questing-wulfstan

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Pros of re-reading your own fic

a good time;

Has exactly the tropes you like and the characterization you want to read;

Gratification: yes you did finish a thing and yes you did do good;

just a very fun time all around.

Cons of re-reading your own fic:

Is that another TYpO

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About This Event

You know when you leave a really long comment on a fic? Something that makes you go 'oh man if only I could bring this energy to my regular deadlines', but you just gotta tell someone how awesome their work is? What if we had a whole day celebrating that?

What is this event? Comment Day is a celebration of leaving comments on beloved fic, both to tell the author what their work means to you, and to appreciate reflecting on the parts of a work you enjoy! We all pick a fic (or maybe several fics, if you wanna go hard) that is our favourite, and work on a really detailed, fun, personalized comment, and on Comment Day we all go out and leave someone a comment that will make their day.

This blog will have tips and tricks about crafting a good comment, polls and graphics collecting stats for the event and a general celebration about how fun leaving comments can be. You don't normally get to tell the creator how awesome their work is with things like books or movies, we get to do that with fic, and isn't that fantastic?

Date: 15 September, 2024, whatever time zone that takes place in for you.

Tips on Commenting:

How to Embed an Image in an Ao3 Comment

Commenting on Fanfic Themes

Some Resources to help with Commenting

Comment Day Stats

Form

Form Responses

Ao3 Collection (so you can bookmark fics you commented on to a big collaborative collection).

Here

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Sea Lion is up and free to read on Tapas!

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This is probably bold of me to ask but I'm French and always ridiculously giddy to see my native language in the wild, a fortiori associated to VK, so may I perhaps see the French assignment with the French you wrote for those pictures ? 👉👈

(Didn't send this in French as I didn't want to overwhelm you if that were above your French level but do reply in French if you'd like !! 🫶)

Thank you so much for the message; I totally understand where you come from… for me, coming across spanish-speaking vkei fans is a rarity! I’m glad the little silly drawings were nice to look at :,)

this is the full page! a daily routine…

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i was looking through my files and laughed a little at the french assignment i made again

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Uruha pspspsps

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"I've lived my whole wretched life at your mercy, yours alone, and God knows I deserve to die at your hand. You are my only friend. I am undone without you."

-

i finished Gideon the Ninth yesterday, and oh boy. that ending 😭 please no spoilers for the rest of the series, i am going in blind and i'm very excited

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Perceiving very attractive people while ace is such a silly experience, it feels like reading those tumblr tags where people are like “he’s so hot I need to **** *** ***** ******* *** *****” where you have no idea what words they’ve blanked out except despite me being the one writing it I also don’t know what the censored part says or what I want it to say my brain just kinda stops at the “they’re so hot I need to-” part and then ????? fuck if I know there’s just miscellaneous asterisks there instead of the rest of the sentence lmao

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Mondays were the worst.

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working on a theory of ballpoint pen disappearance using an equilibrium model.

problem: i bought a 36-pack of cheap ballpoint pens two months ago. I keep putting a new pen on the coffee table by my notebooks, and yet, there is never a pen there.

constraints: i live alone, so it's unlikely someone is stealing my pens.

hypothesis: there are many places where a ballpoint pen may be needed, and only one place where pens are introduced into the system. for example, when i take a notebook to the coffee shop to work, i put a pen with that notebook. in this way pens are dispersed to places where i use my notebooks. this is much like how gases expand to fill a container until they reach a uniform pressure, or water molecules pass across a semipermeable membrane until they reach a uniform water concentration, or heat passes between two bodies until they reach thermal equilibrium.

can we use such a model to predict the behavior of my ballpoint pen collection? what implications will that have? for one thing, it posits the possibility that one day my ballpoint pen collection will achieve uniform density across all the places where i may use a pen, and the pens will stop disappearing from my coffee table.

why is it that we have never observed such an equilibrium in practice? well, there are a few possibilities. perhaps the space my ballpoint pen collection is trying to fill is simply too vast, so that the ballpoint pen density at any one point is too low to be observable. perhaps the lifespan of a single pen is so short that there is, as it were, a leak in the system, due to pens dying and exiting the system (via the trash can). perhaps --

wait hang on. Fucking. Post cancelled. I just found three working ballpoint pens in the bottom of my backpack.

conclusion: there is a one-way ballpoint pen valve in my backpack.

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you may need lyrics so this one has none, but i'm obsessed with it atm, it's jon hopkins - ritual (evocation)

this is so cool. incredibly atmospheric. some sandman stuff since I miss my scrungly little meow meow blorbo (terrifying powerful dream of the endless)

Hob had been having dreams he could not remember. They left him feeling... unthetered. Grief clawed at his chest. He woke up gasping like he had lost something just by waking up.

He knew objectively that he should actually sleep more. He looked older than his years, the dark circles under his eyes had invented a new dark purple pigment. His skin was sallow. Rose had been stealing worried glances at him when she thought he wouldn't notice.

He should be resting, but he couldn't. His time was running out.

He was supposed to meet his Counterpart at a young age, or at least that was his destiny. He was born under good, reliable stars. He was supposed to live a long life, and his Counterpart was just the beginning. So many live without them, not having runes on their arms since birth. Their unblemished skin speaks of no specific path, of potential. Hob would have liked a destiny like that, instead he was born with an entire novel, it seemed, of dark runes running down his arms, reaching the knuckles. So many words.

He should have known from the start that his Counterpart would be difficult to find, if their shared destiny is so complex, the runes overlapped in angry, black strokes, the details of a nervous writing.

"Why history?" hid older sister asked him once. Why not politics, or a public job. Something that allowed him to meet many people, so that his chances of meeting his Counterpart would increase. How was his Counterpart dealing without him? Were they sick already? Did they wake up screaming? Were they lonely?

History called to Hob before and more loudly than anything else. It had to do with humanity, Hob answered Lizzie, the comfort he drew from learning the shared details of human existence through the ages. Some would have struggled to feel remarkable, knowing how their life was so similar to others, but Hob didn't need an exceptional beginning to feel special. He had all the answers already, drawn in permanent ink on his skin.

He had started to dabble in Counterpart rituals from a theoretical standpoint. For research. One good paper to secure his teaching position. Except the topic was too interesting, and the writings he found were so well-preserved, it felt like Fate. Like another word on his arm guiding him to the person he was meant to meet.

(Soulmate was a terrible translation. Its modern use lacked the broader meaning associated with the word. Counterpart conveyed well the crux of the matter, when it came to this kind of 'soulmates'. They implied a wound, a separation. It was the universe telling you you couldn't do it alone, except it could include your entire life or only a small part of it. Everything else was yours to decide, you just had to meet them.)

Rose was someone who had spent her life studying rituals. She was naturally able to read runes, and what her instinct didn't know she made up for with years of study. Her brother, she had explained Hob with a fond smile, was a diehard Sandman enthusiast as a kid. She had started reading Sandman folktales to her brother, and the rest was history.

They had time to actually do the ritual, except Hob's time was running out. He was a shadow of himself. Fear of death was not something he was accostumed to: he used to joke he would live forever, with the way his runes covered so much of his body. Apparently the runes weren't enough to quench the fear.

To put it bluntly, he was dying.

***

First came the smoke. Hob swore someone snuffed out the candles, a deep exhale. In the dark, his hearing heightened. It had been supremely stupid of him, to do this without Rose, who knew the risks better than him, who would have known how to reverse this. Hob couldn't move a muscle. He stood frozen in his living room, cursing his hubris and feeling his legs grow weaker by the second.

A step, to his right. A swift kick, sending a candle flying. The lights of the outside world dimmed, and suddnely Hob couldn't see. There was no difference if he kept his eyes closed or open.

"Foolish. You dare..."

He couldn't breathe. Stupidly, he thought the stranger, the creature, had some Darth Vater powers, because the sound that escaped his lips was not a word, or a real sound really. The stranger laughed anyway, a scratchy, tired sound.

"I thought the time for rituals was over. You did not learn your lesson."

What lesson?

"One would think humans would tell their stories well. It's so easy to meet me, couldn't you have listened? You had to drag me here. You had to force my hand."

The vitriolic anger in the creature's voice sent a shiver down Hob's back. Oh, he was fucked.

Another rustle, and a freezing cold hand went to cover Hob's mouth. He tried to scream, his heart beating at an impossible pace while the creature's claws punctured his skin.

"The last time I trusted a ritual, I was trapped for two hundred years. I do not care for the words on your skin, Hob Gadling, or for your dreams." a pause. A second arm wrapped around Hob's waist, like a parody of a back hug. "I will not stay."

***

Dream of the Endless could not play favourites, but he waited for Hob Gadling's dreams with something close to anticipation. Such a human emotion, it felt foreign in his life made of eternities.

While he was dreaming, Hob liked to run his mouth. He gambled, teased Dream and acted like he was not a mere pebble in the river of eternity. So, he was pretty much the same as awake. Dream always waited for Hob's dreams to materialise, but they never did. Hob would just.... wait for him in the dreaming.

"My dear Counterpart," he would say, and it sounded close to the way he'd have said 'my old friend', or something slightly different, more fragile.

"I am no one's Counterpart, Hob Gadling. I am not human," Dream answered.

"But what about my runes? There's... all your names here. All our dreams together. Doesn't it count for something?"

At this, Hob's eyes lost their playful shine. They did not have enough time to be sad when they were together, but the look in Hob's eyes (and, he had to admit, in Dream's eyes too) hid all the things they could not talk about. All the wishes they had to forget once Hob inevitably woke up.

"It counts here," Dream said. In Hob's dreams, his arms were black with runes, with hopes and possible futures. No matter how many times Lucienne asked, he was not sure if those were real runes, or a detail of Hob's dreams. Hob tweaking the dreamland to get at least the satisfaction of matching runes.

Sunrise was tearing apart Hob's dreaming. Soon, the pub would disappear, and Dream would have to force Hob to forget.

"It cannot count outside."

"I saw you, last night. The ritual worked."

If Dream truly had a heart, it'd have broken when faced with the task of crushing Hob's hopes yet another time.

"I appeared so you would not get sick, but it won't work again. If-When you try again, I will not answer."

Dream of the Endless could not play favourites, but he loved Hob's stubborness, his constant laughing in the face of Destiny.

"This is where we disagree," Hob said. They were already hugging, the pub gone, and soon Dream's hands would cradle Hob's face and he would steall all his memories of the dream with a simple press of lips. "You will answer. You like me too much to leave me alone."

Dream frowned. He was a god made of darkness, now, his oldest form, and Hob had the nerve to smile. How cruel it was, that Hob could be so right and so wrong at the same time. "You are not alone, Hob Gadling, and you have a real life to live. Do not mistake a dream for a house you can live in. That path only leads to regret."

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Okay here's my obligatory post about Tumblr users and their ignorance of rap, as a (white) fan of rap:

Saying "Not all rap music is about violence, here are alternatives" is not helpful, because the violent music ALSO has meaning.

When Biggie Smalls postures about his gang connections and packing heat, he isn't doing it because wow violence is so edgy, it's a powerful statement. Youth in urban areas where gang activity is heavy are often treated as lesser than by default, especially compared to black people the same age from a wealthy background. There's a reason that the "wholesome and respectable" black-lead entertainment of that era was stuff like the Cosby Show, with doctor-lawyer parents, or Family Matters, with a cop dad. There's a reason why the big joke of Fresh Prince is someone with a more unstable upbringing moving in with one of these model black sitcom families.

Standing up and saying yeah, I came from the mean streets, I was molded by this violence and yes, I did what I had to do to survive in a world that refuses to acknowledge my existence as meaningful or worthy of protection. I protected myself, I made my own way, and fuck anybody who tries to stand in the way of that.

Refusing to demonize that environment and wearing it like armor in a way that protects from the authority that wants you to see them as sub humans incapable of only violence and hatred, and saying HEY. I'm here, I lived this, and there is love and there is pain and there is ART in this.

That is powerful. That is the essence of gangster rap.

It isn't about hurting people for fun, it's about holding a mirror up to a society that does the hurting and then calls you a monster for what it's made you. Its about validating the experiences of the disenfranchised and biting back at authority. It's about turning a pain that the world say you deserve being one of those people from those places into POETRY. Into ART.

And thats why it matters.

And thats why you need to shut the yell up and stop dismissing it as violence without substance when you all sat on your ass listening to songs about Hatsune Miku eating people in middle school.

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Me and my muse frolicking in the comments a precious stranger left on every single chapter of a long fic

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 Reworking of my original Primordial Mother

The Primordial Mother is an example of a living mythos; A maid that is of corporeal and faith. She is seen as both giver and taker. Mother and monster of the cosmic deep. A behemoth of the abyss, she is the leviathan of the mermaid world. 

While many mermaid species don’t possess culture or what would be deemed as such. There are species who do in fact display a sentience, a self awareness and with that a seeming spirituality. In some species of mermaids it appears as though the Primordial Mother is revered as a Goddess figure.

Aside from her spiritual connection to certain mermaid species, it is believed that this specie is in fact the ancient progenitor of all mermaid species. Offerings, effigies, and carvings have been exhibited depicting this colossal maid and were the first things seen of this mysterious God. It was once believe to be purely religious iconography. It wasn’t until much later that the existence of Primordial Mother was confirmed. It is not known if she is aware of her divinity status. 

While not agreed upon, it is believed that there is only ever one Primordial Mother at one time. The species is entirely comprised of males except for her. Males of the species will search the ocean depths to find her. Forming large harems. Many will never find a female Primordial Mother in their lifetime. When the Primordial mother dies, the largest, most dominant male within the harem with undergo a metamorphosis taking her place. Some speculate that there are many, though fewer in number, Primordial mothers. It is not known if this concept of a single mother is purely symbolic albeit believed by mermaid species. Regardless, the Primordial Mother inhabits such depths much of their life will remain a mystery. 

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hi kaamelott fans, what was the purpose of ceremony for perceval at the end of livre 4?

i thought it was a wedding but angharad wasnt there. it was just him.

was he baptized or something?

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listening to a bunch of arguments against the gospel rn and I'm kinda astonished by the fact that one of the main taking points that keeps coming up could be lifted verbatim from Kaamelott.

It's this idea that 'condemning people on the basis of their unbelief in the cross is really unfair' (depending on who you ask, either because God could have simply not had Jesus die on the cross and/or because eternal condamnation is a really disproportionate punishment for something as neutral as mere unbelief or belief in something else). I'm bringing up Kaamelott because at his most depressed, Arthur says something I've always found fascinating but completely wrong:

"What do you call someone who suffers and spills his blood on the ground so that everybody be found guilty? All those who commit suicide are the Christ."

To me that quote and the argument against the fairness of the gospel come from the exact same place of profound misunderstanding. We are not condemned 'just' for not believing, and God didn't send Jesus into the world as a sort of twisted test for most people to fail. The very premise of the sacrifice for redemption (not suicide, not something Jesus could just not do and then we'd have all been fine) is that we are all condemned before the cross. If there was no cross to believe in, then guess what? The message would be that we are condemned, period.

The overarching story of the Bible is that we are already deserving of punishment for all that we do (all the hate and contempt we have for one another, all the good we should be doing and don't do, all the selfishness, all the hurt we cause...) and it's not lack of belief in what Jesus did on the cross that condemns us - lack of belief is what keeps us in our state of condemnation. We are not guilty because Jesus' blood was spilled (although that too is added to our sins if we remain in them), Jesus' blood is spilled because we are guilty. People asking 'so just because I don't believe in your God he's going to punish me?' as a gotcha to try and prove that God is malevolent are getting the most utterly basic cause and effect of the Gospel reversed.

This is how Jesus himself explains it in John 3! (which, btw, I saw some people quote as 'evidence' for this weird take)

16 For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. 17 For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. 18 Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already because they have not believed in the name of God’s one and only Son. 19 This is the verdict: Light has come into the world, but people loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil. 

Whoever does not believe stands condemned already. And of course, people who reject the light remain lost in the darkness because they 'have not believed in [the light],' but the darkness was already there before the light came (duh).

It's expected that a tragicomic take on King Arthur in a wacky show that very deliberately has myth as its essence above even internal consistancy would have some wonky theological takes (by the way, that line is not even something Arthur believes, it's something from a dream that he had in his near comatose state after a suicide attempt, and he's recounting the dream to someone - which I wouldn't take as indicative that the line was meant as a bold philosophical epiphany reached through full clarity of mind) but it's baffling that people who want to seriously deconstruct the New Testament, the cross, the gospels or the concept of a redemptive offering for sin would be satisfied with something so shallow. Criticism of a belief system should get its fundamentals right to be meaningful, not be virtually indistinguishable from the angsty musings of some French polymath's Arthurian self insert.

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this post feels..... E N D L E S S