out identifying info bc i don’t actually want to attack anyone here, just explain my side.)

so the main theme i keep seeing is people complaining about the ai-written fanfiction….that THEY are choosing to upload! you don’t like that it’s inaccurate or poorly written or too short, but you aren’t going to put in any effort to fix it? at all?

i understand wanting to experiment. i understand that writing your own stories is hard and can be daunting at first. but it feels gross, frankly, to fling works that took you very little effort, that you know are subpar, at an audience. you don’t think there’s enough content for your ship/fandom? WHY would you try to feed your fellow fans with something you think is bad?

it’s content for content’s sake and i do not like it.

the way this works is, if you want more content, you make it yourself. even if you’re not a good writer, even if you don’t have the best english or whatever language you’re writing in. how, pray tell, are you supposed to improve if you don’t do that?

who is this content even helping? i sorted the fics by hits to get a sense of popularity; the fic with the most hits that is completely ai-written (not using it as a tool) has 2816 hits. about half of the fics have less than 200 hits. there are real writers who might have similar stats, due to writing unpopular ships/fandoms/tropes (some of my fics do!) but across the board it’s clear ai fic isn’t drawing a lot of interest.

sorry i found this while looking at hit counts and i just. you’re not going to subtly demand content from your fellow fans in the SAME breath as admitting you are also not a content farm, but it’s fine, we’ll just have ai do it??

no. no. fandom is not about content. fandom is about community. and if you’re using ai to post fics without editing or sometimes even reading them, that tells me you’re much more interested in the former. putting aside the ethical dubiousness, putting aside the debates about “real art,” you have no courtesy.

and chatgpt can’t write.

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

You have no idea how confusing it is 

To love someone so much, who looks like someone you hate. 

A continuation, of sorts, of this fic here. Or Alonzo meets a baby Jemima for the first time and makes a decision. Warnings for mentions of typical animal possessiveness, suggestions of difficult birth, post partum depression, and brief implications of abuse.

Alonzo couldn't remember exactly where he'd heard it (he hears lots of things from lots of cats), but it had always been stored somewhere distantly in the back of his mind that the birth of kittens was meant to be one of the most indescribable experiences of a cat's existence. A - ah, what was it? - truly life changing moment, unlike any other, that was joyous and grand and…and…all those other big, positive describing words that escaped him. There were very few things, they said, that even came close to it.

Hmph. In reality, it was just bullshit for cats to mutter to one another to encourage the continued security of their familial line. Or, maybe, so they had something to do - with someone. And that's only what he's heard. Somewhere. 

Or, maybe, he hadn't heard it at all; maybe it had been instinctually hardwired in him to think so. An internal nudge that was meant to prompt his own rear end into action on that specific front. Make the effort. Leave a mark - a legacy, the boss says. So you won't be forgotten.

Alonzo exhales, brushing that aside.

Frankly, if you asked him (and you did, didn't you?), the tomcat wasn't convinced of the validity of this so called "joyous occasion" - whether it be from his own lack of experience or lack of interest - and this particular situation in question that had had him pacing restlessly for several hours hadn't really helped sway his opinion. It hadn't at all sounded wonderful or even happy. "Indescribable"…maybe. But, if he were to put words to it, it had been terrifying and stressful, setting his teeth right on their grounded edge. Hardly the mood one would expect for said "extraordinary" event.

Extraordinary his tailbone.

All Alonzo knows for certain is that it had very quickly prompted him to add a particular noise that had accompanied the event to the very top of his list of sounds that had managed to curdle the blood in his veins. And he hadn't even been in the room it'd happened in. He hadn't been allowed anywhere near it. But he’d heard that sound; Cat help him, he'd heard that.

Word spread quickly in the Palace; he found out - near instantly - the eventual, faded silencing of the horrid noises drifting through the vents hadn't meant what he'd feared when it had stretched on a moment too long. It hadn't meant what he'd thought he'd prepared himself for as a constant, looming possibility in this place, but had very quickly realized - in a moment of unreasonable despair - that he hadn't been prepared for at all. They hadn't lost her. 

He hadn't…

Not that he'd thought about it in that way. Not that she was his to lose in the first place. But the thought lingered, like a starving rat after crumbs in a cheesemonger, the damned thing.

In reality, the silence had meant the complete opposite: it had meant that she'd been successful. An heir had been born and acknowledged, and it had announced itself in a string of pitiful wailing all its own. A single, squealing cry, heard clear across the place. Then nothing. 

And Alonzo was finally able to release the breath he had been holding for several months, baited and stinging, since Demeter had first told him - so quietly he'd thought he'd misheard - that she was pregnant. 

They hadn't privately spoken much since the incident; at least, not as much as they used to. Back before…so Alonzo had been surprised, certainly, that she'd told him at all. He was surprised she even approached him. It didn't seem like news that would cross her mind to share with him, intimate as it was, none of his business as it was, yet she had. And he hadn't even thought to ask why tell him, or a much more obtuse how. He knew very well how; it made his chest hurt to think about. 

Instead, all he could manage, after pinching off the immediate expletive that sprang to the tip of his tongue, was a blunt, practical: Does Bombalurina know?

She had nodded, glancing over her shoulder.

Then, stomach sinking: …Does he?

And that had been the end of that. He still remembered the glimmer of tears dripping down her whiskers.

The patched tomcat didn't believe in deities - human, cat, or otherwise- or spirits or watchers or makers or whatever it was he was meant to be thanking for the preservation of Demeter's life. But he thanked every one he could think of nonetheless, just in case. You never knew who was listening. 

It was several days before he plucked up the courage to visit her. A multitude of reasons for avoidance, really, most having to do with the safety of all parties involved, and the rest having to do with Alonzo's pesky tendency towards emotionally charged, self-preserving instinct. But when he'd stopped feeling numb, or at least stopped trying to numb himself to the situation, guilt had started gnawing persistently at the back of his skull instead. And if there was one thing Alonzo couldn't stand, it was feeling guilty; he’d felt guilty enough in his life. 

In reality, Alonzo hadn’t seen Demeter personally in weeks. After the announcement, she had made herself remarkably scarce (though, he thinks, likely not on her own accord). Any and all updates of her well being had come from Bombalurina begrudgingly whispering in passing after Alonzo had coaxed it out of her, glancing about to ensure no one unwelcome was listening. The most he had gotten of her were glimpses here and there, at roundtables and the occasional meeting, but those glimpses were enough to burn themselves permanently into his memory. She'd looked so…sickly, eyes sunken, dull coat, and bones sharp even beneath her swollen middle. It looked, Alonzo had thought with no shortness of alarm, like she was being eaten from the inside; siphoned of her blood and being. It had not looked a beautiful thing like they had said - it had looked frightening. 

But there was nothing he - lowly nanny cat extraordinaire - could do about it. The summertime heat was suffocating them slowly; they were all hungry, in one way or another. 

At least - though Alonzo was hardly willing to give him any sort of benefit of any doubt for doing the bare minimum - Macavity had had the decency to keep his paws off of her in her "delicate condition".

The skin around her neck and arms was unbroken, anyway. 

Macavity had practically fastened Demeter to his hip with a chain, and locked her in his chambers, letting her out of his sight even less than usual, and not for long. The list of cats allowed in her company was practically non-existent. Such was his normal, possessive behaviour. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary, and certainly not the most unusual or anger inducing thing he'd done to her in Alonzo's recent recollection. This one…almost (almost) made sense to him in the most twisted way possible. In a way, the whole rigamarole had the entire Palace on edge - even the father-to-be himself. But that’s about where any sort of sympathy Alonzo had came to an abrupt halt. Macavity's heirs - or, at least, the one or two failures Alonzo was concretely aware of - had almost always sent the place on high alert, and this hadn't been an exception. If anything, the rumor mill was even more alight than usual; this one was to be from one of the boss' favourite little baubles, after all. Not just for good, carefully cultivated breeding, then. There was at least some feeling involved here. 

As a result, somehow, this one felt different than the others. This one felt…ominous.

The reason why became clear soon after it had happened; in the end, Macavity's patience (though Alonzo would hardly call it patience) and persistence had finally paid off. He'd finally gotten what he wanted: the kitten was born with magic, according to the birds. Powerful, too, perhaps extraordinarily so, to have genuinely impressed Macavity to the extent that others could readily tell.

Alonzo's fear for them had doubled the moment the news slipped through his ears. Tripled, in fact. As had his curiosity. Sue him.

But he had waited a week, just to be sure the gossip train had slowed, the news had cooled, and the interest had started to shift. Never could be too careful, even if it was killing him. 

In the meantime, Alonzo had privately observed Macavity during the off chance he happened to be in his company, searching for something - anything - useful. As usual, Macavity's general disposition suggested nothing of his personal goings on, but Alonzo would have sworn there was…something different about his gait; a peculiar spark in his eye and a flushing of his ears he'd never seen before when the others had been born (and cast away, a little voice reminds him). Alonzo wasn’t certain the extent of what any of that was meant to be telling him, but any change in Macavity, no matter how small - concerned as he was with appearances - was noteworthy nonetheless. 

Alonzo thought, at first, to ask Bombalurina for an update; ask perhaps if she’d noticed the subtle shifts in their leader. But she had disappeared alongside Demeter, only existing in flashes of red he occasionally caught out of  the corner of his eye. He was on his own again for this one. Wonderful.

On the evening of the eighth day post event, when he finally couldn't stand it any longer, right as the Sun began its descent, and he was certain (or at least as certain as he could be) that he wasn't being followed, Alonzo began his hunt. Nose in the air, trying his best to look casual and disinterested in case anycat stopped him, he'd gone upstairs first, reasoning she would be in the rooms there, but they were sealed off. While Demeter's scent was around, certainly, it was faint - far fainter than it usually was in these parts. She hadn't been there in a while, then. Huh. 

Alonzo was slightly relieved; henchcats were not allowed in or around Macavity's own personal quarters (so strange for a cat to have such…human hangups in regards to lodging), and he couldn't imagine the rule would be relaxed in this case. If anything, he'd been expecting a guard, not an empty hall in dead silence. 

But then, if she wasn't in his quarters, and she wasn't in hers (he'd checked - that door had, oddly, been shut as well. The Demeter he knew never shut the door all the way - she said it made her feel…some long word that began with "c" that escaped him at the moment).  That meant there was only one other place, logically, that Demeter could be. Alonzo couldn't decide if that was better or worse.

Setting his teeth harder against the dry cloth in his mouth, Alonzo gingerly climbed down the winding stairs to the basement, also known commonly as storage for whatever (or whomever) happened to be in need of storage at the time. It had also, over the years, become somewhat notorious for housing queens and mill kittens that Macavity deemed as belonging down there; to keep them safe, if you were to believe what Macavity told you blindly and without question. Family (because they were all a family, weren't they?) deserved the utmost protection from its higher ups - never knew what could become of such fragile lives up in the real world above ground. 

Sewage directly from the pipe’s mouth. Keep them safe. Keep them out of the way. Keep them out of sight and out of mind until they were needed, of course. 

Or until they were forgotten about.

So storage, then, certainly, of the Palace's most…precious items, living and otherwise, damp and unguarded and one of the last places any sane henchcat wanted to find themselves trapped in. Unless, of course, they were shopping, so to speak. Yet, here he was, like a madman. Perhaps he should chalk up his sanity as another thing he'd lost to this place. 

Sure enough, when he wandered down the main row of massive shipping crates, listening to the tangled sounds of other kittens spread in various corners of the warehouse, he was finally hit full in the face with the sweet familiarity of Demeter's scent, intertwined heavily with the perfumed notes that he now knew as Bombalurina, peppered liberally with Macavity's own sour overlay, and - if he really concentrated - a soft, unfamiliar undercurrent that could only be baby.

So, it really was true. Fuck.

Not that he hadn't believed it - he had seen the evidence with his own two eyes. Maybe it was moreso he hadn't wanted to. Like if he didn’t, it couldn’t possibly be real. 

Pausing outside the crate he was now certain housed Demeter, a tidal wave of nervous energy hit him so suddenly, that he almost turned right back around to leave. Couldn't miss what you didn't know was there, right? The tomcat rocked back to his haunches and removed the cloth from his teeth, wincing as the threads caught and pulled on his fangs. He stared blankly at the strange human symbols that littered the side of the wood, and debated on his next move. 

Alonzo’s first thought was to lay his bearings on the ground for them to find - that would be the most efficient. Bombalurina would most likely stumble on it and maybe bring it in, and when they inevitably saw it as useless, they could dispose of it. No problems. His pride wouldn't have to be singed. He wouldn’t have to try and explain his absence, or hide how uncomfortable he was, or how unfairly hurt he felt. He wouldn't need to even see…it. He could separate and cut ties - like he should have in the first place. He could stop…

He shook his head. 

Alonzo’s second thought that pushed out the first, was that even the suggestion of that plan was so in line with his much maligned  emotional cowardice, and such an…an asshole thing to do, that it made him sick to his stomach. 

Alonzo glanced down at the cloth he had begun twisting nervously in his paws; it was white, with pale yellow blocks stitched through. Or, at least, he thinks they’re yellow, anyway; that's what he can see of it. It was slightly rough to the touch, meant, he thinks, for hanging by those strange silver handled wash basins humans kept in their houses that ran water from the tap, rather than the purpose he'd had in mind when he’d "borrowed" it from a clothesline. It had smelled vaguely sharp - maybe soap, maybe bleach - and tasted just as sharp in his mouth, but Alonzo had kept it with him long enough that the smell had started to fade and warm up into something less…clinical. Nothing particularly fancy; they couldn't afford much more than practicality where they were. But it was something. At least it was something. 

He could always knock.

While Alonzo struggled with himself trying to decide, he nearly missed the soft cracking of a board being shifted on its hinges, and a flash of a familiar red pelt. 

Bombalurina slipped out of the crate and into the makeshift hall before he had a chance to further consider dropping the offering and running. She visibly startled and paused, but didn't seem too surprised to see him. They stared at one another, a strange tension crackling in the air. Bristled…defensive. They had both gone immediately on the defensive.

This had absolutely been a mistake.

"Hey."

"...Hey."

Bombalurina kept her shoulders square, but her tail had begun lowering cautiously. "I'm sorry for not coming to tell you everything. It's been a little…hectic."

An apology wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting to hear, but it was certainly an interesting strategy, he had to admit. Alonzo nodded tightly, any annoyance he'd felt at her for disappearing without a word, and leaving him to stew, quickly cooling.

"How…how is she?"

"Alive," the queen answered, simply.

There looked to be more she wanted to say, but she kept whatever it was to herself. Instead, Bombalurina lowered her gaze, focusing on the dishcloth with a mildly distasteful raise of her brow.

"What do you have there?"

Alonzo twisted the fabric in his paws again, ears hot; there was a flash desire to hide it behind his back, ashamed of how pathetic it must have looked to her. But she’d already seen it; no use tucking his tail between his legs just yet.

"It's for, uh…"  Alonzo trailed off, realizing all at once that he knew absolutely nothing about anything regarding the kitten other than whose it was and what its crying sounded like muffled through wood and sawdust. "It's for the kid. I didn't really know what kittens would even…want?"

That was the truth, at least; Alonzo's experience with kittens was limited at best and even less so with newborns. He'd never had any interest, nevermind any chance, or any...hells, cats already had their own built in insulation with their fur - what would the kid need a blanket for? Nothing practical he could think of. 

If anything, this was an extension of good will; a slightly desperate indication that he'd thought about her. That he had worried and, in a roundabout way, that he was sorry. About everything - both in his control and out of it.

Alonzo clicked his jaw shut, readjusting his nerves into a more familiar, disinterested tone. He had caught himself on the cusp of rambling and making an even bigger fool of himself, but it was too late to save face with this particular queen. Bombalurina stared at him as though she were dissecting a particularly large frog.

“I mean nothing I can provide anyway, right? I thought…I guess this will keep it warm or something. I figured it-"

"She."

He blinked, thoughts grinding to a halt. "What?"

Bombalurina gave him a pitying look. "She - it's a queenkit."

Alonzo inhaled, looking just the slightest bit dazed at the reveal. Oh.

"I figured…she deserved a present for her birthday, since, you know…I missed it."

Bombalurina bit the inside of her cheek, her fur dimpling. She didn't look amused, persay, but it was a step up from the venom a moment before. "That's nice of you, patches."

"What can I say," Alonzo muttered, having enough good sense to glance away from the piercing needle of her gaze. "I'm a nice guy."

The queen's eyes sharpened at that, the vein at her temple pulsing once in annoyance. One step forward, two steps back. The uncomfortable silence that settled wasn't unusual; realistically, neither of them would have even thought to speak to one another beyond a casual slip here and there if it weren't for a particular golden thread currently strangling both of their necks into playing nice. All he really knew about Bombalurina for certain was that once you were on her bad side, it was nearly impossible to be re-inducted otherwise. Trust him; he was almost certain he had been on it before they’d even spoken. 

Bombalurina looked to be seriously debating something, pursing her lips. Alonzo waited, feeling his stomach sink further. 

The words that eventually left her mouth looked like a struggle to produce, as though she would rather have said literally anything else. 

 "Did you want to see her?"

There it was - moment of truth. Alonzo froze in the face of it, wary all over again. The rambling was harder to staunch this time, his voice nearly cracking: "Oh, no, no that's…no, I'm good." 

He cleared his throat, struggling to get a handle on himself. He tried again, slightly lower: "I don't want to bother Demeter, you know? Can you just give it to them? You don't even have to tell her I got it, I just -"

"You won't bother her," Bombalurina cut him off bluntly, an unfamiliar look glittering in her eye. Maybe it was disgust. Maybe impatience. Maybe understanding. Maybe all three. Hard to say. "She'll be happy to see you. She's been asking after you - though I can't imagine why."

Alonzo was under no such delusion, in spite of the trembling it sent through his paws, but it was nice to hear, regardless. There was no way Demeter had given him a second thought, even if it had been for the best. Asking after him in this situation just sounded like a cleverly crafted way for Bombalurina to make him hurt the way he deserved. To get his stupid hopes up so they could be crushed again to teach him a lesson. Alonzo couldn't say that he blamed her. He may have done something similar in her position.

He didn't realize, at the time, the level of honor being bestowed upon him. In his defense, it's not like he could have known. 

Tentatively, the tomcat stood.

"Just no funny stuff," Bombalurina continued, trying to slice through her imposed tension with little success. She smiled, but it was cool and just shy of calculated. Like she didn't approve - like she would have rather saved a handful of choice words to shove directly into his ears with as much force as possible - but knew better than to interfere. 

Old habits died hard. "When have I ever pulled anything funny with you, red?"

"Don't push your luck."

Alonzo managed a quick, half-smile in return, but there was little humour left in it. He adjusted his posture, mustering every ounce of courage he had to push past the mental roadblock and into the crate behind her. Stiffly, he moved towards the gap in the planking.

"Alonzo?"

The tom stopped, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Bombalurina had never called him by name before that he could remember. Hells, he wasn't sure if she'd even known his name - Demeter must have told her, surely. Names around these parts carried respect. Names also carried a call to attention - a solidification of identity; of being somebody, when they'd all spent so long trying to be nobody at all, losing themselves in the disconnected frame of the reality they operated in; a warning.

So, he stopped. And listened. Very, very closely

She settled herself down when she was sure she'd caught his attention, no doubt intent on keeping watch. “Be careful.”

Alonzo nodded, immediately reading between the lines - this was bigger than the lot of them. The boss wouldn’t like another tom anywhere near Demeter or his new prized heir; even down here, that was a call for trouble. Alonzo couldn't imagine he would like anycat near either of them, but the line of tolerance needed to be let out somewhere. Macavity was many things, but he was hardly a caretaker; he was barely a father - just a map with an end goal.

Alonzo knew. He knew, and yet here he was. Though there wasn't a cat he trusted more to keep a secret than Demeter, with her satchel full of cunning tricks, they were all headed, in that moment, down a slippery slope towards dangerous territory. Worse still, they were doing so with their eyes wide open. There wouldn't be any taking it back should it go sour. It was all or nothing. 

Alonzo - in that moment - had to decide whether it was worth it. Whether she was…

…

He made up his mind and slipped through the boards, feeling the sides of the unfinished wood drag along his ribcage like a final warning.

The crate was dark and almost too warm inside; it was that sticky, heavy kind of heat that settled in your whiskers and made it difficult to breathe. The various scents, many of them that usually signified danger and leave immediately, tangled together in a thick knot, faintly washed over in the sweet smell of milk. It was dizzying, almost, all at once, but the space smelled so predominantly of Demeter - finally, at long last, that traitorous little voice whispered - that it didn't agitate him nearly as much as it should have. If anything, it finally put something in his brain to rest. 

Movement caught his eye before anything else came to. A bubble of relief passed through him, seeing the steady rise and fall of her chest cast a pulsing shadow with his own eyes. It was the first time in weeks his jaw fully unclenched, and it was only then he realized how much his neck had started hurting - how stiff he'd been holding his shoulders, tied tight with his nerves.

There is a familiar (but not entirely welcome) feeling that curls in Alonzo's breast when Demeter's form comes through in the dim light, outlined by the golden halo of dust drifting in the air. She looked, somehow, so different than when he'd seen her last, and yet near exactly the same. There were changes, certainly - her belly was softer, still bowled beneath the curve of her body, and the sharp angles of her face and hips had finally rounded. Her fur was mussed and dull looking. The shadows surrounding her eyes had deepened, and she looked exhausted, same as ever, but there was an air about her that he didn't recognize, and an expression on her face that was almost serene. She looked…healthier, maybe, he supposed. A little stronger than the wisp she had started fading into. 

And, his train of thought continued without him, slamming him fully in the face, she'd maybe never looked as beautiful as she did right at that very moment. 

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

Demeter finally looked up at him, most likely having guessed at his presence (or having been informed of it) before he'd even entered, considering how calm she was. Maybe she had been expecting him - maybe Bombalurina had been right. Her ears perked up, and the motion twitched the protective curl of her tail away from her belly, revealing the guest of the hour beneath it. Only one; black and red and white, two ears, four paws, one little black nose, looking altogether too small and too frail, but alive. Alive and squeaking her displeasure loudly, already in protest of her own existence in this place at hardly a week old. Poor kid.

Alonzo stopped dead in his tracks, confidence in his decision draining away right back from whence it came. Everything narrowed to a single focal point and he couldn't breathe.

Now what? something screamed at him. Honestly, he hadn't thought this far ahead. He hadn't even thought he'd get this far.

Demeter made a soft noise in her throat.

They stared at one another then. An entire conversation occurred between them in a span of seconds - a fragile spider's web of understanding and hurt and curiosity and undercut shyness weaving itself and disappearing, all at once. He felt as though he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't be; and, really, what right did he have to be here, anyway? This was stupid and dangerous. He was stupid for thinking-

"Hi." She almost mouthed the word, coming out as barely more than a whisper. Suddenly, Alonzo's heart was in his throat, and his guilt was threatening to suffocate him. It had been for her own good. It had been for -

"Hi."

And, because he hadn't a clue where to go from there, he unceremoniously dropped the washcloth in front of her and backed up a pace, trying to ease the pressure in his chest. Trying to sever the new chord before it tied ‘round his neck for good this time.

Blinking, Demeter bent to examine the object. "What's this?"

"It's a present," he muttered again in explanation, tucking his tail close to himself as he nodded towards the kitten. "For…for her."

Demeter glanced up at him through her lashes, pensive. Alonzo felt incredibly thick headed - even moreso than when Bombalurina had been analyzing him through the plane of her magnifying glass. He almost thought she'd laugh at how pitiful it was; that would somehow be more devastating than Bombalurina's unspoken criticism had been.

"A…blanket?" the queen ventured, tentatively.

"...Yeah."

Demeter smiled, and the sun came out. "Lucky you, she doesn't have one yet."

Alonzo sighed. The tomcat couldn't help the relieved feeling that settled in him at her correct guess, and the assurance that came with it; no explanation needed. Demeter always seemed to know what the roundabout function of his thought process was, even when he didn't. 

Shifting her weight, Demeter carefully laid the cloth over the kitten's body. Alonzo opened his mouth to protest, but the words stuck in his throat at the sight. The kitten immediately snuffled her nose blindly into the makeshift blanket, mewling and squeaking as she struggled to lift her heavy head. It covered her whole body, plus at least three more of her, and he saw the bony ridge of her tail curl underneath it. Demeter's smile got even bigger as she tucked its corners underneath the kit and pulled her closer. The perfect picture of maternal tenderness. 

Fear won out in the end over his moment of instinctual sentimentality, as it usually did.  "You might want to, you know, keep it away from her a bit." Alonzo bit his lip, trying to articulate what he meant without saying it directly. For once, his own skin didn't even cross his mind; I don't want to get you in trouble. Cat help me, I don't want to get her in trouble. 

Demeter tightened her jaw, eyes suddenly bright (and on the cusp of upset) as they flicked back up to look at him. It was almost as if he'd forcibly woken her up from the soft dreamy haze she was in. Kitten brain, she'd dub it later. Potent stuff.

"Just until the scent wears off," he clarified.

He carefully avoided the word "my" in tandem.

"I can't take it from her now," Demeter said eventually, watching her daughter move under the dishcloth. "She loves it."

Wariness settled over Alonzo's body in response to Demeter's glimmer of boldness. It wouldn't be the first time he questioned the queen's good sense, but he could hardly call the kettle by any other name in this scenario, could he? Still, it wasn't without risk. She certainly didn't need another thing to add to her laundry list of worries.

…And yet there was an infinitesimally small part of him that sparked alight with a… conceited kind of contentment. That kind of instinctual tomcat pride that came along with the idea that this new kitten would smell, even for just a little while, like him. Like him and Demeter together. Almost like if he closed his eyes and ignored everything else about their situation - everything else about the reality he was forcibly dragged through every day of his miserable life - that the moment they were in was a different one; one where the kitten that lay against Demeter's breast was…was…

Was his instead. 

The sickening sense of satisfaction grew at that. Yes, that was right, that same treacherous thread of thought picked up again. His little one with her mother's pretty face, tangled in her might-be-yellow blanket, nursing a paw languidly in her mouth. His little family, far, far away from this place where no one could hurt them ever again. His. Not that sorry, good for nothing, son of a rat bastard -

The anger flared so hot and fast in his chest that it took Alonzo by surprise. He released the fists he had curled his paws into when Demeter's expression turned to one of wariness and she instinctively pulled the kitten closer to her. She stared at him, sad - regretful; he couldn't even look at her. 

Alonzo pushed the intrusive wayward thought deep into the caverns of his mind. The audacity. The nerve and the balls on you, 'lonz. He was over that; he needed to be over that right now if there was any chance at salvaging the scraps they'd laid out and patching them back together again. She wasn't his. She couldn't be. She never would be. Here you are thinking about yourself - can't you think of anyone but yourself, for once?

He inhaled. Then exhaled.

"How are you feeling?" Dumb question.

Demeter tilted her head. "I've been better."

"I heard you," he murmured, the noises echoing in his mind.

"I'm sure the whole neighbourhood heard me," she replied, looking back down at the kitten, who had popped her head from beneath its covering. Her eyes fogged over. "But I did it."

Alonzo nodded, feeling suddenly like he might cry. "You did good."

"Not like I had a choice." It sounds like a joke - sarcastic like he'd known her to be before - but there was absolutely no bite to it. Not a joke, then. The painful, raw truth.

Alonzo sat, puzzled and stewing. In reality he had no idea how to feel; he wanted to be happy for her - dizzyingly and unfalteringly happy for her. This was one of her most treasured dreams. Something she'd always wanted; it had been one of the last secrets she'd shared with him, all those nights ago. He is happy for her, he supposed, and that in itself feels like something traitorous. Something that he shouldn't be; not like this. Demeter's first kitten, something that should have only brought her joy and togetherness and that sense of completeness she was so desperately searching for, had only brought her pain instead. Would only bring more pain as it went on. There is something missing. There is something in Demeter's eyes that scream in that same echo as he'd heard a week ago, but Alonzo couldn't figure what it was. Let me out, they seemed to say. Let me out.

Alonzo's blood chilled; yet again, he was demoted to watching on the sidelines, powerless to protect her. Useless. 

"You just missed her name day," Demeter ventured eventually.

Alonzo blinked at her, slow and dumb. What?

"I've thought on it," Demeter continued, breezing easily past his ignorance. She lowered her voice, as though sharing a particularly valuable piece of information for his ears alone.  "Her name is Jemima."

Alonzo repeated the name quietly to himself, committing it to memory; testing how it felt. It came easily, rolling off his tongue in a way that felt inexplicably right, but fragile. Like it wasn't quite meant to be there, but it would be safe until anyone realized it. He thought, briefly, to ask where she'd heard it; figured, quickly, that it didn't matter.

"That's a good name, I guess."

Demeter raised her brows, the corners of her mouth twitching. "You guess?" she echoed, almost incredulously. "I wanted you to like it."

Alonzo exhaled a laugh, though there was little actual humour in it. "What does it matter if I like it?" 

Demeter cast her gaze down, looking almost embarrassed. "It matters," she muttered. To me. It matters to me.

Alonzo paused at that, running the exchange back through his head with a distantly echoed you idiot trailing after it. He hastily corrected himself: "I mean, isn't it important that you like it?"  He thanked whatever was left of his good sense for cutting his trail of thought off before he continued to say something stupid like: isn't her father supposed to like it? He couldn’t imagine that would have helped his case at all. Instead, he deflected. "I don't know anything about naming kittens."

It was Demeter's turn to laugh. "Evidently not."

"Seems about as good a name as any," he continued, crossing his arms.

The queen sighed. "Thank you."

Alonzo backed up and settled in the corner of the crate, as far as he could away without leaving the space entirely. Not very far at all, considering. "Don't mention it." 

He would learn, much later, that he'd, yet again, trodden on the knife's edge of a time valued tradition that Demeter thought - for whatever reason - he should be included in. But judging by the tiny smile that had crinkled the sides of the queen's eyes, he hadn't fully bungled it this time.

The conversation trailed off again. Alonzo hated how awkward their silences had become - hated how she looked after him with that forlorn look in her eye. He hated it so much. It was like they'd gone right back to the beginning where they'd started. 

But rather than fall back into his clutches of selfish despair (there was plenty of time for self pity later), he focused instead on the little red and black pinpoint of fur poking from beneath the cloth that was… Jemima. 

"She's…she's really little, huh?" he whispered at last. She looked, to him, like a grain of rice. A kidney bean, maybe, if he were being generous. She would fit directly in the center of his paw, he was certain. She didn't quite look the way he'd pictured her to; somehow, he'd been expecting an heir of such prestige to look different, considering the word of mouth that had inflated her importance to gargantuan levels. Should she not be as big as the words that were murmured about her? As the power and magic that pulsed unnervingly in her veins? "Are they always that little?"

"I…" A flash of uncertainty passed over Demeter's face. "I don't really know."

And Alonzo realized, all at once, that this was all as new to her as it was to him. This wasn't a story of kings and legacies, or any such bullshit. This was just a new mother with her new baby, scared and uncertain of the future; nothing more, nothing less. Who they were before or who they would be, be damned; at that moment, it was just Demeter and Jemima, newly acquainted in each other’s company, trying to figure one another out. There was no sheltering them from each other in their isolation. They were all the other had.

"Bombalurina says she's not too far off the mark. She should grow pretty quickly so long as she eats." Demeter looked anxious at that; whether at her daughter's inability to eat or her inability to provide, he wasn't certain, but it was concerning nonetheless. He'd have to figure something out on that front. Not that she needed his help; not like there was much he could do. 

At the mention of Bombalurina, Alonzo thought briefly of an entirely different rumor that had passed through his ear once or twice. "I'm sure she knows better than me, then."

They continued to watch Jemima for a while as she blindly wandered up Demeter's side as far as she could go, sneezed, tumbled down, and rolled back around to do it all over again. She looked to be having the time of her life in that shitty little crate, under the roof of a tyrant, on her scratchy blanket like it was a goosefeather pillow and not a ratty old dishcloth - like she didn’t have a single care in the world. Alonzo almost envied her. 

"You don't have to stand so far away,” Demeter coaxed, noting how intently he had started staring at her. “You can come and touch her.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” 

“She’s my kitten,” Demeter said, a bit too firmly, sending those same hairs on the back of his neck standing up as before. “And I get to decide.” 

Couldn’t argue with that. Who was she trying to convince, anyway?

“She won't bite you,” she tried again, covering up the slip in her emotional palette - a slip back into the old Demeter, fires blazing - with another attempt to lighten the situation. “No teeth yet."

"Are you just saying that to lure me into a false sense of confidence?" Alonzo joked. Well, half joked, anyway.

Demeter narrowed her eyes. "You're full of shit."

The smile that made it to his face that time was genuine. "Language - there are infants present."

Demeter’s attempt succeeds with very little extra effort; Alonzo supposed he was already long up the river being there in the first place, so it's not like she had far to go. He approached them hesitantly, and before he could think too hard about more repercussions, he soothed himself by figuring now was as good a time as any to finally find out what all the fuss was about. 

It's awkward and an unpracticed action, but the careful drag of his paw pad against her temple feels more natural than he thought it would. Jemima is soft and downy right at the base of her ear. Alonzo’s previous fear had been correct; next to her tiny little head, his paw seemed massive and dangerous - as though one wrong move would crush her, or one unsheathed claw would slice something clean off. That image didn’t exactly put his mind at ease, but he found as he continued the action that he wasn’t fully in control of the movement. Something instinctual was doing all of the gentling for him. That same kitten brain was slowly blurring the edges of his thoughts. A marvel for later consideration. 

"She looks like her father," Demeter finally muttered as she watched the two of them, acknowledging the elephant in the room head on, tearing up the pleasant blurring to reveal the overly tender flesh underneath. As though they hadn't been dancing around it the entire time. There is no affection in the observation, but there is not quite malice either. Just a statement of fact.

And she does, there was no denying it. Right down to the sunken black rims around her eyes and the spiderweb cast of her lashes. The reddish tinge beneath the black scratches of fur - bloody and stained - couldn’t be farther from her mother’s golden coat. A permanent reminder, then, of where she’d come from;  the cursed whispers running through her veins and the horrific things that had had to happen to lead to her birth in the first place. Her looking exactly like him felt as though the universe was mocking them with a particularly hard slap across the muzzle. 

The returning anger inside of Alonzo - the terrible, irrational, dark thing that eats away at him deep in the night — wanted, in a flash of ludicrosity, to hate her then; hate what she represented and where she came from. This was not his kitten; Alonzo owed her absolutely nothing, but especially not his tolerance or gentleness. She was a warning of the worst yet to come. This little thing signaled, what? One cat’s twisted idea of legacy? Power? A make up for the ghosts of his failure hanging heavy in the hallways? 

It’s an irrational thing, but in a way that brings about a modicum of despair with it. As though confirming that nothing they did would ever truly matter - they were all firmly part of the wheels and cogs that kept the underground running, no matter how hard they tried not to be; the slippery slope had become a cataract of gushing water, determined to drown them all with it.

But on the heels of that irrational hatred came another feeling; something much stronger that pulsed through his fingertips and up his arm, straight into his heart. It is an overwhelming, confusing feeling, that cools the fiery spark until it is a whispering smolder; then nothing at all. 

Jemima yawns, a tiny, squeaky noise, and presses her face closer to him. 

Love. The soft, sticky feeling was love. 

Yes, love - Alonzo's old friend.

Jemima was not a monster - Jemima was not Macavity, and she perhaps never would be, appearances be damned. Monsters were not born; Jemima was just a baby. A baby born in a terrible place, through no fault of her own. What say did she have in her own existence? She was precious to Macavity, but she was equally - if not more - precious to Demeter, whom Alonzo held more love for than he ever wanted to admit to himself again. Didn't that count for something? Who’s to say how she would turn out, or how much of her father truly lived inside of her? How could she possibly be aware of the kind of gravity she carried for the rest of them when she could barely keep her head up? Where was the justice and fairness for her? 

Jemima’s eyes opened, then, in response to the increased pressure against her ample cheek. They are clear and pale - the kind of stormy grey that he thinks must have reminded those old human poets that Demeter likes of oceans – and Alonzo loses the picture of Macavity's face from his mind entirely. It will return, surely, in shadows and ghosts when the world gets dark, but for now it is gone, leaving behind a wide, innocent gaze sparked through with stars. It felt…hopeful, almost, like a promise. It kindles the fledgling love from a dull spark, to a warm, steady burning flame. One Alonzo would keep alight through all their trials and tribulations for the rest of his life.

And some picture that made. They may not be any semblance of what Macavity had in mind when he spun his twisted fancies of familial trust and bonding, and perhaps they would never be the type of family that he could confidently pull from his silly little dreams and Demeter’s storybooks, but he had never felt as much part of something as he did in that very moment.

Perhaps that was all that mattered in the end. 

Alonzo managed to shake his head, lump forming steadily in his throat as he felt the warmth of Demeter’s gaze burn against his face. 

"Nah," he managed, watching her little gummy smile bloom. And like a foolhardy knight errant, braver than he’d ever felt, he made a vow. Not a vow he had any reasonable expectation of keeping, at least not in one piece, but a vow nonetheless. He decided then and there that he may not be a kittens cat, but he would be this kitten's cat. For her and Demeter both. For as long as she needed him to be. 

"I think she looks exactly like you."

[fantasyoverreality98]

why do I always seems to have massive breakdowns at approximately 11:30 PM

[artemx746]

Do people not realise that a person doesn't suddenly gain full maturity and knowledge of everything when they turn 18?

[lullaebies]

my one true ick in fanfic is when authors write a pair they very clearly do not like and it really shows on the text. like homie idk why you wrote it but i can tell you would've rathered writing anything else

[lgbtlunaverse]

There's a few "league gets adopted by Rei / Rei takes care of the league" fics out there and I love them dearly even if i have to admit that they're all quite unrealistic, mainly because they tend to paint Rei as a better parent than she actually is. Sort of what happens to aizawa in fanon, too, completely accepting and eternally affectionate. The "comfort" in hurt/comfort personified. I get why this happens, it hits like a truck watching people who were denied parental affection finally get it.

But, as always, with fanon tropes, there is a part of me that's melancholic for all the potential that gets left behind. Because there's a kernel of truth in these fics that i'm sad isn't highlighted enough, there's something that could draw rei to the league outside of one of them being her literal thought-to-be-dead son or some nebulous perfect motherly instinct. And that truth is: Rei is not an amazing parent. Her faults are mostly of inaction, and the whole thing with Shouto was due to the abuse she suffers herself. But she has- and she knows this- failed her childen as a mother.

And what that gives you is a woman with a deep massive guilt over failing to be there for her kids when they needed her. She believes one of them died and it was, in part, her fault. Shouto she can reconcile with, but Touya, she thinks, will be a wound that never heals. And why wouldn't you, as a fic writer, use that?

What i'm saying is, if you were to- in the right circumstances- throw a traumatized child also failed by their parents her way. (Perhaps, say... a child rejected by her parents explicitly because of her quirk, wink wink?) And it reminded her just of how much she herself had failed as a mother, specifically because she was too scared to do anything, then she would absolutely want to take care of that child. She just wouldn't be all that good at it. Really, she'd be terrified to even try. But she'd want to try. And wouldn't that make for a story worth telling, one that could be just as cathartic in the end as the 'perfect mom takes care of her new murder children' fics?

[kinnoth]

I like everybody else terminally online watched the plagiarism video this weekend

And maybe I'm just coming at this from a perspective of someone who was not exposed to j som before he got exposed but like Jesus fuck what the shit

Plagiarism notwithstanding, that man makes some bogus ass, shit ass claims that on a very basic level just do not pass a sniff test by anyone who knows even a little bit about anything

I mean, the man waxes on longingly about the beautiful aryan nazi bodies to serve the conclusion that US troops volunteered for service to.....prove that it wasn't just the nazis who had perfectly sculpted hairless asses? Is that like......even something anyone thinks smells a little bit true? Like on a basic motivational level, for a nation, for a people, for a single person?

Making claims that the Roman empire was 70% slaves and 30% patricians.........does that even sound correct? Like, even if all you know about ancient Rome is from memes and shit, where are the plebs? You know, the thing we still call people today, when they're acting common and unwashed

The thing about how no songs prior to 1956 made references to kissing....I mean guys.....

And like ......not to like.... But like ..... The man has the charisma of a slow growing fungus. Granted I've only ever seen clips bc by the time I got there, he'd nuked his channel, but like.... I've heard AI voices reading tiktok subtitles inject more urgency and personality into text. J som reads text like he not only doesn't know what he's saying, he doesn't know any of the individual words and how they interact with one another. Like who voluntarily listens to this boring dumbass badly read from a script that has no coherent style tying it together?

Like I know people are gagging for gay rep but fuckin seriously, not only is he a plagiarizing douche who makes shit up wholecloth, he's not even a decent entertainer

Is this what y'all are settling for? Is the bar really that fuckin low?