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Look, pal, when I say "fanfiction does not have the cultural reach to be able to change social perceptions of controversial topics"

what I mean is "if Game of Thrones could not manage to normalize incest, a handful of shipcest fics on AO3 with 50 kudos each sure aren't going to manage to normalize it!"

And you know that. In your heart you know it.

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Dinotopia???

CHROMAKOOOOOOOOOOOPIA

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K. M. Weiland:

Why Intentional Storytelling Matters in an Era of AI and Algorithm-Driven Content

Intentional storytelling—the kind that grows from a writer’s unique vision and voice—is at risk of being quietly drowned out by franchise formulas, AI-generated content, and the pressure to produce faster than ever. If you’ve ever felt like you’re just going through the motions instead of creating something that truly matters, you’re not alone. Let’s explore what’s being lost, and what we can reclaim.

In This Article:

What Intentional Storytelling Is Not: Avoiding Formula and Empty Content

How Modern Media Incentivizes Unintentional Choices

Why “Just Following the Formula” Falls Short

Tools vs. Crutches: Knowing the Difference

What Is Intentional Storytelling? Defining Purposeful, Authentic Narrative Craft

What Makes Details Matter: Cohesion and Resonance

How Subtext Reflects the Integrity of a Story

What AI Can’t Do for You (Unless You Know Yourself First)

Why Intentional Storytelling Matters More Than Ever in an AI-Driven Content World

How the Creative Landscape Is Changing

Why the Story Still Starts With You

Two Questions to Guide Every Writing Decision

[...]

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Games of Divinity is running headlong into my ennui with Natlan

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ever engage with a media you really really liked and thought you were going to become obsessed with but it doesn’t quite lodge itself into your brain at the correct angle and you can just brush fingertips with the version of yourself from the alternate reality where it completely corrupted your every waking thought

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Former living weapon absolutely dominating at laser tag

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writing tip #3911:

it doesn't matter if your story has a happy ending or a sad ending. all readers care about is which of your characters got the highest number of points at the end (they get a point every time they suffer)

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akesumi crumbs this chapter *and* possible new crumbs for future chapter? hoo boy count me in!

Spoiler; the next chapter of Akechi Goro vs the Phantom Thieves will contain Akechi Goro AND the Phantom Thieves

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I'm sorry, the HR's between each scene just make me think the literal HR people involved in the shitshow of Devil Summoning are screaming at each other

Yukiko is head of HR so she is very much involved (usually by throwing fire at people)

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is this ship popular because it’s legitimately compelling or is it popular because it’s the easiest to decontextualize and write college roommate AUs about?

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Each other's missing piece 💙🩵

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doing actual worldbuilding for a story that is 100% porn is the best thing. yes i know you're here to flick your shit. analyze my weapon design boy

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My toxic trait is that I am far more interested in the socio-economic and geopolitical implications of ABO settings than the smut.

For example: I can't read any ABO AUs set in England or France because while I can suspend my disbelief far enough for a gender trinary set up, I can't suspend it enough to believe those two countries would still be distinct entities in a alternate history where Richard the Lionheart could have impregnated Philip II.

If there was a viable dynastic future with Richard, Philip would have climbed him like an oak and dragged him to the altar if he had to. It's a match that makes perfect sense from both their points of view: Philip gets Aquitaine back under French rule, the best general in Europe on his council, and a powerful check on the Angevins... then unexpectedly (after Henry the Young bites it) the entire Kingdom of England for his Capetian dynasty. Richard meanwhile gets to stick it to his father, secure Aquitaine's prosperity, and gets the leverage to start pushing for his mother's release. Then when Henry kicks the bucket Richard doesn't actually have to be King of England in anything but name: Philip can run the countries and unify the Crowns and what not while Richard runs off to go Crusading.

Plus they also like, loved each other and stuff and being able to get to be together long term instead of being torn apart by politics would have been cool. But I'm mainly obsessed with the historical and dynastic implications.

All this to say any ABO au set in England or France that doesn't have them united as a singular Anglo-Frank empire is doing it wrong.

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I don't know what it's called but I think a lot of my fic has been like fanfictionception where use cues and references from one fandom in a fic about characters from a different fandom

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Devil Summoner: Akechi Goro vs the Phantom Thieves Canto IV:  True enemy or false friend?

The demon glared down at Goro with twisted imitations of his own eyes. His warm reddish-brown irises had been replaced with a sickly golden hue that illuminated the tiny cell he found himself in. Tattoos like the ones that covered the Phantom Thieves glowed in time with each ragged breath as Goro's doppelganger gripped his shirt tightly. 

"I know I'm the last person you want to see right now, and I don't know how long I can keep you here," the Demon Goro said, eyes dancing with manic delight. "So shut the hell up and-" 

"Get out of my head !" Goro howled, his voice returning to him like air filling his lungs. For the first time, the dream felt solid, and rather than feeling like a relief it just brought the horror into sharper focus. 

"This has been my head for years now, but you're welcome to stay," the Demon Goro snickered. "What's mine is…well, mine, after all. Now then-" 

"Are you with Joker?!" Goro demanded, kicking against the demon's grip to no avail. 

"No…and I haven't been for a long time," the Demon Goro rasped, licking his lips. "But that's where you come in...you're going to take me to him. You're going to bring me to Joker and-" 

"Like hell," Goro spat, grimacing as the Demon Goro lowered his face close to Goro's. 

"You have no idea what hell is, you little shit," the Demon Goro hissed. "They say hell is the absence of God, and I have been cut off from mine for years while you stagger around like a fucking idiot trying to kill them. Honestly, if I didn't need you to survive I would have blown your head off by now." 

"Sorry, I would have done it for you if I knew you were so eager," Goro sneered. "Why don't you show me your real face? Or are you so feeble that you have to rely on cheap tricks to win your battles?" 

The Demon Goro laughed. "Nothing cheap about this trick; it took me years to save up enough magatsuhi to break through and even then I had to wait until that fool made you seriously bleed…he should have shot you when you first entered that bar." 

The Demon gripped the sides of Goro's head forcing him to look into his eyes.

"And you're wrong about another thing…well, you're wrong about damn near everything. But specifically, you're wrong about this face…it's always been mine. Because we are the same, Goro," The Demon grinned. "I am you…and sad as it is to admit it, you are me." 

"Bullshit," Goro…wanted to say. The word hung on his tongue ready to pounce, but his mouth wouldn't obey him. "You're…you're not me," Goro stammered, his voice coming out softer than he wanted. "You're some twisted thing that looks like me!" 

"I could say the same about you," the Demon Goro sneered, revulsion clinging to every word. "You're a pathetic, blind, caustic little shit; just like they made you. A good little knife that's eager to dig into the throat of whoever they sic you on." 

The Demon’s fingers trembled as they grasped Goro's forehead, thumb pressing down against his brow until Goro felt the skin melt around it. His head throbbed, aching when even the bone twisted around the Demon's thumb as he pushed his hand directly into Goro's brain.

He might have screamed but Goro could hear nothing over a roar that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him and just when he felt like he was about to be shaken apart by the force of the sound—

You blink. 

And in the mirror in front of you is a skinny boy with brown eyes and a pair of swim trunks that look too big. 

You should be grateful: they are one of the few gifts you've ever received in your short, unhappy life. But certain people ought to not wear swimsuits; one look at your gangly, pale self and you're convinced that you're one of them. You try and tell yourself that the disquiet you feel is just the ordinary dysmorphia common in teenage boys, but 1) you don't even know what the word "dysmorphia" means and 2) you're quite certain that you should be doing something else. 

A soft knock at the door over your shoulder draws your attention across the small bedroom you share. On the table behind you, a small collection of broken locks and twisted hair pins sit next to a worn collection of detective novels. You've read a few; old Lupin manga and Agatha Christie books. Fruity detectives that attract crime like flies and flippant thieves who thumb their noses at decency. The sort of borderline dangerous heroes that teenage boys identify with far too much. 

The door opens, drawing your attention away from the books. "Hey, you coming or what?" 

Your hands tug your baggy blue button up shirt closed just before your roommate sticks his head in. God knows you had accidentally walked in on each other while dressing a number of times, but lately you feel self conscious…almost as though you care about his opinion of you. 

"C'mon, R☲uj☲ and ☲n☲ want to split the watermelon already…they found a very big stick that they're very excited about," your roommate says, leaning on the doorframe. He's dressed in a baggy shirt that hangs off one shoulder and some loud red swim-trunks at odds with most people's perception of him. But you know him better. You know what lies under his mask of dull compliance like no one else. 

You reply with something snippy and rude to hide your discomfort, and he brushes it off with a laugh. It's scary how quickly your defenses have been undone by people who were strangers only a few months earlier; you don't know how worried you should be that your sole method of keeping yourself from getting hurt no longer works.

"☲☷t☲☷a said if I don't bring you, she's gonna get a lasso and tie it to the back of one of the trucks so she can drag you out," your roommate says, and knowing her (whoever she is) it's no empty threat. At some point, your housemates apparently decided that they were going to drag you kicking and screaming into their little friend group. You still don't know why; you expect it has something to do with slugging a sleazy doctor and getting him fired. But for the first time in your life, other kids have done more than sneer at your ratty clothes, sullen disposition, or your lack of parents. 

Your voice is too distant to hear, but your roommate's laugh rings as clear as a bell as he throws an arm over your shoulder and pulls you out of your room. His skin is warm and smells vaguely like coconut sunscreen lotion; another little detail about him you add to the collection that grows daily. Soon warm sand crunches beneath your toes as he pulls you down the long white boardwalk, past a few men in body armor with pistols in their belts, and towards the pristine shoreline and sounds of laughter.

You raise your hand to blot out the sun, and as your roommate calls out to the p☷☷☷e on the ☷☷ch, th☷ a☲☷ ☲☷☲☷ with ☲☷☲☷of ☲☷☲☷☲☷☲, gentle ☲☷☲☷ and ☲☷ ☲☷and ☲☷☲☷and ☲☷☲☷and ☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷and ☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷██████████████☷☲☷☲☷☲☷ ☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷and ☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷███████████████████████████████████��████████████████████████████████████████████████████████☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷☲☷-

"Goro?"

█████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████

"Goro?"

███████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████

"GORO?!" 

The beach is gone. Your friends are gone; in fact, you've never had any to begin with. 

You are kneeling on a cold and dirty tile floor next to a bathtub, looking into the face of your mother for the first time in your recollection. Glassy eyes stare lifelessly up at you, her hair billowing out in bloody water like seaweed. It's the first time she's looked at you with anything other than resentment in her eyes, and of course it happened after she died. 

Your mother killed herself when you were four years old, and you're only now realizing it.

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