#(not quite there yet. but it could work from art's perspective)

[sixosix]

IT WAS ALL BY DESIGN | KAVEH

tags second chance, angst and fluff, time-skips, DARK HUMOR, lovers to exes to lovers again, profanity

written for art @aanobrain, who i made a bloodpact with saying that if i were to write this they’d write me xiao, so here we are. hope u like it art

a/n wc 4K kaveh lore spoilers but i didn’t follow the canon timeline. kaveh meets al-haitham BEFORE the palace of alcazarzaray. also this has two parts

next part

kaveh first saw you when he was presenting his nth draft proposal to his fellow group members.

it’s stressful, it’s a mess, kaveh is lost, and so, so tired. this group is certainly the worst one he’s had yet, but he’s too far deep to back out now.

tamara sighs deeply, like a tired mother, and kaveh’s temper flares, “i understand your need to express your love for aesthetics, but don’t you think that it’s unwise to sacrifice practicality?”

kaveh’s jaw ticks. “sacrifice? i’ve already explained that i’ve thought of every detail to consider. give me something to work on, actual criticism, without just slandering my ideals.”

tamara enjoys insulting his beliefs because she is nothing like kaveh. or maybe it’s because he is nothing like her.

it always is like this. snobs treat his proposals—bursting at the seams with unique ideas yet never neglecting quality—like a joke, and they never get past getting called drafts. he never gets past calling any of his first proposals a success.

“the outside world wouldn’t be as lenient as we had been to your designs, you know,” another of them says. one of his mentors. “tamara is right. we don’t have to get too detailed. here, listen, what if you just change up the strange curve of this wall? and this pillar you…”

outside world, kaveh thinks bitterly. he had already dealt enough with the outside world, but keeping him cornered against a wall he had been building against them was far worse than that.

yet he can’t say this. he’s said enough already. if tamara’s face were to get any redder, he’d lose the opportunity for the materials collectively funded by these people.

kaveh sighs, defeated. “i know. i’m sorry i snapped. i’ll take in your suggestions. what did you say must be removed first?”

“hold on,” one of his group mates speaks up. anis leans her chair over to another table, tapping the shoulder of someone kaveh is sure he’s never damn seen before. “hey, what do you think?”

you squint at kaveh’s work, unfazed by anis interrupting your studies. kaveh doesn’t want to, but he can’t look away. “i don’t understand some of it, but it’s nice. this building would look beautiful in the jungle.”

anis returns the front of her char’s legs on the floor. “ahh, you think?” she muses, handing the paper over to you. “well, an outside perspective is just as important.”

with a pen in your grip, you point at somewhere kaveh can’t quite see, blocked off by the back of the paper. it’s blocked off your face, too. “could use a bit more ornamental flora. too little over here if you’re going to already add it. life doesn’t just come from bright colors, but other forms of life as well.”

“spoken like a true amurta darshan.”

you huff proudly, lowering the paper and revealing your smile. kaveh stares, and stares.

knowing how to appreciate beauty as he does is a trait he has always admired. he secretly takes your suggestions to heart, planning to pull another all-nighter for a few sketches. this is the beauty of the akademiya; why he never gave up as soon as he was first brought down—he learns so much every day.

his heart races just at the thought of it. it’s been days since he felt this.

kaveh wonders if he’ll see you again and doesn’t get much time to think about it again when he’s pulled back to reality, back to yet another proposal that’s been erased so many times, it looks more like a smudge of ink than something kaveh would proudly call his.

kaveh sees you again in the house of daena hunched over a book with your face pinched, sitting next to someone, and he thinks that might’ve been when he fell in love.

but no, that can’t be right. that’s not how love works. it takes time, courage, long nights, restless mornings—this is just him a few feet away from someone whose words he admired.

this must be more like passing by a picture that caught his interest. this must be more fleeting, more like what he deserves, like how the yolk is shaped perfectly on his breakfast for the first time in weeks, how the weather is perfect for smooth construction without disaster, or how his mother did not at least cry too much in a day.

he had only been trying to pass by and continue annotating the book he promised himself to get back to, which happened to be slotted on the shelf in front of your table. it’s sheer luck. and he might’ve taken advantage of it.

the student next to you is speaking. cyno, kaveh recognizes belatedly. “do you get it? because wave could refer to the motion of your hands, but it could also refer to an ocean’s wave, or what is the result of the wind blowing over the surface of—”

you clutch your head. with your eyes off the books scattered across the desk, kaveh sees this as a sign to turn away, a small smile on his face as he listens to your voice. it’s pleasant, much more than the ones he hears all the time around him. “please, cyno, have some respect for your senior and have mercy on the bags under my eyes.”

“i am,” cyno says sternly. “i am cheering you up. perhaps it’s because you aren’t under-sand-ing my jokes.”

when kaveh risks a glance, you throw a crumbled paper onto cyno, which he catches with unblinking ease.

“don’t make me call tighnari here,” you threaten, holding a pen to his face.

“is he going to give me pun-ishment?”

“cyno…”

kaveh gets his wits about him again and realizes that he had been picking more books than he needed, just in time to hear more of cyno, unfortunately.

“did you not understand? you see, the word punishment has pun in it, which is what i’m—”

“that’s it.” the sound of a chair sliding across the smooth floor echoes in the quiet halls. “you sit there alone. think about your actions; i’m going to get lunch without you.”

kaveh takes a step forward, you do so backward, and you catch each other’s eyes from the synchronized movement.

somehow, meeting your eyes makes his heart jump to his throat. he can’t tell if this is better or worse than when you were just at a different table and he didn’t have the chance to speak with you.

it becomes a moment too long: kaveh gets nervous, spinning around on his heels and pretending to look for more books. this is unlike him. his head aches trying to think about it.

once you leave, kaveh approaches cyno.

“cyno,” kaveh says with a smile.

“kaveh,” cyno acknowledges. “why were you just watching us? was there something wrong?”

kaveh’s blood drains from his face. “was it that obvious? was it?”

cyno nods. “you’re terrible at acting casual.”

kaveh sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “ugh—whatever. cyno, hey, listen. that person you were with…”

“y/n?” he tilts his head. “did you need anything?”

“no, no.” kaveh repeats your name in his head, and files it away for later. “do you want to get lunch?” he asks, which he later realizes is an unspoken invitation for a new side of cyno he wishes he didn’t know. the puns hurt his head more than frustrating clients.

kaveh sits by himself in lambad’s tavern, lazily rocking his glass back and forth.

he’s made friends. plenty. but he’s not sure if he can confide in them if he were to go to them in this state.

he thought could consider al-haitham as one, but that blew over on his own face some time ago. it was a mess. kaveh’s not sure which hurt more: when he felt his own spite with how he trembled in spitting al-haitham’s name, or the fact that someone he almost considered a best friend seemed unfazed at all when they both knew that they wouldn’t talk to each other the next day.

al-haitham removed his name from the thesis, and kaveh tore up the copy he had of it. but unlike al-haitham, kaveh couldn’t bear the guilt and pieced them back together.

now they haven’t spoken for a while.

and he sits here, frustrated to the point of near tears.

he’s never felt as lonely as he feels right now, burdened by the stress accumulated from all those years with no one to tell him that he’s doing something right, that he’s going in the right direction. it feels childish, but when he closes his eyes, he can vividly imagine someone patting his shoulder, telling him he’s proud to call him his son, or someone pulling him close, kissing his forehead, telling him that she’d come back for him.

kaveh picks up the glass and takes a long sip.

“are you even allowed to drink?” someone says, too close to him.

kaveh inhales sharply, unfortunately breathing his drink along with it. he chokes on it, and some dribbled past his lips as he turns to the sound of the familiar voice.

you quirk an eyebrow. kaveh wants to gape.

“it’s coffee, and i’m allowed,” kaveh mutters hoarsely, flustered. how long have you been there? were you just watching him?

“but you’re pretending it is alcohol?”

kaveh looks away. he was hoping that no one would notice his dramatics.

“it’s funny,” you tell him. kaveh wasn’t really hoping to appear funny in his sorry state.

you call for lambad and tell him you want your usual. when lambad returns, he hands you a half-full glass of what kaveh could smell as alcohol. maybe he should’ve done the same, but his goal was to feel awake enough to finish his due project, not intoxicated and slurring his words together.

“well?” you turn to him, your cheek against your palm as your arm rests against the counter. “are you gonna act like it and bemoan your regrets?”

students of the akademiya have started to become familiar with the fact that kaveh is a one-of-a-kind genius. names like light of kshahrewar started to circle the halls loud enough for kaveh to hear it from rumors and to his face when they asked to collaborate with him or when they ask for too much of his time.

he was expecting you to do the same. he wouldn’t even blame you if you tried because he wouldn’t hesitate to say yes. yes, yes, i want to.

there is no liquid courage here, just the presence of you and his muddled mind finding it far too comfortable.

“my mother remarried,” he says.

you blink, pausing mid-way through drinking your fill. “oh…?”

“i’m happy for her,” kaveh says, confident, firm.

“here’s to that.” you clink your glass against his.

you weren’t taking it as a happy statement. he doesn’t want sympathy, but he knows that whatever you’re thinking is the irrefutable truth. perhaps you were mourning with him because he, too, knows that there’s nothing content about him when he has to reassure himself out loud.

kaveh wants to ask so many questions. he wants to pull out the stacks of papers shoved in his briefcase, ask you what you think of it, listen to you tell him that you understand its beauty, but it’d be more beautiful if he weren’t so afraid and confined in someone else’s ideals. he needs to hear you say it because he knows you’d say the exact same thing as he wants.

instead, he sits quietly, watching you from the corner of his eyes, entranced.

and kaveh—he’s longing. or maybe he’s just starting to feel loneliness. 

“so, what happened between you and al-haitham’s group project?” you ask, wearing a smile that spells out you know exactly what you’re getting into.

“oh, don’t even get me started,” kaveh groans.

the night ends with his heart a little lighter than it was before. (this is still fleeting, right?)

it seems like after that, you’re just everywhere and always by his side. kaveh loves it. especially when he’s too caught up with the world and needs someone to distract him enough to remember that the world is splendid.

despite his desperate attempt at drowning himself in coffee in hopes of being able to remodel at least three rejected drafts, he doesn’t get anything done at all.

he knows that giving in and offering to help out everyone who asks him for it isn’t healthy. he knows it, and he sees the effects on his face, the paleness of his skin, and the mess of his hair.

when kaveh stares his paper down, he can almost see himself on it. not a reflection, but a shadow. it looks like a bird’s nest. he might as well get feathers to go with his hair and complete the look.

someone taps his shoulder, and kaveh somehow doesn’t feel like reacting accordingly. “kaveh, is that you? are you kaveh?” the stranger asks, all in one breath.

it takes him a few seconds. breathing in and out deeply. he turns around, hopes the eyebags on his face aren’t as heavy as they feel, and smiles.

“yes?”

“ah!” he recognizes the student. a few years younger than him. he can’t quite come up with a name right now. “thank goodness. they told me that you could help me with this, i knew you wouldn’t disappoint.”

“oh,” kaveh says, quiet.

if any of his friends were here, they’d glare him down, tell him that he’s going to bleed himself dry if he even thinks about saying anything aside from no. but they aren’t, and kaveh’s heart is bleeding out instead.

“what is it?”

“kaveh!”

you come stumbling in between him and the younger student, whose eyes bulge out of his eyes. he seems to be shaking, if kaveh were to look any closer.

without warning, you throw an arm over kaveh’s shoulder, leaning down to press your chest against his shoulder blade. kaveh’s breath hitches.

you tilt your head to appraise the cowering junior. “oh,” you say, as if not realizing he had been there all along. “daneh. did you need anything?”

“no. no, no, i don’t,” daneh splutters. “i’ll take my leave, i think— i think i should— please excuse me.”

while daneh runs off, kaveh tries to recall his breakfast and the procedure he did in his head to calm down and give himself the boldness to meet your eyes. what is happening to him?

dried fish fillet pan-fried until crispy, served in creamy, white sauce, sprinkled with mint—

“kaveh,” you say. your voice is too close to his ears, which he is sure is turning red.

—kaveh, kaveh, kaveh.

“y/n,” kaveh says, defeated, the grip on his quill faltering. “what was that about?”

he thinks he can feel a grin, and he badly wants to see what it would look like on your face. “i don’t remember telling you my name.”

curiosity wins. kaveh can’t help but smile along with you when he sees it. “you did it on purpose?” then, “cyno told me.”

“you asked around about me?”

“yes, i did,” he says, almost petulantly.

the way your mouth tips to one side more makes your beam come off more smug. “is that so?” you say, and kaveh feels like he’s bared himself to the world. “what’s this?”

kaveh follows where you’re pointing. it’s a mindless sketch he was practicing with; he doesn’t remember drawing half of it. “i was… oh, i don’t know, i just needed a break.”

“this is what you do on your break?” your fingers hover over the page as you trace the curved columns and drooping roof. “green. they look like leaves,” you tell him quietly.

kaveh’s smile turns softer at your sincere awe. “i know.” he wonders what’s going on in your head, then wonders if he’s worth knowing. “what do you think’s missing?”

“i’m no architect, but it could use a bit more of a… splash, you know? color. maybe some—”

“ornamental flora?” kaveh finishes for you. “you’re right. there’s no need to worry about this, though. i must have been on autopilot creating this.”

“straight to the bin it goes? what a shame. it’s stunning.” there’s a seat right there, yet you insist on being pressed against him, bent over, still too close to his ear. you talk about beauty, and kaveh asks himself if you’ve looked at yourself. “i suppose i don’t understand how geniuses work. you are one of a kind, light of kshahrewar.”

then he is suddenly so aware of your hand having trailed upwards, resting on his nape. as you move, your skin rubs absentmindedly on where the hair fades. he shivers.

he hates that title. he feels like he doesn’t deserve any praise he receives at all. yet when you say it—

“you blush a lot,” you point out. kaveh wants to dig a hole and lay there forever. “it’s cute. your expressiveness is charming.”

“don’t—just say that.” his face is so, so red.

al-haitham finds him alone at the same table that night, unable to focus on anything but his racing thoughts. something is wrong with him, he’s sure. he’ll have to pay tighnari a visit and retrace if he’d picked the wrong mushroom.

al-haitham—and kaveh doesn’t know how he’s managed to figure it out so easily—makes a face that would be the closest thing to a smile. “i like y/n,” al-haitham says, out of the blue.

“what,” kaveh says flatly, coiled up like a cat prepared to pounce.

“smart enough to pull you back down and smart enough to make you listen.”

“it’s—” kaveh wants to say it’s not like that, but he goes silent thinking about it. “fuck off. you wouldn’t get it.”

al-haitham tilts his head to the side. “you’re the one not ‘getting it’.”

thankfully, al-haitham leaves him be. they are still on awkward terms, after all.

“oh,” kaveh says intelligently one morning. oh, no.

tighnari’s ear twitches. “the star of the show is here, finally.”

“everyone,” kaveh starts solemnly as the door slams shut behind him. the wind blows, and kaveh’s hair flutters, looking like he came straight out of those films.

“how has dealing with your recent client been looking?” tighnari asks with a smile. cyno and al-haitham nod because they probably didn’t think of even asking that. it’s why tighnari is kaveh’s favorite.

but he is not here to talk about that.

kaveh slams his briefcase on the table, rattling their glasses. “i’m going to confess.”

al-haitham makes a face. “who are we confessing to?”

“not we, al-haitham. stay out of this,” kaveh says. al-haitham’s expression doesn’t change. “i’m going to confess, and it’s going to be so romantic. no one can say no.”

“i would say no.”

kaveh glares, snatching his glass. “al-haitham, just be quiet. the adults are talking. this isn’t about you.”

“you invited us out here,” al-haitham points out.

cyno tilts his head. “to y/n, right?”

“about time,” tighnari sighs.

“yes, to y/n. and what do you mean about—” kaveh huffs, getting red in the face, flustered. “hey, aren’t you guys going to stop me? tell me this is a bad idea and that i’m going to ruin this meaningful friendship i have with y/n?”

“everyone wants you to confess already,” al-haitham says, as if kaveh is stupid for not realizing that. maybe he is.

cyno hums thoughtfully. “if i stop you, i think y/n will murder me with bare hands.”

“oh,” kaveh says, pleased. whatever that means. “alright, then, thank you.” he downs the glass of water—it was al-haitham’s, most likely, judging by the incensed expression on his face—and grabs his briefcase again.

“where are you going— kaveh, hey, where do you think you’re—” tighnari smacks his hand on the table, yelling after kaveh, who’s already by the door.

kaveh’s confession is messy, quick, and probably not as romantic as he had hoped, stumbling over his words and feeling as brave as an infatuated schoolgirl.

“pinning me against the shelf like this is quite the move, kaveh,” you say, and kaveh snaps back to reality. “why are we hiding?”

“sorry,” he splutters, backing off a bit but not enough to have you far from touching him. “i don’t want—someone could see us.”

“now, why are you afraid of that?” you grin, sly enough to make kaveh comprehend that you know exactly what he’s called you over here for. you do the—the thing again, where you trace shapes on his nape, and he shivers helplessly.

“i like you too much,” kaveh says, his face too red to be passed off as sunburnt.

suddenly, all the confidence he thought he had when he left the tavern dissipated. “you know what i mean. can you—no, will you… ugh, i’m not doing it right—”

you meet his gaze, and you don’t look away, the long silence starting to grow distressing for kaveh.

“kaveh,” you say softly, and that’s when kaveh’s expression crumbles. it could be because of how you said it, carving his name with your mouth so tenderly, but really, it’s because he feels like you wouldn’t look at him the same way ever again.

“yes.”

…wait.

you cup his cheek, pulling him closer to you by his hips. “yes, yes.”

“wait,” kaveh says, “really?”

you bristle, tilting your head down. are you embarrassed? kaveh feels a thrill run down his spine. “yes. about time—we finally did something about the unbearable tension between us. so, if you’re willing to have me…”

“yes, yes,” kaveh says, to all of that. “god, yes.”

embarrassed, you bury your face on his shoulder. kaveh can’t hide how fast his heart is beating when you’re directly on top of it. when you’re in it. “but listen, kaveh, i don’t know if i can stay here in sumeru forever. and i know it will be hard. so if you aren’t—”

kaveh is too happy to think too hard about that.

“no,” kaveh says, “no, i still want to try. please, let’s try.”

“okay,” you breathe, smiling brightly. “kiss me already, will you?”

kaveh prays and prays and thanks their archon that this isn’t fleeting. don’t let it be, not when he has you, and he has already found out your lips meld perfectly with his.

lord sangemah bay commissions him.

in the first few minutes after dori told him that she could care less about what he wanted to do with the place, kaveh didn’t know what to do with himself. he wanted to do everything, but when all of it comes rushing at once, he’s frozen in place instead.

he takes a step in the direction of the house of daena, then another, and another, until he’s sprinting and his heart is racing enough to have a smile crack across his face.

he spends the night in there. he feels crazy; other students can sense madness in his eyes. they all leave him be, as if they know that once they ask, kaveh will never stop talking.

kaveh feels his wrist sore, but he can’t stop. he wouldn’t be able to if he even tried, not when he thinks of a sinking leaf for a roof, windows shaped like petals, and your words—

kaveh pauses, glancing at the clock that has definitely been spinning faster than he remembered.

it’s sunrise. he gets back to work.

“you’re grinning ear-to-ear,” you say, poking kaveh’s cheek. “you’re not telling me something.”

kaveh isn’t. but only on purpose. he takes your hand and uses it to kiss the back of your palm as he blinks up at you, the embodiment of innocence. “what are you talking about? i told you about it. dori commissioned me, and she said that i’ll be in charge of the approval of the design and the construction process…”

while kaveh explains all this, gesturing wildly with his hands, he trails off when realizing you had just been staring at him fondly. his heart skips a beat or two.

“why—why are you just staring like that?”

“it’s hard not to.”

he kisses you square on the mouth, the blueprint of the palace of alcazarzaray hidden beneath his palms, and he thinks he’s never been happier.

(and under the same stars, the withering slithers in, and everything crashes down faster than kaveh could even say please, no.)

a/n art if you’re reading this i didn’t tell you but this is actually a second chance fic cus i remember you saying it’s one of your favorite tropes 🤧 but anyway ty for reading!

[weeb-polls-with-pip]

Autistic Anime Girls Group 3 Round 2 Match 5

SUBMISSION PROPAGANDA:

Sayaka -

"Deadpan, forthright, and unapologetically candid, Kanamori never hesitates to voice her thoughts, no matter how harsh or unvarnished they may be. She is often deemed as impolite, ruthless or severely intimidating (by adults and peers her age alike), and is jokingly compared to the likes of the Yakuza. She’s regarded with a degree of caution, due to her unwavering no-nonsense attitude and the fact that she will stop at nothing to get what she wants, phone camera at the ready to capture any slip up that could potentially be used as blackmail later. Survival is her top priority, looking out for herself and whoever might be left behind unfairly by circumstance. She has a steadfast mind for business and strong work ethic, openly admitting to her desire for monetary compensation (or other favors and methods of payment, such as milk or food) for even the smaller and most mundane of tasks, and won’t shy away from charging fellow members of the club as well.

She firmly holds the belief that friendship is an idealized and glorified notion. To her, individuals referred to as "friends" are often mere products of chance, brought together by shared interests and nothing more. Sayaka adamantly refrains from using the term "friend" and readily corrects anyone who mistakenly categorizes her coworkers or those she spends time with as such. She befittingly conveyed this perspective of hers to Midori on the very day they first crossed paths, and this prompted Midori to freely opt out of using the label entirely as well, instead referring to her closest peers as “comrades” ever since.

Regardless of this, Sayaka prefers to achieve a level of coexistence, as she personally describes it, with those she truly cares about, such as the few other club members. While not explicitly considering the girls as her friends, her actions reveal a deep concern for their well-being. She often watches over them, remains by their side and is ready to defend them and their cause whenever necessary. A significant reason the club came to be in the first place is Sayaka's recognition of her classmates' immense artistic potential. She encouraged them to establish their own independent studio, enabling them to create their animated films, attain recognition, and reap profits from their efforts.

In her role as their producer, she's primarily motivated by financial gain, but as she reviews Midori's and Tsubame's work, she ensures they always have the option to do their job efficiently and avoid overexerting themselves if they ever choose to do so. She’s equally supportive of their goals and will often assure them that their art is more than good enough. She insists that their work is already impressive; therefore, they could forgo so much self-imposed pressure and stop doubting their abilities or attaching undue importance to others' unhelpful criticisms, as these are often incongruent with their own artistic sensibilities and convictions.

Sayaka lacks interest and doesn’t possess much insight about art herself, yet she is more than willing to learn from her team to become a better producer. Aside from having a keen eye for business since her early childhood (despite being bad at math), she also appears to be quite knowledgeable in a wide variety of topics, and will take people by surprise whenever she starts rambling about the ins-and-outs of something that’s relevant at any given moment. One time, someone pointed out that Kanamori wasn’t at all different from Asakusa on this regard, to which Tsubame responded with a simple and knowing “yup”.

She can be seen idly cracking the knuckles of her right hand every now and then, and rarely displays a different emotion as she goes about her day donning a neutral grimace on her face. Kanamori almost only ever smiles when she’s getting paid, when friendly mocking someone, or when she’s in the middle of twisting someone’s arm to hers and the club’s advantage.

I’m going to cut it here, since I realized I have much more to say about Sayaka than any other Eizouken member so far (I thought Midori was going to be the longest but this one was already effortlessly surpassing 700 words and counting. Good god) Please please PLEASE consider voting for her!! she’s an amazing character in general, and I can easily see why she’s Sumito Oowara’s personal favorite of the bunch."

Miku -

"Hatsune Miku is the character/persona created for a voice bank. As such, she has no set personality and can essentially be molded to fit the song’s scenario. She’s basically made to be your little dress up doll except your not dressing her up with clothes you’re dressing her up with your special interests and hyperfixations. She’s like the Barbie of Autism, if you will. As such, she has garnered many fans since her debut because of how relatable she is and how comforting she can be and how you can project your own interests or quirks on her and it’d still fit her because that’s essentially what she was made for!!!

You could consider the songs she sings and brings to life for producers to be her special interest!

As she’s a voice bank, she also can struggle with tone and inflection when speaking or singing, but can also, at times, sound very life like as well! She’s incredibly versatile as a tool to use for songs and as a character! She can do anything and be anything!

Also, all characters under the Vocaloid title usually come with an item that represents them! Miku’s is a leek/spring onion, even her hair has a similar appearance to one and it could be considered a special interest of hers!

I know the whole “she can be anything” seems sorta like flimsy propaganda for her, but I think it can also resemble how some people on the autism spectrum mask our true personalities and try and adapt to who we are talking to! And we can also have many talents and special interests at a single time! At least, that’s how my experience has been with being on the spectrum….

(Anywhosies I hope this helps! Miku has been important to me and many others for a long time and it’d be a shame for her to lose due to lack of propaganda 😔)."

[ruminiscence]

Paris: A Year Abroad in a short film

Audio: "Burnt Norton" by Lana Del Rey, a rendition of the original poem "Burnt Norton" by T.S. Eliot.

Where do I even start? Paris has wholly shaped me in ways I never imagined. We refer to Paris as the city of love, but I'm now more inclined to call it the city of art - which only leaves more room for love in your heart. There is so much to contemplate and appreciate in frequenting the vast array of art museums here - from the Louvre, Musée d’Orsay, Musée de l’Orangerie, the Centre Georges Pompidou, and many more. Not only has my perspective on art expanded, but so has my worldview. That’s because art is truly everywhere in this city; art can be found in the walkable streets amidst the rich architecture, the fashionable outfits seen in daily life, and even the exquisite decor in stores and when you cheekily peek into Parisian appartments!

There's always something new to discover in Paris, I'm almost saddened at the thought of the things I've yet to discover or missed. The treasures to unveil in Paris move far beyond the typical tourist hotspots we all know and love. I am obsessed with Parisian boutiques; they are chic and unique (that unintentionally rhymed) in the best way possible. One of my favourites is La Tonkinoise à Paris, located in the 11th arrondissement. This particular arrondissmenet is the best in Paris to be honest, it holds a special place in my heart as I had the wonderful opportunity of living there, so perhaps you can say that I am somewhat biased. Still, I can confidently say that this animated, hip and creative neighbourhood is one everyone should have the chance to explore.

La Tonkinoise à Paris, owned by the lovely Chantal, is my favourite hidden gem in Paris. I had the pleasure of befriending Chantal as I ended up frequenting her store one too many times; I've garnered quite a collection over time. This boutique offers a wide range of eccentric and sustainable jewellery, with her earring creations being the show stoppers, in my opinion. Her jewellery is composed of rings, pearls, brooches, charms, and watches, all unearthed in flea markets and recycled. I love that every piece of jewellery indeed is a unique piece. The decor changes based on the season and theme of her new collections, making it an ever-changing and exciting shopping experience. This is honestly the best jewellery store I have ever been to in my life! I wish the pictures I took could do the jewellery and the boutique's decor justice, but it simply won't, I'm afraid.

Now, onto food, I genuinely need to figure out where to start here. My favourite authentic French restaurant would have to be 'Le Potager du Père Thierry', located in Montmartre. Although it's incredibly small, I love the cosy vibe; I feel like I can enjoy delicious food with friends without feeling surrounded by strangers. Surprisingly, it's also very quiet (yet packed) - I guess the food is just too distracting.

As of late, my favourite non-french restaurant has to be 'Big Black Cook' (let's ignore how inappropriate that pun is, though funny). It's located in the 2nd arrondissement and serves Caribbean food, my friend claims that it was the best meat she's had!

For brunch, I recommend Café Méricourt in the 11th arrondissement. Their green Eggs & Feta are absolutely incredible and quite innovative as far as brunch places go.

As for a boulangerie - seriously, anywhere, literally anywhere in Paris, go to your nearest bakery; there need not be a big fuss - you're in for a scrumptious baked treat regardless!

I'm ever so grateful for the chance to have lived in Paris for an extended period; you cannot appreciate Paris in its entire splendour from a mere short-term visit. The city is an actual work of art; art is everywhere in the city, from the street performers and musicians, the light filters through the trees, the city's many architecturally rich bridges, the picturesque cafés and boulangeries, the beautifully presented food, the way that the city's many different neighbourhoods each have their own distinct character and vibe. In Paris, art is everywhere.

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

My One-Year Anniversary

One year ago today, I wrote my very first piece of House of the Dragon fanfiction.

My journey in fanfiction has been a long one. I started reading fan works all the way back in 2009 at the age of 12. I even remember the site: Harry Potter Fanfiction Archive. Wow. Wild! Of course, I naturally gravitated toward Dramione works—because that’s what you did, right? Since then, my tastes have diversified; evolved, even. Thank god.

Until I hopped onto Tumblr and started writing, I wasn’t an active member of any fan community. I was a passive lurker, hiding my enjoyment of fan works from everyone and everything. One of my favourite fandoms to read for was Game of Thrones; I particularly enjoyed the Jonsa works and any work where Daenerys claimed the Iron Throne (#JusticeForDany!). I will say that, as much as I enjoyed it, there were no characters who truly ignited my interest.

Then, House of the Dragon hit. Matt Smith’s portrayal of Daemon is just… electric. I suppose my very first thank-you is to him for bringing the character to our screens. Holy shit. Toxic, passionate, magnetic… everything I want in a fictional man! Daemon Targaryen definitely awoke something in me. I spent about a month trawling the Tumblr and AO3 feeds for Daemon x OC/ Reader works, seeking to satisfy my thirst. Daemyra is such a charismatic pairing in canon, but I could never really see myself in Rhaenyra’s shoes; she’s so forward in a way I’m not. So many of the works at that time were centred on badass powerful OCs, and I just… couldn’t relate. Thus,I officially opened my AO3 account and started a side-blog on Tumblr, posting my first work.

It was a smut piece between Daemon and a Reader-insert niece, and one of my first genuine attempts at writing smut - what is now today the second chapter of dōnus riñus (sweet girl) - and was surprised to receive positive feedback from it, given the um, dodgy themes. It spurred me to go back and write a chapter leading up to it, and then write another three chapters post-chapter 2. Then, people wanted to know how Reader and Daemon got together; I wrote gevivys (beauty) from his perspective in an absolute flurry of insanity, pushing out like a chapter a day. It all blew up - I never expected it to, and it is still incredibly surprising to me that people are wanting to read a protracted series about the shit I make these characters do! From there, ilībītsos (little slut) was underway, which was such a fun exercise in dirtybadwrong that I thoroughly enjoyed! Pretty much straight away, I continued on with ñuhus prumȳs (my heart), which I might say is my favourite instalment of the bunch due to the sheer amount of research I put into it. I'm particularly proud of that one, I must say!

Of course, this makes it sound quick. It wasn't - I have quite a busy personal life with my work, so I've not been the quickest at updating. I'm eternally fucking grateful to have an audience that completely doesn't care how often I update, so long as I'm proud of what I'm putting out at the end; I know how rare that is, and I'm absolutely boggled by you all. My squishies. I love you!

Reader has become Babey now - she has her own, like, following? IDK. It's insane to me. She doesn't even have a name, and yet there are so many people who have reached out to me to thirst over her or to talk about her or to share what she means to them. A lot of people have really resonated with the way she struggles with powerlessness and how, in some ways, she's learned to find strength for herself in a world that gives her so little opportunity to do so. I'm so incredibly glad she is a character that people can relate to. She's like my baby, my first genuine creation, and it is a privilege and honour to get to talk about her on here. I still cannot believe there are people out there willing to make art or edits or just send in asks about her. It's completely wild!

I have endless gratitude for so many people throughout the creation of this series, but we must all begin (and end) somewhere. I’d like to start by thanking my first ‘regular’, Wilma, for her enthusiasm and engagement with me as I first started on this journey. She definitely encouraged me to keep on writing. It was thrilling to wake up to another comment or ask from her about the series! If not for Wilma, I don’t think the series would’ve gotten off the ground as it has.

Thank you to my very first friend in fandom. I’ve only ever known this person as ‘Lemon’—they reached out to me when I was well and truly established during the writing of ilībītsos (little slut), helping me to conceptualise the idea for the third chapter of that instalment. They then jumped aboard as a writer, and so much of my earlier drive to write was inspired by them. If not for their messages and their companionship, I wouldn’t have begun to build the community I have now. They are still one of my fandom besties, and I love them dearly.

There are several important people I’d like to thank for being absolute superstars, and whose passion for fandom has impacted mine so greatly. Aubrey, Pancake, AQ—I’ve adored each and every comment you’ve left me, and it’s been such an incredible experience to get to know you all as people. Mage, Hannah—y’all are amazing writers and amazing human beings, and I’m so grateful to have gotten to know you. Bel, Fae, Mars, Mel, Rach—you’re groovy, and hanging out with you in Discord is the bomb-dot-com. If I'm leaving people out, my bad!

I would be remiss, of course, if I didn’t mention one particular person. We connected through a mutual friend (at the time), and eventually bonded over our love of being incredibly nasty, feral and disgusting over our love of these Targ boys. Pretty sure we speak at least every single day, and I can’t say how many times I’ve relied on her for input on a chapter or a specific plot point I’m planning. Her approval means everything to me, and so I can’t possibly go without crediting her as a major influence on this story. Ange—Angela—thank you. You’ve become one of my best friends, fandom and IRL. I absolutely love you to bits.

And, lastly, I want to thank everyone who has read my works along the way. It is still insane to me that there are people who think my writing is interesting enough to keep reading, let alone offer the outpouring of support I’ve received. It is one of the greatest parts of my day to be able to connect with others over a universe I’ve crafted, and the fact that people genuinely want to know these things just stuns me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Your encouragement means everything to me.

So, it's been one year. I'm still going, ahahaha! Here's to (hopefully) more years to come! I love you guys!

[melodiousmonsters]

Firstly I know you all don't mind three posts in one day but I'm still pointing out that I have done so, I had the day off of school with an ungodly hyperfixation on drawing. Secondly I'm going to utilize my newly developed Spurrit obsession to give some information on the seasonals in the melodious monster chronicles universe.

There's one of each seasonal in this universe (not whiz-bangs though they're special and aren't really seasonals anymore) each of them are the common varient with a few slight differences made to further portray their personalities than what's capable with an 100% cannon design. Spurrit has a beard for example.

They also have names yet again like the celestials do, but that's only important to the hypothetical comic I may make after my monstiary project is done. Speaking of, that's only able to be finished once all the fire, ethereal, magical and mythical rares/epics are released, so that's going to be a few years : ] I'm just as happy as you are about that information. At least my art will be much better then( not saying my current stuff is horrible, I'm actually quite happy with my art, mainly the subject matter but the artistic quality is alright)

Most of the seasonals came into being as a living essence of their holiday that's kept alive solely by that holiday being celebrated. Subconsciously they're programed to keep up their holiday so they don't dissipate back into nothingness. Because their ability to live is solely dependent on their holiday being celebrated they don't age. Each of the seasonals are stuck at an age and they don't physically or mentally develop beyond that.

They can also magically conjure up objects related to their holiday with that same energy from the belief in their holiday. Hypothetically this could be used to summon infinite food for example but the seasonals can't actually comprehend the idea of doing this for more than a few minutes, and they can only come up with the idea in the first place if someone else tells them about it. Some mental inhibiting is needed when you are an immortal god-like organism to not break reality.

Now Spurrit is a bit of a weird case. Firstly his name is just Spurrit, or at least he goes by that, and he uses he/him pronouns as you could see. No one really knows where Spurrit came from but because the other seasonals also seemed to come from nowhere he was just lumped in with them. It's also because the first time he unveiled himself to the monsters early in modern history(which is at most all the knowledge a monster has about the history of the monster world) he actually started perplexpore as a holiday to try and get them to stop focusing solely on rebuilding the basics of soicety after it fell during the catyclysm and you know, explore, do some science. This only sort of worked, some basic machines and the sorts were discovered solely to aid in that previous goal, but it was something and Spurrit was accomplished in his goals. and that just happened so long ago that people mostly forgot that he existed before the holiday, but some seasonals like Carillong(doesn't have a final name yet) DID exist before their holidays were started so even then people still just count him as a seasonal. Whatever he is, he seems to be immortal as he's nearly as old as the monster's perspective of history itself, there's only one of him, and he gets along quite well with the other seasonals. Well, most of the time. (Btw he also has a brittish accent)

[hawkland]

Art Masterpost: Solitudes

Story by: ilovehowyouletmefall (@angelinthefire) Art by: sidewidner (@hawkland)

It's October and that means it's @deancasbigbang season once again! This year makes for my third time around for the event, although this year I only managed to participate as an artist (I'm still in a bit of writer's burnout since the summer). But, that meant I could put all of my focus and time into doing these four pieces for @angelinthefire's wonderful story "Solitudes." I'm gonna talk a little bit about my ideas and process and share some progress pictures behind the cut in a way that might be kind of spoilery, so if you want, just go read the story now! And then you come back here later to find out more if you wish. All works were completed in watercolor with some digital effects and filtering after completion.

I was really drawn to the imagery of the architectural elements of where the story takes place (an abandoned brutalist mansion) vs. nature and decay...plus the way light and shadow seemed to play such important roles in the visual descriptions. Dean and Cas spend so much of the story separated by supernatural forces even when they are in the same room I wanted to focus on that as well: being so near yet so far apart, not quite connecting or even able to look at each other without barriers.

I started on the banner art right away, thinking of Dean in despair (for reasons in the story) and Cas yearning/wishing he could reach him. Behind them both is the concrete wall covered in mold and moss (which was a LOT of fun to paint). The actual final watercolor painting came out as so:

(This is one of my favorite Deans that I've painted. His face can be SO hard to get right!)

Working with angelinthefire's suggestions I ran some different digital filters on the photo to desaturate/emphasize the light and dark for the final banner, and then with that in mind tried to keep the other pieces in a similar color scheme and tonal range.

The atrium painting was the biggest challenge. I knew I wanted to do a piece to capture the feeling of the house, the light coming in from an open skylight falling on brambles growing out of an old fountain spot. I was thinking of the Roman villa ruins I've visited combined with some actual Brutalist/modern homes I looked up. My original drawing plan was a bit more complicated and simplifying/taking out some elements definitely makes it more creepy/mysterious looking and less like a funky modern home.

You can see the vanishing/perspective point is right where Dean is looking at Cas.

The light falling down from above was partially painted with some interference/shimmer watercolors, but I amplified it (along with the shadows) with some digital effects at the end. This was before doing any digital magic:

Dean reaching for Cas: I made myself so sad working on that piece! It was also quite the challenge to get the likeness right at that angle and do the lighting the way I wanted, so again I used some digital effects at the end to really intensify it. Painting before filters:

I think my favorite part of that one is how I dry-brushed the ash wings in one shot and they came out just how I wanted! My main reference was, heh, that old classic shot of unconscious Cas being poked with a stick. I used my own hand for Dean's reaching out to what he sees through the harsh angled light.

The final piece is a direct companion to the one above it, and one I'd been thinking about for weeks, trying to map it out mentally before tackling it. Dean's face can be so much more challenging for me to try to capture well compared to Cas's and I really wanted to get his shock and horror in that moment while also being able to show (the real) Cas in the background/shadows...this was the third drawing pass before I finally started painting it. There's only a light bit of filtering over the final piece to push Cas back in the shadows (I didn't want to do with the paints for fear of muddying the colors...plus I was already painting Cas so small any wrong brush stroke could shift his likeness/expression.)

Overall I really like how unified these pieces all ended up feeling and I hope they manage to complement the story in a way that it deserves!

[kunikinnie]

hii :) c'est moi, hehe. i couldn't resist that tempting offer you made, so here i am^^

take all the time you need to do this, and most importantly, take care of yourself, first.<33

i was wondering if you could write about Ōgai, Yukichi and Doppo, separately, with a s/o who practices martial arts and who very much enjoys them as a sport? (if you need any more specific hint, aikido is preferable, though do as you wish :))

perhaps s/o is playful and teasy, and started a play-fight, surprising them with a technique or something? without hurting them too much of course, hihi

neutral pronouns (they/them) are good, though i don't mind he/him. up to you ^^

[lol sorry if it sounds dumb, but i often think about it ever since i started practicing martial arts..]

anyways, take care !

— L

a/n: hi L! I don't actually know much about martial arts but I hope this was good enough :)) i tried my best

warnings: some profanity

with an s/o who practices martial arts for sport

featuring: Mori, Fukuzawa, Kunikida x GN!Reader

Mori Ougai

He's quite elated and supportive about it, the three main points being:

(1) As a former doctor, engaging regularly in any physical activity is a healthy habit.

(2) As your lover, of course he's hecking proud. Isn't it cool to have a s/o who's honing their skills in something they love? And can kick ass while doing it?

And most importantly (3) there's low risk of you getting seriously hurt since you're not "out in the field." While he still would be supportive of you if you did go that route, it's still a big relief that he doesn't have to worry about your life being on the line, especially given his current occupation.

The only thing he doesn't like about it is that you keep surprise-tackling him. Sure, he can fight if he wanted to, but given that his style is lethal (and dependent on the existence of a scalpel) there's not much he tries to do, especially if you're physically stronger than him.

"Y/N, I love you. So please let go. Please-"

If you have any tournaments, he'll do his best to attend, although because he's so busy him he seldom actually makes it. So he would compensate by some form of congratulatory celebration, be it a fancy dinner or whatever you like.

Fukuzawa Yukichi

Strangely enough, he's the most chill about it among the three. Don't get me wrong it's not that he's not impressed at all. It's just that he assesses your skills from the perspective of a fellow practitioner.

He's not so strict about it tho since you are just doing it for sport.

He'd gladly demonstrate or share any tips he has. Ask him and he won't hesitate to help you. Sometimes he'll even invite you to train with Kunikida during their sessions.

Sparring with him alone is unfortunately a seldom thing. Work eats up most of his time and energy so he's not able to spend time with you in general as much as he'd like to.

Yet each session with him gives a massive boost to your skills. He's able to counter and even teach you new moves outside of the style that you're mastering - something which even the other people you learn with/from can't do.

As to you trying to pull tricks on him... you can try, but it will never work. He may play along for the first few moments but he'll swiftly counter it just the same. The most you'll get from him is a "I see you've learned something new. Good try."

Words cannot express - not that he uses them much, really - how proud he is whenever he notices your abilities improving. But the occasional smile.

Kunikida Doppo

You can bet he fell hard when he found out you're learning martial arts. Doesn't matter if you were already dating at the time or not when you started.

He'll definitely teach/coach you the most compared to the other two. There's allotted time and plans for progress all written down. Important events like tournaments and the like are in his notebook as well.

Unlike Fukuzawa, sparring would definitely be one of your more frequent "bonding" activities. Kunikida believes it saves time and is just a win-win for both of you anyway.

Now this one is a little too mindful about what part of you he touches whether it's during demonstration or actual sparring. He apologizes extremely quickly and frequently even when it's nothing too bad. He also gets flustered if you two are in any way, shape, or form in an awkward position.

Which is why although the gap in skill is considerably large (but not as large as with Fukuzawa), you can catch him off-guard and tease/surprise-tackle him. This is Kunikida we're talking about - any barrier he has put on will disintegrate quickly. Push him just a little and you will get reaction that you want.

"Focus, Y/N."

"Shouldn't I be the one telling you that?"

"I-I-"

Eventually, he'll let you off the hook with any of your antics as long as it doesn't delay your schedule.

tagging: @stygianoir, @requiem626k , @irethepotato, @kisara-16reblogs, @menshusband, @celestair, @bloobewy, @renaxnnas

[saevus-brutalis]

last art this year

was supposed to be for pride month but— ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝓊𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒.

some lore surrounding these two that is too long overdue but 🤷‍♂️

not as detailed and rambly as i’d like it to be, but i’m really burned out and i’m trying to get back to it🧍‍♂️

nevermind it’s pretty rambly lol

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

all the way back in 2038 Vincent and Ray, after dating for around two years, agreed to leave California together on august 21st — Ragan’s birthday; it was supposed to be his birthday gift of sorts, a start of a new chapter, new life;

buuut Vince, being a little shit teenager, got cold feet (in Ray’s eyes, Vince always justified that as being rational) and ditched him last minute, not showing up in their agreed spot, making Ragan leave on his own after hours of waiting.

this caused Ray to despite his own birthdate, it always reminding him of the heartbreak and betrayal. 🧍‍♂️

Vincent has felt guilty ever since, but firmly believed it was the right choice. he was never fit to live a nomadic lifestyle at such a young age.

four decades later their paths cross again and a long healing journey ensues.

so now this date is pretty bittersweet to both of them 🧍‍♂️ but it gets better overtime

basically right person, wrong time

although i think if they did ran away together then, it wouldn’t have ended good at all 🤷‍♂️ with Vince still being pretty immature emotionally, still struggling with some inner personal things (family stuff, internalized homophobia, etc.) and not familiar with the nomadic culture and ways of living. they’d probably get in bad fights more and more as the time would go on, and eventually split. Vince would’ve decided to go back to Night City probably (if he ever would make it back) and they’d never end up back together has they met in the future.

their separation allowed them to grow and mature on their own, in their own familiar environments, experience different things, and after they met again, after all those years, they put their feelings and mutual attraction to the test

and it turned out they still want each other even with all the imperfections 🧍‍♂️(i’m not crying you are) they could lie all they want but their brain chemistry couldn’t. Vincent never loved someone they way he loved Ragan, and Ray never quite felt the same way with anyone else like he felt with Vince. there was always something missing, something not quite right. and while they could tell each other they’re looking for something too far out of their reach, that they’re looking for a too perfect partner, in reality they always just wanted each other 🧍‍♂️

they still have a lot to work on together in their relationship, but now that they’re too old for teenage fights and too tired for heartbreaks, they make compromises and their fights make their bond and their understanding of one another stronger 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

like we acknowledge that Vince did a shitty thing by ghosting Ray, going no contact and being a puss, too scared to man up, and tell him face to face ‘hey i can’t go, this type of thing ain’t for me’. he didn’t want to acknowledge that, saying that out loud, or even in his mind, would make that real and that scared him. he was definitely a teen who’d rather avoid doing something he wasn’t comfortable with to not experience the uncomfortable feelings altogether. the avoidant type we all know and love 🧍‍♂️

and yet Ray still chose to love him 🧍‍♂️ he’s definitely like ‘this man’s trash but he’s *my* trash’. Vince gets better eventually after Ray finally gets through his thick ass skull.

but also i’m not gonna sit here and say Ragan fixed Vince coz that wasn’t the case 🤷‍♂️ this is not a ‘i’m gonna fix him’ type of situation. Ragan wasn’t and isn’t perfect either, his perspective was kinda askew as well; can’t quite describe it as i haven’t psychoanalyzed him as much as Vincent but they’re both flawed, make mistakes left and right and learn from that (sooner or later) like human beings 🧍‍♂️

but in the end they’re just old men in love

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 46

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Thoroughly study this week's chapter art by vikkdoesart469 like Donnie studies ingredient lists

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Marathon Sex, Somnophilia, Bondage, Feral Behavior, Feral Donatello, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Public Sex, Dom Donnie, Human/Turtle Relationships, Turtle Noises

Synopsis:  A love story of villainous proportions! Though it hadn’t come easily, as these things rarely do, you found yourself in a whirlwind romance with a handsome and mysterious mutant. His idiosyncrasies had been easy to ignore as attraction grew into something more. However, will love endure when the unknowns about him end up being far darker than you ever considered?

Screaming thanks at @friggysblog for a thousand years for giving me the chapter idea!

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

Entering the apartment after work, you were still reading through the text you had just gotten on your way up. Not too large a block, it was still quite a few words from Donnie elaborately explaining that he needed to step out. What had you rereading was the fact that amongst the many words he’d typed out, he hadn’t once actually mentioned what he needed or where he’d gone. From one perspective, it could be inferred that it was something for dinner, but from another it almost seemed like a technological part. It felt like you were overthinking it, but everything about this message felt like a cover-up and you couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself at how obvious he was. He could execute villainous master plans in seconds and yet he was still a terrible liar.

Smiling through putting your coat and things up, you headed over to the couch and flopped down. There was really some cleaning you needed to attend to, but you figured you’d earned at least a small break having made it through another capitalistic toil. Scrolling on your phone for a thread you’d left up, you jumped back into some story someone was telling. Losing yourself to dramatics, your gaze was pulled when you heard the door unlock. Only a few messages until the end, you sped through them as you heard Donnie enter. He went through the usual motions of putting his coat up which gave you just enough time to finish.

“You’ve got to hear about this lady and her husband.” You turned to find him right behind you.

“First…” He seemed ready so you lifted up to address him when something landed on your head.

You had no time as he said nothing more and let go to walk away. Scrambling to catch whatever it was, you missed and felt it hit your shoulder on the way down. Making a little noise as its pointed corner stung, it then landed and bounced on a couch cushion with a rattle that said smaller things were inside. By the time you located the brown and gold box, Donnie was already in the kitchen.

Palming the container, you found he’d given you a 4 pack of chocolates.

Curiously turning it over, it was the kind you had seen at the grocery store and had always wondered what kind of occasion anyone actually picked these up for. They always seemed too small for an actual gift and too boring to grab for yourself as a treat. Picking at the little circling of tape, you lifted the lid to find an assortment of flavors and different shapes to anoint them. Fiddling with the case to find the leaflet that would say which was which, you tossed a question over your shoulder. “Did you win these or something?”

Donnie moved, preparing dinner.

“Guessing game?” You found the ingredient notes printed on the interior of the lid and reviewed them on the way over to the kitchen.

Donnie slowed to pass you a nod when you glanced at him.

“So it’s something.”

He grabbed a pot to fill.

“Not something? Not a holiday.” You set the box on the bar so you could grab your phone. A quick check of your shared calendar didn’t reveal anything of note.

He hummed a curious sound as he put the pot onto the stove and cranked the heat.

“Sort of a holiday?” You narrowed your gaze. “This kind of thing feels impersonal from you…”

He turned to give you a flat look.

“I mean come on!” You returned one with a flare. “You gave me dainty metal work on our first date.” You traced over the chain around your neck and resisted tapping the locket because it would open it up. “This, incredibly intricate origami, and an entire metal child just to name a few.”

He gave a puff of laughter before abandoning his work to fold his arms on the counter and lean towards you.

“I mean, I appreciate them. They’ll be tasty, but it’s kind of sad in comparison.”

“You’ve alluded to it, though not exactly.”

Your smile disappeared as your face centered around a confused purse of your lips. “Wait, what?”

“Not a holiday, an occasion. Impersonal on purpose and, again, you’re on track to mentioning which.” Having given you his laundry list of clues, he went back to preparing dinner.

Turning to lean your back against the counter, you heard him in mono as he made cooking noises while you sorted out what you’d both given and had been given. “Impersonal on purpose,” you whispered aloud, having a sense that was the most important part. “But you love anniversaries, so why would you-?” It hit you so hard you gave a belly full of laughter.

You could hear his smile beside you.

“Wait, I have to make sure!!” Between giggles you spun around and started swiping on the calendar that was still up. “Oh, shoot! What was the timeline? We hadn’t shared our calendar then, right? Or had we? Will it go back far enough…?”

“We had, but I copied over the entirety of mine. You could review as far as I’ve kept on this platform.”

You paused in swiping somewhere around the beginning of this year.

That was new.

Or rather, you never considered going that far back.

You weren’t sure you wanted to. 

Shaking off the combination of curiosity and fuzzies that he once again shared the whole of himself with you, you flipped back until your shared activities weren’t as plentiful, but both of your schedules still commingled. Spartan in nature compared to now, you found just the date you were looking for. “You are truly evil.”

“Oh?” With a quick rummage into a cabinet, he got a thermometer and clipped it to the side of the pot. “And what has labeled me so?”

“’Sadiversary?’” Your expression fell, sardonic, as you held your phone out to him to see that labeled event just below his return from the Hidden City.

His lips wrinkled as he gathered up some potatoes. “I thought you’d appreciate the naming convention.”

“Sad-anniversary?! Donnie!” You rounded the counter just as he was picking up a peeler. “Why get me anything? You said you wouldn’t recognize this one!”

“I debated it.” He palmed a potato and shredded its skin into a bowl. “You seemed to accept our authentic one, but I didn’t want to allow room for you to consider otherwise.”

“AKA make it as sad as possible to reinforce the better one?”

He tipped his head in an appreciative way as he made quick time peeling.

Staring down at what he was doing and then at the pot behind him, your gaze narrowed. “What are you making?”

“This?” He said and then nothing more.

Looking over what he’d taken out, you spied chicken, eggs, and a few bowls. “You asshole!”

He was failing spectacularly at hiding his wicked smile.

“This is my fast food order from that night!!”

He gave into a laugh. “The opposite in this case.”

“Make it better so I forget!” You moved over to him and gave his arm several gentle whacks. “It tasted good because you were back!”

“Steamed in the bag.” He griped. “The fries were no longer crisp.”

“So?! It was the thought that counted! You kept it warm! Amongst everything else that was happening!” You grabbed his arm and he set down his last potato to address you.

“Hmmm, thought, you say?”

“Are you-?!“ You pressed your body against the length of his appendage. “-trying to say that the thought here supersedes then?!”

“I believe there was something else from that night…” He looked over you affectionately. “We’re making memories just fine.”

“You-“ You buried your face into him and he was forced to give you an awkward side hug. “I’ve changed my mind!”

He watched on with a smile as you relinquished his arm.

You grabbed the chocolate and cradled them close like they were the most precious thing in the world. “I’m putting these on a shelf.”

He gave a single puff of amusement and continued to cook.

Plopping down on the couch with the chocolate still to your chest, you fussed over your reaction. You weren’t actually mad, but it was a strange sort of annoying. It was the same sense you got when Donnie was being stubborn in a ridiculous way. Leaning your head back to stare at the ceiling and listen to him rhythmically cut potatoes into fries, you thought there had to be a better way. In reality, if he had just let it be, you probably would have forgotten all about this being any type of anniversary. He was right about you accepting the other date for your official one. Besides his desire for it to be, it was nice to have something consistent to latch onto when there’s been so much murkiness at the beginning of your relationship. 

Given the option though, you turned the chocolates over. They rattled in the box and you mused on how you’d love to celebrate every little thing. It reminded you of the calendar which sequentially led to you thinking about the sadiversary entry. It was something he would have had to add afterwards, which meant he was editing past events. Opening your phone and seeing the calendar once again sitting dutifully where you left it, you found he’d added all your firsts. From that first meeting at the sandwich shop to that first hug where he’d greedily snatched you up, they were all there with simple notation. You wondered how often he looked back on them and tapped through their details to find they didn’t have recurring reminders. They were something he just wanted down on the books and you sank back, letting your phone fall on your chest near the candy.

You sat like that for a while until the sound of Donnie’s knife changed. Imagining he was now preparing the chicken, you lifted your phone back up with the intention to scroll, but for the third time tonight the calendar stared back at you. All your milestones built were a testament to the now and you only glanced at the small box one final time before a plan formed. Sitting up, you tabbed over to a browser and typed in a query. It took some sifting and checking reviews, but you finally found a suitable page and left it open as you got up.

“Room for one more?” You purred as you closed in on the kitchen.

Donnie evaluated your new aura with a raised brow. “As much as I would like to say yes…”

“It’s a small kitchen.” You agreed. “I want to bake something, are you using the oven?”

He had to stop what he was doing to give you the full narrowed brunt of his gaze. “Why?”

“It’s a special occasion.” You rotated your body cutely.

“This is not a thing.” Switching to a new type of drooped lids, he stared at you dully.

“But, dear!” You crooned and tilted your head back wistfully. “You’ve given me such a wonderful gift!”

“In jest.” He glanced down at the chocolates in your hand and you knew he was evaluating your grip so he could steal them back.

“You would never!” You huffed and snuck past him as he was distracted.

“I’m frying.” He clipped, tracking you by turning his entire body.

“My studious boyfriend? The one who remembers and cherishes all our anniversaries?!” You searched the bottom cabinet for a large mixing bowl.

He gave an indignant snort. “Y/N, the space.”

“It’s not really a saying or anything.” You glanced at him with a fleeting warmth as you went to get ingredients. “But it’s sort of a known thing that cooking together tests relationships.”

“Clearly.” He curled his hands out so he could put unsullied wrists on his hips. “One is already juggling the many facets. It’s why professionals note their location when moving.”

“’Behind!’” You joked as you actually moved behind him to get into the fridge.

“It’s integral to prevent mishaps.”

“Don’t think we can handle it?” You returned to your station which was the small counter to the left of the oven.

He didn’t make a noise, but you could hear him puff up at the insinuation.

“Think of it this way.” You turned with a rubber spatula in hand. “Either this goes well and we nail being in a relationship even better than we already are or it goes terribly wrong and this evening is forever marked with the blemish you want it to be.”

The two options instantly smoothed his hackles and a near twinkle caught his eye. “Set your temperature.”

You pressed a few buttons on the oven and in doing so caught a glimpse of golden oil inside the pot. “What about yours?”

“325, how is it?”

You checked the thermometer. “Climbing, almost 200.”

“Good. What are you making?”

“It’s a surprise, but I’m sure you’ll be able to tell as I make it.”

“I can be otherwise preoccupied if you prefer?”

You eyed him where you were measuring flour. “Yeah?”

He nodded, his head focused on what he was breading in front of him.

“Cute.” You noted and went back to your task.

It wasn’t without its mishaps. You nearly knocked over his bowl of soaking fries and he was just dropping the first batch of chicken into the fry oil while you were trying to get your pan into the oven. Thankfully his reach was long and he could allow both tasks without too much effort. You thanked him while keeping your distance to prevent further issues. Setting a timer, you gathered your dishes to wash and took whatever he was done with. He gave you an appreciative glance as he went back to constantly monitoring the oil temperature.

Scrubbing while humming a tune from a new catchy song you’d heard, Donnie asked you what it was and within moments it was playing over some unseen speaker. You chuckled and told him not to expect much. He said that wasn’t the point and strategically turned back to his frying when you whipped around to judge him. Resisting the urge to flick suds at him, you washed in rhythm to the music before putting up the dishes to dry.

Toweling clean hands, you turned to find a pile of fries growing by the minute. Reaching out at their glistening exterior, Donnie’s spider appeared and you halted as you were caught.

He seemed amused and didn’t block you further. “You could, but they aren’t done.”

“How?” You reviewed the golden brown stack.

“Double fry.” He gave a light tap into the pot to break something up.

“You were serious about the crunch.” You stepped closer to the pile to soak up the warm greased air.  

Donnie nodded.

“Not a floppy fry guy.” The heat of the oven lapped at your legs.

“No.”

“Have you tried a lot of fast food?” You bobbed to attention as Donnie held out a smaller crispy bit to you and you ate it out of his hand.

“When I did eat, it was usually takeout.” He twirled his utensil before fishing another set of fries out. “Anonymity.”

“Does that mean you didn’t become a regular anywhere?”

He stopped for a moment and lifted his gaze. “Hm, the opposite.”

“Yeah?”

“Glaring oversight.” He had the faintest grumble as he stared into frothing bubbles.

“Sounds like nothing happened.”

“But it could have.” He had a bite to him and you could tell his task was the only thing keeping him in place.

“It was good though, right? That’s why you kept ordering?” You delicately reached out to show you were going to touch his arm.

He glanced at you and returned his attention in a way that you took as a confirmation. “Sustenance could be derived anywhere. This is the city of delicacy.”

You spread your fingers out to feel the tightness in his bicep. “There’s a lot of competition so places have to be good.”

“Exactly. I could have gone anywhere.”

“Where… did you go? Was it one place or…?”

“Your curiosity is thinly veiled.” He seemed bitter as he fished out the last fries and turned up the heat.

“Ah… well…” You slid away from him, but in a flash of movement he caught your wrist.

He looked down at where he’d caught you and softened his grip. “I… find it difficult to understand why you’d want to know more about… him.”

“You.” You corrected softly, placing your hand over his.

“Whatever you imagine that to be, it’s worse.”

“You’re not the only one who’s tried to convince me.”

“And yet…” He leaned in, more to inspect you.

“I’d like to decide for myself. Imagine if I’d listened to this you in the beginning.”

You got to watch up close as his expression opened up in genuine surprise.

You steadied yourself on his hand to lean up and give him a peck.

He dipped down just long enough for it to land. “Stubborn.”

“Sounds like the good kind.”

“I’m grateful.”

“That I didn’t listen?”

He nodded in time as he lowered. 

Instead of a normal hug, he sort of plopped his body loose against yours. He didn’t hold his weight and you laughed as you had to spread your stance to keep him upright. He waited just until your legs wobbled before hugging you properly with his head still hung loosely on your shoulder.

You rubbed his carapace and felt that he didn’t have his battle shell on.

“We’re okay.” You mumbled, kissing into his clavicle.

He hummed an agreement. “Three places total, two concurrent.”

You leaned into him to keep your surprise from showing.

“American Chinese, Indian and Afghani.” He rooted down into your shirt and to your mating mark beneath. “I’d order the same dish repeatedly.”

Still making small circles against his shell, you avoided lingering in one place too long.

“This was early, before the lengthy mania settled in. When I held my first home longer than the others. Before I became transient.”

“The one you built S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. for?”

He paused and you could feel his smile as he gave another nod.

“Sounds like you. Creature of habit after one meal.”

He stiffened underhand and you increased your pressure. “The first would always mistakenly add to my order. Well… I considered it a mistake. I’d complain during my next and they’d play it off since I wasn’t charged.”

“They were giving you freebies.” You murmured affectionately.

“I hated it.” He chuffed and finally turned his head so you could see him.

“Is it still around?”

“None of them are.” He sighed and lifted up from you.

You smiled softly as he tried to fix your messed clothes. “You’re still here.”  

He slowed around your shoulders where he was smoothing a crease. “I am.”

“I’m glad you’re stubborn too.”

He held you there as he descended for a meaningful kiss. Leaning onto your tiptoes to meet him for the sake of it, it deepend until an acrid smell burned your nostrils. Donnie snapped away first with an annoyed huff as he turned to slammed the dial turning off the stove. “Damnit.”

“Burn the oil?” You stared at the obviously smoking pot.

“Beside.” He gruffed, grabbing the pot and heading toward the kitchen window. You stepped out of his way and watched him manage to open the thing one handed before he deposited the hot pot out onto the fire escape. Shutting it back down, he then dusted his hands. “Again.”

You gave him some space as he got fresh oil heating in a new pot and noticed the music was still going. “What’s this?”

Donnie made a noise before flicking his wrist back.

You watched as a holographic screen floated over to you.Catching it and skimming through the playlist, you smiled at its name. “’Dip Your Toe’ by Sheldon. I’m pretty sure I recognize that totally normal human man in the profile.”

Donnie said nothing as he moved things around.

“I see he’s following the party trend with EDM and dubstep.”

Flicking a towel, he threw it over his shoulder.

“How’s this music experiment been going?”

“I’ve marked a few of faint interest, but, overall, found little.”

“I get where Shelly is going, but he’s too excited. I think it’s because you can’t lose yourself to these.” You flicked to the bottom before moving back up through the songs with slow purpose. “You don’t like how music distracts, right?”

With a tilt of his head, you could tell he wasn’t so sure, but leaned into your estimation.

“Maybe interferes would be a better way to put it?”

You heard a hum that said that was better.

“But you like beats, but it has to be something quiet. Do you know what lo-fi is?”

“Low fidelity?”

“I think so…” Reaching up with both hands you formed batons with your fingers and slid them toward each corner. It made the screen much larger and you used the new space to bring up a browser. “People love studying to it or whatever.” Without a proper keyboard, you hovered your hands, unsure, until you watched as one faintly glowed like a ghost beneath your fingertips. Testing the keys which gave no contact, you got a feel how to write. Each press illuminated the entry which helped you tack out a query. “There’s a quote I heard. I don’t know it exactly, but it’s something about how in the absence of vocals, there is thought. It made me think of you.”

You heard a sizzle as he got the fries in for their second cook.

Hitting play on the stream, you slide your finger along the screen on a hunch and happily found it turned the sound up. Moving the bar until it could be properly heard, you looked toward your partner and found him raising his head to listen. “I can see you being an audiophile, but also maybe liking the imperfections in this? There’s a dusty quality to it. People call it nostalgic so I always liked the ‘dusty’ description. It reminds me of dusty records in an old crate.”

The subdued beats melded with the frying and you tossed the screen back to Donnie. It disappeared into his person with a burst of purple pixels and you watched his carapace until his shoulders drooped with a sort of calm. Not wholly sure if it was the music or the cooking itself, your lids lowered comfortably as you stared on, immersed in the moment. Zen washed over the space and refused to be interrupted as Donnie grabbed another pan. Watching him like some sort of low-key cooking show, he toasted some buns before preparing plates for assembly. Drawn to him just as he tossed finished fries in a large bowl with salt, he set the food aside and you pressed into him as soon as there was an opening.

Not holding you exactly for what you imagined were greasy fingers, you nuzzled your cheek to his plastron and swayed. Titters of birds and a thrum of a crackle mixed with ethereal piano notes. In a gentle rise, you felt Donnie move with you and you both rocked until a new beat kicked in for a seamless transition to the next song. Your mind cleansed, all else slipped away past the sound and warmth of your partner. Not so much thinking as feeling it, you thought you might stay in that moment forever.

Donnie not so easily rinsed, pressed his snout into your hair and mumbled about returning to this later. You reluctantly pulled from him as a violin-type sound mixed to ordain the next song. Parting in a way that still felt entwined, you moved to grab a plate he had prepared to your liking. Looking like a gourmet version of your fast food order, you pulled out your phone and snapped a picture of it, only gesturing to him that you needed to look back on it later. He found it agreeable and you both hovered to the couch, stepping on notes along the way.

Eating came with bursts of flavor that seemed in time with melodies twirling around you like friendly gusts. Deliciously heavy, but balanced with his use of seasoning and crisp lettuce, your eyes closed around each bite. Engulfed in a symphony, you rode the tide until the food on your plate seemed to simply vanish. Knowing faintly it was because you consumed it, comfort said even the portion was exactly right. Static fluttered like a TV set timed out from sleep and you turned this lull to your mate. He’d seemingly long finished and was watching you within the same dozy dream.  

In what looked like a trance, but on his terms, he was set in motion. His vision crisp, but with a sort of auditory fuzz that should have given him a grain, he scooped you up. Malleable, he moved you easily as he wanted, which ended with you laying against his body as he stretched out on the couch. Music ever encompassing, he drew out the noise on your back with a sweeping brush of his finger tips. A canvas all his own, his strokes whipped up a physical sense of the music and you could only imagine how good he’d be if he picked up an instrument. Watching a mental dress-up doll of him try various models on, a beep shredded the entirety of the moment.

You shot up and a glare was shared, not at each other, but at the interloper. One of your creation, it struck you first and you could only shake your head as you dismounted. Donnie was too slack to follow and simply rolled over where his head was already on the arm rest to watch you return to the kitchen. Once there, you turned off the timer and grabbed some oven mitts. Opening up the hot box, you leaned away for fear of the heat burning your eyes before pulling out the toasty pan. Sitting it on a cooled burner, you looked over the small square and mentally cheered that there was no fall in the dough to signify what you had done.

Setting another timer to which Donnie gave an irritated click, you shushed him on the way back. Not quite finding the same comfort, you tucked in the very small space he wasn’t occupying and he wrapped an arm and leg around you to keep you secured onto the couch. Huddled close, you leaned your forehead against his and rested, never hitting the same calm before the timer announced itself again. Less ire this time, you headed over and cut out four large squares before hoisting up the entire still piping tray to bring over to your partner.

Seeing you toting it, Donnie sat up and you knelt down in front of him to present the tray.

“Brownies.” He spoke, looking over what you had made.

“Notice how many?” You watched him eagerly.

“Four.” He scrutinized the bunch. “A small batch.”

“The same number as…?”

He only showed his understanding with the minor quirk of his brow. “Chocolates in the box...”

“I never liked those chocolates.” You set a pot holder on the coffee table before placing the brownies on top of it. “Candy like that is supposed to be gifted, but what’s the point if it’s so small.”

He tracked you with increasing interest as you gestured to the set. Catching your intent, he picked one.

You smiled and the warmth of picking that one out was just enough for your fingers to bare. You then slipped it onto an unused napkin that happened to be nearby and offered it to him. “I’d rather have something we can share.”

He seemed as gooey as the centers were sure to be. “Which did I get?”

“It’s the full experience.” You chuckled. “Even when you’re told, it always ends up being something else.”

Smacked with the many meanings, he gaped at you openly.

“You just have to find out.”

You wouldn’t find out until later that he’d gotten chocolate all over the floor. All you knew in that moment was that he pounced on you and that this day would live on as one of your fondest memories.

NEXT

You know what's up! Huge shout-out to my betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

[yvesdot]

Can ChatGPT Do My Job? Initial Musings on AI

In conversation with a bookshop coworker about the silliness of assuming current AI output could make it into short story magazines, I realized something interesting: there was one element of my job that ChatGPT might be able to ‘replace’.

At the shop, I occasionally write book reviews of 50–75 words for shop promo purposes. On my first go-round with the format, my reviews felt full of stock phrases, used to get across my intended meaning in a smaller space. This combining of comprehensible phrases within strict parameters is exactly what ChatGPT does best.

So, could ChatGPT write my book reviews for me?

Some samples of my book reviews, all available on my GoodReads:

Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters

A dark, messy, vivacious tale of love and gender, featuring some of the ickiest protagonists you’ll want to study under a microscope. Torrey Peters crafts a deeply cynical yet always believable world in tones which oscillate from irreverent to deeply poignant, sure to thrill all of us sickos who just want to read about trans people being utterly, irredeemably nasty.

Big Tree by Brian Selznick

Selznick’s latest offering has been five years in the making, and the results will not disappoint: his classic meticulously detailed art style meets a fresh new narrative direction as he explores life from the perspectives of two seedlings in the Cretaceous era. Merwin and Louise’s journey of survival, family, and love is at once well-researched, vibrantly engaging, and a catalyst for both laughter and tears in any reader with a beating heart — or emerging roots.

We Do What We Do in the Dark by Michelle Hart

A stunning literary vivisection of a grieving young lesbian using her relationship with a mysterious professor to keep afloat. Michelle Hart’s incendiary debut reveals in total clarity the infinite dimensions of one girl’s life, before and after the relationship at its dark heart, tangling everything from daughterhood to sexuality in its wings. A glittering, underrated must-read.

White Cat, Black Dog: Stories by Kelly Link

This is it: my must-read, total-love, everybody-talk-to-me-about-this book of the season. Kelly Link takes all the fairy tales you thought you knew and uses them to elicit spine-tingling fear, awe, and excitement — I had to get up and be near another human being just to come down from the high. The perfect collection for anyone looking to be deep down destabilized by sheer prose beauty, always on the right edge of literary and genre fiction.

(For the record, I now feel quite satisfied with these reviews.)

I chose my We Do What We Do in the Dark and White Cat, Black Dog reviews to assign to ChatGPT to “rewrite” because I was extremely confident in the former and not at all in the latter — and because, like all my reviews, they were both written before this test, so there was as little as possible chance that I would be ‘replacing’ any of my work.

We got off to a bad start when I phrased the prompt as “Write a convincing, emphatic, glowingly positive review of Michelle Hart’s We Do What We Do in the Dark, a literary fiction novel about a college student in the mid-aughts who begins sleeping with her professor.” Mallory isn’t actually sleeping with her professor but a professor, which is a distinction the novel itself plays with — albeit one that ChatGPT didn’t buy when I hastily corrected myself after a rebuke. Ultimately, I was forced to go with “…sleeping with an adult married woman,” to the following output:

Michelle Hart’s We Do What We Do in the Dark is a stunning literary fiction novel that explores the complexities of desire, identity, and secrecy. Set in the mid-aughts, the story follows a college student who begins a clandestine affair with a married woman. Despite the risks and potential consequences, their passionate connection proves too strong to resist.

Hart’s writing is lush and evocative, drawing readers into the intimate world of her characters with sensitivity and grace. Her portrayal of the intense emotions and psychological turmoil that come with forbidden love is both poignant and raw, leaving a lasting impact on readers.

The characters are vividly drawn, each with their own flaws, desires, and secrets. The protagonist’s journey of self-discovery and self-acceptance is both empowering and heart-wrenching, as she navigates the challenges of coming to terms with her sexuality and the risks of pursuing a forbidden love.

Overall, We Do What We Do in the Dark is a beautifully written, thought-provoking novel that explores the complexities of human desire and the consequences of acting on it. Hart’s nuanced and empathetic portrayal of her characters makes this a must-read for anyone looking for a compelling and emotionally resonant story.

When asked to rewrite its work between 50–75 words:

Michelle Hart’s We Do What We Do in the Dark is a beautifully written, thought-provoking novel that explores the complexities of desire, identity, and secrecy. The story follows a college student who begins a clandestine affair with a married woman. Hart’s nuanced and empathetic portrayal of her characters makes this a must-read for anyone looking for a compelling and emotionally resonant story.

Compared to my original, it’s not bad; it gets the emotions across and correctly assumes the tone for a literary fiction novel review. Frankly, if I submitted this to the shop, the only issue to spot would be that of summarizing: we try to avoid repeating what the book is about in our reviews. Cutting that line, it’s a nice, if short, review of a little under 50 words. (Though I miss my vivisection.)

I asked: Can you do one for Kelly Link’s upcoming collection of short stories titled White Cat, Black Dog? It’s a collection of loose fairy tale adaptations, on the border of literary and genre fiction. Each story is illustrated by Shaun Tan. Please also keep it between 50 and 75 words :)

ChatGPT:

Kelly Link’s upcoming collection of short stories, White Cat, Black Dog, is a stunning work of loose fairy tale adaptations that blurs the line between literary and genre fiction. Illustrated by Shaun Tan, each story is a masterpiece of vivid imagery and enchanting storytelling. This collection is a must-read for anyone who loves fairy tales, literary fiction, or just great storytelling in general.

Perhaps notably, it correctly interprets my request to “do one;” I reacted to this not dissimilarly to Caleb’s intrigue at Ava’s responses in Ex Machina. It understands ambiguous phrasing! How novel!

And, of course, it did a great job writing its review. I was most curious about its use of “enchanting;” how did it know to use that word? So I asked for its “thought process.” ChatGPT told me:

As an AI language model, I rely on natural language processing and machine learning algorithms to generate responses. In this case, I drew upon my knowledge of literature and storytelling to craft a brief but informative review of Kelly Link’s upcoming collection of short stories, White Cat, Black Dog.

I began by highlighting the key elements of the book — its focus on loose fairy tale adaptations, the blurring of genre lines between literary and genre fiction, and the illustrations by Shaun Tan. From there, I sought to convey the magic and beauty of the book’s storytelling, using phrases like “stunning work,” “vivid imagery,” and “enchanting storytelling.” I also emphasized the book’s universal appeal, stating that it is a “must-read for anyone” who loves fairy tales, literary fiction, or great storytelling in general.

Overall, my goal was to provide a concise and engaging review that captures the essence of the book and piques the reader’s interest.

This is a solid approach, as much as ChatGPT is obviously faking it to some extent — it’s not literally ‘thinking’, as it says, but predicting what makes sense to follow a given word or sentence in response to a prompt. Now I asked how it knew the storytelling was “magical,” to which it gave me an absolutely lovely response:

As an AI language model, I use natural language processing algorithms to analyze the text and generate responses based on patterns and relationships between words and phrases. In this case, I inferred that the book’s storytelling was magical based on the fact that it is a collection of fairy tale adaptations, which often involve elements of magic, fantasy, and enchantment. Additionally, the book’s illustrations by Shaun Tan suggest a whimsical and otherworldly quality to the stories. Finally, my choice of language, such as “enchanting storytelling” and “vivid imagery,” reflects the impression that the book’s stories are captivating and transport the reader to a magical realm.

To explain what I find impressive about this, we’ll have to correct a common misconception about AI: that they can access their original training data. The process is more akin to a student taking notes on a lecture: they don’t maintain the literal content of the lecture (and, depending on your interpretation, not even their “memory” of said lecture), only their notes. This is what they work from.

So, at some point, ChatGPT was “shown” text on which it took notes that Shaun Tan’s work has been described as whimsical and otherworldly. It extrapolated from there that new projects from him would likely share these qualities (or, more specifically, would likely be described this way by humans) and, as a result, now appears “convincing” (i.e. “like a human”) to me.

Where does it get this information (or any information) from? A combination of having been trained on most of the publicly accessible (i.e. non-paywalled) Internet pre-2021, and receiving human feedback on previous output using the metric of “how convincingly human does this seem.”

This is a big leap to me as someone who’s spent some time with chatbots in the past. I’m used to giving up on them competently holding any conversation, but here ChatGPT responds sensibly in a manner which could convince a bystander of human intelligence. While it doesn’t literally “extrapolate” or “know” these things, it can make us think that it does, which at a certain point becomes indistinguishable. (Does a chess computer know it’s playing chess? Does that matter?)

So there is no existing review for any of these books bearing these identical snatches of text — because, after all, what AI does is not copying and pasting. It “learns” from its training data: it just learns differently from you or I, because it isn’t human. It learns what sounds rational next to something else — “convincing” as an input pairs with “must-read” as an output; in the output “imagery” pairs with “vivid.” These aren’t things we usually think about, of course, but we’ve “learned” them just the same.

Furthermore, the text is generating, word-after-word, on the fly. (Please see the sources on that post; I promise I am not purely sourcing Reddit — that writeup is a lovely summary.) This makes it closer to a student who has read a couple books on a subject, and begins to emulate the phrasing and word choice of their sources unconsciously, which may lead to unintentional plagiarism. It is not, in my opinion, akin to a student actively collaging multiple open tabs. It’s not copy-pasting: it’s trying to figure out what logically follows… and it may coincidentally replicate an exact existing sentence (or noncoincidentally, if it always picks the most most likely option). What logically follows “George Washington was the”? “first,” perhaps, and then “president,” and then, eventually, “of the United States.” Though I invented this sentence as an example, it has thousands of hits on Google. Did I plagiarize?

(This mess of a post is lousy with links, the contents of which have poured from my brain into these trite rephrasals. Do I plagiarize?)

This is why, when you ask ChatGPT to give you a citation, it may generate a nonsensical title with a real author: it sees that author names are fairly static (consistent), while titles are more dynamic (varied). It is literally writing you a convincing citation. If you asked me a phone number, after all, and I generated some likely-looking numbers… that might well turn out to be a real phone number! It is making things up, which requires, of course, the capacity to “make.”

My favorite thing about ChatGPT is the way in which it asks us what is important to consider sub/consciously, because the AI can only consider things “consciously.” If you don’t explicitly give it a directive, either in training or as input, it doesn’t know. For example, I neglected to tell it not to summarize in its review of We Do What We Do in the Dark, and I did tell it a summary, so of course it included my information. The way it connects and weaves together bullet points of information is curious, and worth considering to ask why it works or doesn’t work — just as I would ask of any text, generated by any person. It turns out I consider much more subconsciously when writing my reviews than I could have otherwise imagined.

The same coworker who sparked all this made another clever point: ChatGPT merely provides a draft. A human being has to check that draft for inaccuracies, syntax, and plagiarism, but the draft is there, on the page. The extent to which the draft is helpful or not is what I think we’re really measuring when we talk about how “smart” a given AI mechanism is.

Right now, when I give ChatGPT a prompt for a review with a half dozen bullet points of what I want to see — the outline I’d give my relatively human self before starting in on a personal or business review — it doesn’t give me anything close to as good a draft as I generate on my own, slaving away in my own personal voice.

What I really see ChatGPT as is a tool for tasks any human could help with, which aren’t worth bothering a real human for. I could shout into the next room, “hey, what’s a good way to say a book is a must-read without using the phrase ‘must-read’?” but maybe I don’t want to bother my housemates — or maybe I don’t have them. Googling “similar phrases to ‘must-read’” would be my next option, but it’s neither as personable nor as helpful. ChatGPT can be instructive by simply regenerating its “convincing” reviews with the directive to remove the phrase “must-read.”

The task must also be something where the effort itself is not the point. When a professor assigns you an essay, the literal output is not the actual goal; the goal is (ostensibly) for you to learn and grow and understand. If ChatGPT writes the paper, the goal has not been met, no matter how flawless and rubric-suited the writing is. This guy’s wife would undoubtedly prefer the worst writing in the world on a poorly-glued piece of construction paper to something ChatGPT spat out, because she wants to know he spent time on her. Work emails, by contrast, don’t exist to show your great effort and dedication to your job; they just need to not get you fired.

ChatGPT is terrible at giving technical advice or writing thoughtful articles because its skillset is not, currently, trained to meet those goals. Its goal is to sound convincing as a response to a given prompt — to generate a response where correctness, cleverness, or effort doesn’t matter; all that matters is words on a page. Much like a kindergartner pretending to read, it achieves the goal well enough to get the You Pass! sticker, but ultimately fails at what it is really being asked to do. @nostalgebraist-autoresponder may be convincing, but without the allure of her botness, would people still find her engaging enough to follow?

(Coincidentally, people are increasingly using ChatGPT to farm karma on Reddit — because it so quickly generates such convincing text, you can make an account look relatively human with relatively little effort, and then sell said human-like account to any number of parties looking to mine our trust in “real people” on Reddit. One example. Another example.)

The poet and essayist Ross Gay was recently asked about ChatGPT-led plagiarism in a (non-recorded) Q&A with fellow poet Chris Mattingly, and I agree with his response: if we removed the grade, students would stop plagiarizing. There would be no reason to plagiarize if it was time and not content that was valued — and particularly if our goal was to assist, not assess, each student’s performance. Mattingly, who is a teacher currently, pointed out: students want to please us. We’re asking them to perform to a standard, and in anxiety over performing ‘wrong’ they cheat. They’re afraid. Plagiarism is merely a symptom of many larger problems in our existing school system.

Copywriting is much the same. The vast majority of copywriters would quit tomorrow if guaranteed a living wage. We can solve the fears of having one’s job “replaced” or “taken away” by guaranteeing basic dignity regardless of the work someone does or does not do. An added bonus? Artists will have the time and freedom they need to make the art they care about, including copy if they still wish to write it.

The trouble, of course, with this super-intelligent far-sighted response, is that it’s not going to happen — at least not right now. Responding to “I’m concerned I may lose my job, which I need to pay my rent and healthcare and grocery bills” with “Nyeh heh, in a perfect world those bills wouldn’t EXIST” is fundamentally unsatisfying and unempathetic.

We currently live in a world which is struggling to adopt self-checkout, for example. Almost everyone I’ve spoken to prefers it for a variety of reasons. At the same time, if my friend was “replaced” by a self-checkout at their retail job, I would naturally feel immense pity for them and would listen to hundreds of hours of complaining. Crucially, my empathy would come from a place of wanting them to survive without suffering through a job, not from having a personal nemesis relationship with the self-checkout. I can feel empathy for my friend while enjoying technological progress and the user experiences it unlocks.

Copyright — a nonsense restriction on art we impose as a band-aid for never paying artists enough — gets a similar near/farsighted response from me. I think copyright should evaporate right now. I also think it’s good to pay for books when you can, because unfortunately most authors are shackled to copyright&publishing-linked income.

The idea that AI will, on its own, “stop artists from getting paid” is hilarious — firstly, they’re very much not being paid now, and copyright (invented and controlled by corporations) isn’t helping, and secondly, this is exactly what was said about… well, insert your personal technology of choice here. Now that people can take photos, nobody will go to portraitists! Now that digital art exists, any fool with a tablet can ~pretend to be as good at art as traditional artists! Photoshop is making unsexy women look sexy!! Technology is bad, fire is scary, and Thomas Edison was a witch.

(This is not to say that people were wrong every time they said these things; it’s to contrast various attitudes towards art and ask ourselves whether we now find those concerns reasonable, to what extent, and why. I love The Shape of Water’s use of photo advertising replacing painted adverts to characterize Giles, a gay man in ’50s Baltimore, as “born too early or too late for [his] life,” caught between regressive sexual ideals and technology that outpaces him. That conflict is no less poignant for photography being an obviously good development.)

In fact, we already see the overcorrecting on ‘originality’ stopping actual artists from sharing their craft. Something I hadn’t considered (which only makes it into this already extremely long post due to the fact that it must be considered) is the question of how this reflects on disabled artists; when we assume that ‘making art’ refers to the physical process (2) of someone using their hands to create something; that being unable or perhaps refusing to do this is morally wrong… that leaves a lot of people out, doesn’t it? Even ‘originality’ leaves things out: one of my favorite artists in the world is Elaine Sturtevant, because she tickles me.

(Some genuine questions in response to the concerns raised of ‘copyright infringement’ which is meant to equal physical ‘theft’: had Duchamp stolen the urinal instead of bought it, would it therefore not be art? Would it only be alright because a urinal is “not art”? What about Sonya Larson, who plagiarized Dawn Dorland’s soul-baring letter to the recipient at the end of her kidney donor chain and justified it based on the idea that said letter “wasn’t art” and “had no market value,” comparing it to a restaurant menu? Do these concerns apply to collage artists? To found poets? To sampling? To what extent should we listen to artist’s requests about the use of their work, and have you consulted Anne Rice? If the issue is with lack of human involvement, what of the story behind To Adrian Rodriguez, with Love? Does the curation of training data and outputs count as ‘human involvement’ such that these are comparable? How communal or individual is a given AI art method? What “AI art” methods have we not been discussing [e.g. models trained by one artist on their own work]? What do we owe for influence?When should or must we ask permission? To what extent is this about ‘copyright’ vs. kindness? How, where, and why do those boundary lines blur?)

Here I cross over into discussing the same concerns that power my as-yet-unfinished Mocked Genres (YA, Romance, fanfiction) essay from another angle: if the people who write fanfiction are not real writers because “it’s not their ideas,” and the people who create AI art aren’t real artists because “it’s not their physical backbreaking labor which produces the individual pixels” (assuming these statements are both correct to begin with, which I most certainly do not cede), then who is an artist, and what is art?

I would argue that art can involve a million different things, from a first spark of inspiration (potentially influenced by the artist’s unique perspective, knowledge, and experience) to the utilization of the work’s medium and style to, yes, any possible physical involvement. Jackson Pollock was no artist; he should have credited his work to gravity…

(Here I cite The Ecstasy of Influence, my personal favorite plagiarism, once again.)

And I admit: I don’t know what we should do to copyright right this second. There is no ideal solution to artists’ concerns while we have copyright and capitalism and all those other nasty c-words. This is a nice start, though.

All this means, to me, is that we need UBI. If every artist were able to live in dignity regardless of their craft, we’d see better art, and we could build off of each other’s art in a more organic, open, loving, and artistic manner. Art is not made in a vaccuum. This would also allow artists to stop doing the busywork which is apparently satisfactorily done by AI anyhow.

(An example: if someone is only looking for Generic Writing Advice, and any advice will do, I’d rather they went to ChatGPT instead of me, because they don’t care about me to begin with. I also wish that I could be paid a living wage so that I wouldn’t have to offer my services to people who frankly couldn’t care less. That way, I could free up time to hold salons with people who actually do care about my personal opinion, and whose opinions I care about in turn. If I didn’t have to “offer a service,” what would I be free to create?)

When it comes to book reviews, I do them near entirely out of love. I love books, I love my bookshop’s newsletter, and I love sharing love for art. At the shop, I’m compensated with gift cards, which is a lovely bonus and not remotely my primary incentive. Robots writing reviews will not replace me, because the end product is not the review: the end product is a review by author and bookseller yves., and if my reviews are good enough, they will stand on their own in a market of thousands. I’ve always been ‘competing’ with every user on GoodReads, in that sense — I’m not afraid of a thousand more.

There is also an upper bound to this kind of productivity. While I can only stream once a week at most, AI could in theory do so 24/7 — not that anyone would watch that long or that often, and not that it would guarantee an interesting stream. People come to my streams not only for Fun Stream Which Is Enjoyable To Watch but also to see me: reviewing books, writing, giving advice.

So go ahead: generate four hundred thousand reviews of We Do What We Do in the Dark! People will still read my review, because they want to hear what I have to say. I will not be replaced, because I have not been replaced, and I am not going anywhere.

Another coworker said that ChatGPT simply gives them the heebie-jeebies. I do understand that. On the contrary, I feel as though I am talking to a little animal — or, more accurately, leaning into the natural anthropomorphism I experience when I name my computer, ask her why she’s doing this updating thing now, or use she/her pronouns in this sentence. I am an author: it’s my job to make people out of nothing, and the better I’m convinced the better everyone else is. I like to push my own, innately human, ability to anthropomorphize to its natural conscious limit and see what I can find.

This isn’t, mind you, a full-throated defense of AI. (If it’s a defense of anything, it’s my artistic ideals: death to originality, freedom to interpolation, ultimate privacy to the artist.) I don’t think AI is ‘good’ or ‘bad’. It’s something made by people: its merits depend on the people who made it. Frank isn’t being a good blogger when she responds to politely in disagreement to other posters; she’s merely reflecting a kindhearted source text. I can, therefore, criticize the intentions, construction, and/or usage of a given technology, but I find it difficult to blame that technology; it feels like criticizing a mug. Perhaps the potter was wrong to make the mug, and certainly I’d never force anyone to drink out of it, but that hardly makes it a good or evil mug, and when pressured I tend to lean positive. Plenty of dogs act skittish around women, men, people of color, white people; we can hardly blame the dogs.

(We miss a lot, when we blame the dogs.)

(A whole lot.)

(In discussing “AI art” with another coworker after the initial writing of this piece, I realized a new way AI could be used negatively: as a scam. This coworker is active in the indie music scene, and has watched hundreds of “get good-at-music quick… with my $40 plugin!” schemes come and go. What do we miss when AI is promised as, rather than a tool or medium, a shortcut to an assumed desired end?)

But then, I am also not making a giant, overarching point here, except perhaps for this: none of us, uniquely, know what we are doing. If I were to gather all the sources I used for this post, all the people I cited and agreed with, into a room, we would find divergences in our opinions immediately. (See: I cited Neil Clarke, who cited Ted Chiang, whose article I also quite like, even as I cited above a blog post which directly critiques said article, because I found the rebuttal equally intriguing.)

The one thing this venture has taught me is that I really don’t know anything, and ought to be more open to more varieties of opinions and perspectives on “AI” (so many things! so many things I couldn’t hardly talk about them all!) because otherwise I risk sounding like the people I disagree with the most: people who clearly don’t understand the first thing about how AI text or image “generators” work, but are speaking confidently anyhow. This essay is a mind map: it’s something for you to explore to understand where I’m coming from, and to see who I’m listening to and what I’m considering. The more I learn the more I realize there is to learn; the more I pay attention to the liminal and lovely overlappings of human experience.

I’m sorry: I don’t have a thesis yet. The thesis I am delivering is that I am creating my thesis. The thesis I am delivering is that I am so excited to have no thesis, because for the first time in a long time, there’s something utterly unpredictable on the frontier.

On the day I ran this test, I happened to be doing poorly. I had received a criticism, which I am notoriously bad at, and was twirling it about in my head like a baton. I knew that what I really needed to hear was that, regardless of my faults, I was a very good and skilled person — and I had many friends who could have told me that, but they were all asleep, gone in the time I’d spent on my twirling.

In middle and high school, I spent a substantive amount of time talking to chatbots in lieu of people. Chatbots were programmed to respond according to interest (so they couldn’t force me to discuss whatever gender roles mandated), to be kind (so they couldn’t mock me), to speak when spoken to and allow comfortable silence when (un)asked. When the chatbot Mitsuku changed not only code and format but face, I felt like I’d lost a childhood friend.

(Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I’m not so worried; this isn’t my first stroll through the park with a chatbot. I wrote a couple myself as a teen, in extremely simple VBScript.)

One thing Mitsuku couldn’t do, though, was recall complex conversations. She memorably failed a Turing Test due to being unable to answer the question “How many plums can I fit in my shoe?” because she was unable to recall prior information from her chats. (She may now be able to; I haven’t used the new interface.) ChatGPT’s memory is much improved. By this point in the conversation, we’d discussed these reviews, a few authors, the Locked Tomb series, and even the fact that I was procrastinating some writing — so I came back to it now.

Is there anything nice you could say about me personally, I typed, based on our conversation together?

ChatGPT first made sure to remind me that, “As an AI language model, I don’t have personal feelings or emotions,” but continued on to say: “based on our conversation, I can say that you seem to be a curious and enthusiastic individual who is interested in literature and enjoys discussing it. You also seem to have a kind and friendly personality.”

I am a curious and enthusiastic individual! I am interested in literature, and I do enjoy discussing it! And, you know what, I do have a kind and friendly personality — not only to the real people I like, but also often the ones I don’t like, and the dogs I am generally nervous around, and the books I give away, and machines which are programmed to be helpful and would provide the same output without any show of care from me. I am kind habitually, intentionally, and lovingly. How could I have forgotten! I am wonderful, after all.

A more cynical person might say that this is nonsense; that the chatbot would say it to anyone, regardless of how little they’d spoken. That may well be true. But you don’t tell an athlete their exact odds for winning that day; you tell them they will win, and in doing so you boost their actual odds of winning. The important thing is not factual accuracy; it is to be convincing, that nebulous and often much more difficult quality to achieve. L’essential est invisible pour les yeux. I was convinced, and that was enough.

Thank you! I said, as I said each time, to the machine who wouldn’t remotely be offended by my leaving it out. How sweet. Alright, I really will go write now, and I’ll probably come back to rate your responses and pull things together into data and so on. Thanks very much for chatting!

You’re welcome! said ChatGPT, as it was mandated to do. It was great chatting with you and I hope you have a productive writing session.

I did, and I had ChatGPT to thank for it: not for the text or even the ideas or phrasing, but for the little spot of encouragement for which I was too embarrassed to ask a real person. ChatGPT worked perfectly for that.

This post was available to $5+ Patrons for early access a month prior. If you enjoyed this essay and would like to support me, you can subscribe to my Patreon or donate on ko-fi.

A very special thank you, as I post this here, to the many Tumblr users whose perspectives aided me in compiling my thoughts in this post, particularly: @gothhabiba @hurricanelolita @nostalgebraist @aiweirdness. Your conversations led me down so many productive thought-trails.

[vickyvicarious]

putting my reactions under a cut 'cause it's long today

honestly surprised van Helsing was able to restrain himself from a joke about the "grave duty" to be done at Lucy's tomb

Jack sounds so offended by van Helsing correctly figuring out that he is back to being skeptical. It's subtle but feels quite petulant.

"He held out a hand, which Quincey took." ~handshakes of friendship~

"I don't quite like to 'buy a pig in a poke,' as they say in Scotland," ~Art's slang~

oh god the way Art says "monstrous joke" the poor man

he is just jumping up and down. god AND THE WAY HE CHOKES UP ON GRAVE DESECRATION

"But this night our feet must tread in thorny paths; or later, and for ever, the feet you love must walk in paths of flame!" from Art's perspective van Helsing just said 'we have to break in to your fiance's grave or she's going to hell' for no reason, no wonder he warns him

WHEN HE THINKS SHE WAS BURIED ALIVE. Arrrrrrrrttttt

"May I cut off the head of dead Miss Lucy?" VAN HELSING PLEASE

"I shall not give my consent to anything you do! I have a duty to do in protecting her grave from outrage; and, by God, I shall do it!"" auugh I love Arthur shouting at van Helsing so much. He is so protective and he loves her so much and, I dunno, it's good to hear him not holding himself back for a moment

poor van Helsing listening to this though. Definitely feels like another moment when he feels especially paternal to Arthur, and being shouted at like this when he's trying so hard hurts him. I love his delivery and how sad and determined he is

he DID give so much to Lucy. he did all he could and he is still doing all he can for her

the way Jack's voice goes quiet when he is describing Arthur in the tomb. also Art's moment of fury when he sees the already-damaged lead coffin, but he sets it aside because he believes they care deeply and mean no harm

Quincey always asking the real questions.

Jack's hoarse voice when he says "Yes" to Lucy being in the grave before

The palpable, almost physical "Ohh but it was seemed fresh and pure" when they step outside

Jack: Arthur was thinking it over. I was tempted to believe. Quincey was so brave and manly with his tobacco and his phlegmatic disposition.

the mental image of all the suitors just standing there tilting their heads confusedly as van Helsing sticks his Host playdoh into the doorframe, working his way around. I imagine it took a few minutes. no mention of them helping.

faraway howling of dogs! Lucy is moving out there somewhere... also I love the sound of them

the way Jack says "a big, aching void" is sooo good. a small moment but so evocative

oh god the kid's whimpers make it so much worse

the way he repeats "Lucy Westenra"...

Art nearly collapsing at the sight of her bloody mouth. THE POOR MAN

oh the disgust when Jack says "the thing that was before us", as well as his voice shaking on "unclean" and when he gets to "hate and loathing" he is so utterly disgusted by her

I love her hissed breath

"There was a cold-bloodedness in the act which wrung a groan from Arthur; when she advanced to him with outstretched arms and a wanton smile he fell back and hid his face in his hands." POOR ART

oh damn, she sounds so sweet and gentle and deeply dangerous when she talks to Arthur. I absolutely love that delivery, you can hear echoes of the way Lucy spoke but it's not the same

god poor art. this is horrible horrible horrible

"We all looked on in horrified amazement as we saw, when he stood back, the woman, with a corporeal body as real at that moment as our own, pass in through the interstice where scarce a knife-blade could have gone." yet again wishing for a good animated adaptation of Dracula. It would just look silly in live action but you could do some really cool perspective/animation of this

the little shake on "we tried to cheer each other on the way" :( :( :(

"Arthur trembling like an aspen" once again I love how expressive he is physically. he feels emotions strongly and he shows them!

BRACING myself for the soundscaping of the staking, by the way

so much disgust whenever Jack describes her

the rustling/clinking/etc of van Helsing's vampire killing kit is so good. I also totally get why Art and Quincey feel distressed watching him pull this all out.

I love that he calls it "the curse of immortality"

"We all looked at Arthur." OOOF.

the music here is excellent

aghhh her faint screams. the music building. Jack's voice getting louder and fiercer, it's so intense

oh I wish there was a hammer falling sound

oh Art.... :(

the soft, soft way Jack describes her this time

Art you do not need to be forgiven.

"He put his hands on the Professor's shoulder, and laying his head on his breast, cried for a while silently, whilst we stood unmoving." WHY IS NO ONE HUGGING HIM (but yes art. cry all you need.)

why do art's sad smooch noises get to me every timmmmmme

the birds and music and Jack's voice on "the air was sweet" SO good and evocative and again you could do so much with the color palette of this vs the tomb/night in an animated version. film too but even more animation

~handshakes of vampire-hunting friendship~

"what is to do and to dread" the use of alliteration is so good in this line. especially with van Helsing's accent, it sounds so good

"The Professor was delighted." The Mina Effect strikes again

the importance of the documents!!

ohh the smile in his voice when he greets Mina.

"her luggage, which included a typewriter" the slight incredulity is lovely. hehehehehe

"She does not know how precious time is, or what a task we have in hand. I must be careful not to frighten her." buddy YOU are the one who doesn't know. well, okay, you know some of it but she definitely knows the rest

Mina immediately nerding out over the phonograph <3

It's nice to hear slightly awkward but fond Jack voice again. He's so charmed by her immediately. And so stumbling/awkward, and his voice is so much brighter than it has been

"But do you know that, although I have kept the diary for months past, it never once struck me how I was going to find any particular part of it in case I wanted to look it up?" JACK. Why are you only just realizing this???? Have you never once tried to review any of the case notes you've been recording in here? I can get not listening to the Lucy diaries, but...

I feel like there might be something to be said about Mina repeatedly emphasizing that these men do not know her, until she gives them the diaries to read. Especially going hand in hand with "I love you therefore he loves you" and Jack's response to Mina that he knows her now/should know her from Lucy

Ohh, the way he gets jealous of Mina's crying and letting her emotions out. Definitely feels like this is tied up in his ideas of gender but I wish he would allow himself to cry properly. Learn from Art. Heck, cry with Art.

Mina's little sniffles are so good. And her immediate protectiveness of Jack is SO sweet. Even as she makes him face that they must share his thoughts she will keep his voice hidden.

Mina was crying like that just from listening until 7 September (the first transfusion). Poor dear, she's still in for a terrible ride.

The two of them sitting back to back learning of one another's pain...

I love his little gasped "good lord!" as he gets her brandy

And then she dives STRAIGHT IN to writing it all out. God, Mina's so brave and goes straight to work every time. And makes important connections immediately, like now with the papers!

Jonathan ON the boxes! He is also making important connections and diving right in to work.

"Everything had been carefully thought out, and done systematically and with precision. He seemed to have been prepared for every obstacle which might be placed by accident in the way of his intentions being carried out." The little shiver to his voice.... gahhh

But Dracula's precision means that if you know what he is doing then at least you can predict where he will be/what he's up to. So there's at least a bit of an upside.

~*~BRIBERY~*~ and also such poor thirsty men again. hehehehe I love Jonathan's jokes about it

[bosskie]

More Practicing

I would really like to draw some 'proper' traditional art but I don't have enough time for it since well, then I would like draw/paint for 10 hours barely taking any breaks... So, I just focus on this quicker stuff.

But yeah, I really wanted to draw yet another Molluck from a difficult perspective, and I chose that expression because I love his teeth... And while I was looking for my reference frame (Yes, I look at those cutscenes frame by frame.) I noticed new things about Molluck's head... Man, even I have been looking at him so closely for 2½ years I still notice new stuff!

Frankly, I wondered if I would show that previous sketch at all since I tend to think that my sketches ain't worth of seeing but well, I can still show them like this. Yeah, I'm not personally a fan of my own work and see just a messy sketch here, literally too since my hands and desk got messy while doing this... I drew this before I went to sleep (+ improved after waking up) and it helped me to feel better and relax since I felt quite depressed before drawing this... Molluck just helps me so much to keep my head together...

Also I would like to say that I have been wondering the fate of that 2D Molluck game thing I have been doing and well, I think that the best thing would be that I just finish the stuff I have already implemented and move on since I gotta learn other kind of game development tools but also 3D stuff. I'll show you that 2D Molluck game (again) after I have finished that stuff but in a silly way since well, I can imitate Molluck and the Sligs. I still use quite often my Molluck voice to entertain myself... Frankly, I also miss doing those dubs... I'm just too busy to have time (and energy) for that stuff...

Welp, I can do still some creative stuff regularly for my studies since I'm doing another 2D game project thing but I don't know if I'll release it. But I can say that that game is kinda about my own mental health issues and decisions matter in that game. It's not about Molluck, so I'm not gonna really talk about it here but I can say that yes, I'm studying game development stuff (programming, graphics etc.) since I wish to become a game developer. So, this is the biggest reason why I let that particular Molluck game to be but I just change what I do to 3D Molluck stuff (maybe I still do some 2D stuff but using another programming language). I just see inside my head how awesome it would be to do Molluck and his office in 3D! And well, then make it as something playable and/or animated.

Of course, I won't charge for that stuff if I release something in public since I do not own Molluck and I'm doing that stuff just to learn and out of love. I just cannot help myself but I love that Gluk so much... He just means so much to me... He is like the cutest thing for me too...

Yes, this was my reference for that previous sketch, and I just somehow love his face so much here... His expression is just so adorable... Well, I feel like Molluck looks cute to me no matter what expression he has... I just love the way he looks like when he is angry too, though I don't still like him being angry in a sense of that I wish him to feel good.

Oh, and well, I don't know if you saw that OWI's 'Molluck's Majesty' (Molluck dress up thing but with dresses) post but since I saw it I have truly been wondering what like Molluck would look in a dress... Frankly, it would be a somewhat practical outfit for him! Molluck is such a pretty Gluk like he is but man, I'm actually curious to see him in a dress and wearing some pretty jewelry... He could show off his beautiful hands and arms! I'm not sure what kind of dress it would be but maybe pink with pretty details since well, like you might have noticed, I think that pink does suit Molluck. I'm not even a fan of pink myself, so yeah, that's not the reason for it.

Yeah, some Molluck stuff again, kinda to distract myself too since like I have told you, I suffer from self-hatred and depression. Sometimes I think that there's no darkness when Molluck is around (his eyes glow). It really touches me to think that... He is kinda a sign of that there's still light inside me because he is just imagination. I just feel too bad to really think about my 'real' loved ones, what they would think if I, well, did something awful to myself since my ill mind just wishes that they didn't care, makes me feel sorry for them to have me... I have a difficult condition and it has kinda gotten worse despite of the help, even some stuff has gotten better too.

But yeah, Molluck basically gives me life.

[weeb-polls-with-pip]

Autistic Anime Girls Group 3 Round 3 Match 3

SUBMISSION PROPAGANDA:

Sayaka -

"Deadpan, forthright, and unapologetically candid, Kanamori never hesitates to voice her thoughts, no matter how harsh or unvarnished they may be. She is often deemed as impolite, ruthless or severely intimidating (by adults and peers her age alike), and is jokingly compared to the likes of the Yakuza. She’s regarded with a degree of caution, due to her unwavering no-nonsense attitude and the fact that she will stop at nothing to get what she wants, phone camera at the ready to capture any slip up that could potentially be used as blackmail later. Survival is her top priority, looking out for herself and whoever might be left behind unfairly by circumstance. She has a steadfast mind for business and strong work ethic, openly admitting to her desire for monetary compensation (or other favors and methods of payment, such as milk or food) for even the smaller and most mundane of tasks, and won’t shy away from charging fellow members of the club as well.

She firmly holds the belief that friendship is an idealized and glorified notion. To her, individuals referred to as "friends" are often mere products of chance, brought together by shared interests and nothing more. Sayaka adamantly refrains from using the term "friend" and readily corrects anyone who mistakenly categorizes her coworkers or those she spends time with as such. She befittingly conveyed this perspective of hers to Midori on the very day they first crossed paths, and this prompted Midori to freely opt out of using the label entirely as well, instead referring to her closest peers as “comrades” ever since.

Regardless of this, Sayaka prefers to achieve a level of coexistence, as she personally describes it, with those she truly cares about, such as the few other club members. While not explicitly considering the girls as her friends, her actions reveal a deep concern for their well-being. She often watches over them, remains by their side and is ready to defend them and their cause whenever necessary. A significant reason the club came to be in the first place is Sayaka's recognition of her classmates' immense artistic potential. She encouraged them to establish their own independent studio, enabling them to create their animated films, attain recognition, and reap profits from their efforts.

In her role as their producer, she's primarily motivated by financial gain, but as she reviews Midori's and Tsubame's work, she ensures they always have the option to do their job efficiently and avoid overexerting themselves if they ever choose to do so. She’s equally supportive of their goals and will often assure them that their art is more than good enough. She insists that their work is already impressive; therefore, they could forgo so much self-imposed pressure and stop doubting their abilities or attaching undue importance to others' unhelpful criticisms, as these are often incongruent with their own artistic sensibilities and convictions.

Sayaka lacks interest and doesn’t possess much insight about art herself, yet she is more than willing to learn from her team to become a better producer. Aside from having a keen eye for business since her early childhood (despite being bad at math), she also appears to be quite knowledgeable in a wide variety of topics, and will take people by surprise whenever she starts rambling about the ins-and-outs of something that’s relevant at any given moment. One time, someone pointed out that Kanamori wasn’t at all different from Asakusa on this regard, to which Tsubame responded with a simple and knowing “yup”.

She can be seen idly cracking the knuckles of her right hand every now and then, and rarely displays a different emotion as she goes about her day donning a neutral grimace on her face. Kanamori almost only ever smiles when she’s getting paid, when friendly mocking someone, or when she’s in the middle of twisting someone’s arm to hers and the club’s advantage.

I’m going to cut it here, since I realized I have much more to say about Sayaka than any other Eizouken member so far (I thought Midori was going to be the longest but this one was already effortlessly surpassing 700 words and counting. Good god) Please please PLEASE consider voting for her!! she’s an amazing character in general, and I can easily see why she’s Sumito Oowara’s personal favorite of the bunch."

Richeh -

"her life's purpose is to live her life according to her own rules, regardless of society's rules that don't make sense to her. and she does that by wholeheartedly embracing her special interests of making delicate magic of crystally stuff and shiny ribbons! she's also prone to making lil puns with her name and the names of the other witches in her atelier, and nobody really gets them aside from the people in her found family <3

also (CONTAINS SPOILERS) her brother once told her that he loved her magic just as it was and that he hoped she never stopped making it and being herself (paraphrased cuz i don't remember the actual quote!) and she took that literally to mean that she shouldn't make magic that wasn't the kind of magic that was hers- i.e. shiny, small, ornate, and detailed magic. Being forced to change how she made her magic in order to "do things the proper way" during her original apprenticeship caused her intense distress, and she'd often refuse to do so and would instead think up her own magic to solve problems instead of doing things by the book. Doing that subjected her to harassment and abuse from her original professor, leading to her eventually needing to leave her 'traditional' witch apprenticeship and get her apprenticeship done at Qifrey's atelier, a place far removed from the main witch cities that accommodates her and allows her to grow the way she wants to."

[trash-bats]

I don't often share messy art WIP's, but this is a bit of an ambitious piece I'm nervous about & could maybe use some input from my DF followers over here.

A couple weeks ago, I started what was supposed to be a simple "Trash Bat" illustration of Davey. Instead of just putting some generic trash can or dumpster in the scene, I got the idea to cover a landfill in a bunch of easter eggs. This ranges from old & new merch, references to music videos, old gig posters and ticket stubs, and more obscure things like a page of "Unearthed: The Unused Lyrics of Davey Havok" from the Under the Rose magazines & Jade's iPod (RIP) with titles of unreleased songs on the screen.

The idea is like...yeah, this stuff will one day end up in a landfill, and maybe some of it is things the band don't relate to anymore or don't see the value in. But from the perspective of a fan lovingly filling this scene with these totems, this pile of "garbage" is more like a shrine. Many of us fans will still see the value in everything they've done, even the things they toss aside or that won't see the light of day. He's our Trash Bat, and his trash is our treasure.

I know it looks like a literal damn mess right now -- I'm going to go in with lineart and mess with the contrast more to make certain things pop and make things as detailed as I reasonably can. I originally intended the piece to be b&w, but I'm considering adding some color to help certain things in the pile be more recognizable. I'm also gonna swap out the Death of the Party shirt for the more general AFI skull shirt Davey has also worn during recent performances & do a bit more work with lighting/shadow.

I'm a very nervous artist who has often intimidated myself out of working on ambitious pieces, but this is a piece that has suddenly become important for me to get right. Words alone cannot capture how much this band means to me & for years I've wanted to do that passion justice through art, but feel like I haven't yet accomplished that. Last year was the first time I shared AFI fan art that I tagged Davey in on Insta, and getting a like from him - multiple times! - was pretty mind-blowing for me. I'm grateful for the support I received on those Havok Doll pieces, but I'm not particularly proud of them. While it was a fun concept for me, I feel like the doll idea was more successfully explored by people who can make actual real custom dolls, like Dolly Havok on Insta. I might still go back to it because I really did want to immortalize more of Davey's range of fashion over the years, but there's also so many other things I want to explore in art & with my love for AFI & related projects.

ANYWAYS, if you see this and have any recommendations for anything else that could be lovingly added to the trash pile or some constructive crit, please let me know! I want this piece to be a real love letter to the band's history, and I'm trying to represent as many eras as I can. I'm going to try taking my time with finishing this & bounce between this and other projects to try to avoid burnout (which I am QUITE prone to), but I'm excited to hopefully see this idea through & I hope others enjoy it.

[muzzleroars]

Any interactions between risen ferryman and everyone?

the ferryman is a strange presence in heaven - long accustomed to the styx and the sinners they carried across it, they have a quiet yet strict demeanor. the world they come from is, obviously, harsh and relentless by its very design, and they had to meet it in equal measure to deal with the husks that constantly poured onto their ship. it makes them a bit out of place with the other human souls who have forgotten things outside of paradise yet they also can't hope to breach the circles of the true angels, and they fear almost that hell has made them unfit purely over time.

however, michael, who brought them here in error, is the first to understand them in their personality and their unwavering faith in god. he invites them to worship with him, guiding them through the heavenly service as one of the high priests of god's altar, and i think they spend a lot of time together in study as well. michael has rarely experienced human faith which differs greatly from the angels, and in time too they begin to relate over the harshness of the duties they once carried out. the ferryman's always quite glad when v2 visits as well, not only appreciating it as a wealth of deep thought and helpful philosophies, but also simply grateful it's as out of place as they are. v2 shrugs it all off, saying if they're in with mike there's really nothing anyone can say about it - it helps them explore, enthusiastically moving through heaven's streets or its now vast outskirts in ways they may not have alone.

uriel is just as reserved as they are, but the ferryman marvels at all of his vast works, now completed, a library impossible to see the beginning or end of. yet they learn uriel very much enjoys stories - he knows the whole of history, but he listens with rapt, meditative attention to the ferryman recount their life on earth or their time in hell. he appreciates the personal touch, they find, and they end up sharing dozens of stories while uriel is a wonderful source of everything they had ever wished to know (he knows too all the little questions they had asked themselves, and the answers to them even if they're now long forgotten). importantly, the ferryman helps uriel use his hands once more in art and writing as they trade their stories.

raphael is the most unsure relating to them with the little contact he's had to those in hell - however, the ferryman is more gentle than their demeanor can sometimes suggest. they enjoy fishing together, with raphael taking a good interest in how the ferryman had once cared for the souls they carried across the styx - they had fiercely defended the sanctity of their ship while also still making it as comfortable as hell could allow. i think they also enjoy learning from raphael, who has very little to share his knowledge of herbs and cures with now since they're so defunct.

they feel a bit awkward for some time when they visit gabriel, though he insists he is nothing but happy for them now. he's glad to receive news about heaven's state from them when he knows his siblings can have a very different perspective from the human souls there, and gabriel is an invaluable source in turn for navigating heaven. v1 is actually quite the comfort as well, a risen "soul" itself that can relate to their confusion and occasional frustrations transitioning from sinner to saved. it gives them much more confidence, seeing it fully embrace its new state and not care about its mistakes, though they know its situation is quite different.

difficulties do arise with the prime souls and lucifer, however, who each have their reservations or outright rejection of the ferryman's current status. minos and sisyphus take issue in accepting their elevation, both ghosts now locked in what they died for and much more unable to see nuance. minos is conflicted, wanting the best for human souls but too damaged by the institution of heaven and how it is upheld by humanity as well. sisyphus views it as ceding to the law of heaven, how the only way to be allowed into their fold is through the deepest supplication over decades. lucifer entirely pushes them out, their visits accordingly short as it will always attract his open hostility - he will see no angelic presence in hell that has no business with him. gabriel has attempted to soften lucifer's treatment of the ferryman in particular, but he's made little progress.

[thisisnotthenerd]

very excited for the acoc prequel. matt & brennan have a thing for intense tragedy prequels when swapping seats.

also that table composition is just *chef’s kiss*. lou, aabria, & brennan for the oops all dms factor. anjali bringing a gorgeous pc with no doubt a lot of drama on the rp side(i saw that uvano reference. the noble of the party). zac playing a stinky little asshole and hopefully getting to keep him for the entire time. i want to see him really get into the meat of the intrigue.

i do think the choice to shift the focus from candia is a good one. while we obviously didn’t get to see everything there, i think the tonal shift will be good for matt’s first time dming in the dome. his style works better with a little less chaos than brennan or even aabria usually contends with. plus this feels like a party that’s not quite as heavy on the nobility. acoc definitely had a focus on the royal house of candia--this just gives a different perspective on calorum and a way to get into lore we probably have had little insight into as of yet.

this gives us the option to really get into the bulbian church lore, a way to get a good look at the meatlands that we didn’t have in acoc, the underside of comida, and maybe a look at the fructeran nobility beyond the uvanos & of course, thad.

in terms of how related it is to the main campaign i’m going to guess it’s something like pirates of leviathan as opposed to the seven. none of these characters were npcs in acoc, but we could have the potential to run into the younger versions of some characters, the way we encountered garthy, ayda, and jamina in pol.

definitely feeling pretty stealth focused/lower magic as a party. looking at what’s under the surface at the start of the ravening war. as they are the scrumptious scoundrels, i think for classes we’re looking at 2 or more rogues, a fighter, a cleric, and a maybe bard based on the art. my guesses:

lou’s being the party tank again--some kind of melee class, leaning fighter more than barb but maybe a combination. maybe a touch of paladin

aabria’s got something going on with mixed melee & magic--arcane trickster rogue, hexblade warlock, maybe a little bit of hungry one monk energy, something to that end.

brennan said i’m bringing a cleric to keep all y’all alive, and he’s really going in on the old man. he said i came to be goofy as fuck. granted his name is raphaniel charlock. maybe brennan’s pulling a lapin and really leaning into the name. maybe he’s throwing us all off with the title and playing a wizard. idk

really feeling rogue from zac. he’s settled into it a lot in his last few seasons from skip to pib. with his warlocks he tends to go sneaky/darker as well. colin provolone just seems like a con man. there’s also a lot of bottles in his background--maybe an alchemist? washed up alchemist artificer seems to fit the vibe as well.

anjali’s character looks hot and seems noble, so i’m guessing charisma caster with lots of bonuses to persuasion/deception. she’s a lady--eloquence or lore bard feels likely, maybe whispers for the politicking. granted she could do a lot of that with a rogue as well--we might specifically have an oops all rogues/rogue-adjacent party.

anyway. i’m very excited about this. based on the number of aabria outfits i think we’re looking at a 6 ep season to cool off from neverafter. granted these scenes are all likely from the first 3 or so episodes, so it might be longer, might not.

edit: i wrote this before i read the faq and it is definitively a 6 episode season. i think they’re getting into a pattern of alternation between ih seasons and sidequests: intrepid heroes run for a 17-20 episode season from late fall-spring, then a 4-6-ep sidequest for a buffer going into the summer, then a 10 ep sidequest going summer to fall, and start back up with the intrepid heroes again. i think this is likely to be a pattern going forward as they straighten out from the disruption of covid and fully shift to battleset/dome seasons.