#ranting and raving

[britneyshakespeare]

wait james somerton sounds a lot like some people on tumblr when they start spouting off about queer history or supposed controversies within it. is that where you guys are getting your stuff? is it james somerton brain poisoning?

[potechiis]

homesick

one of my dearest friends drew this fanart from my fic 'Homesick' for my birthday, and im STILL geeking out over it!!

it was an unexpected collab where they did the lineart and I did the colouring ;w;

LOOK AT HOW CUTE YOUNG RICK LOOKS HERE!! HOLDING HIS BAG OF CHIPS!! Prime was such a tsundere in this fic and THEY TOTALLY GOT THE VIBES!!!! i am still SHRIEKING over this ;w;

As the fic is not currently available on ao3, if you're interested in reading the fic, check below the cut ;w; <3

“Dammit!” Rick exclaimed looking at the empty shelf, devoid of the super spicy chips he’d been craving. 

“What?” Prime trotted over, shaking his wet hands off, carelessly scattering water droplets everywhere as he went. “What’s up?”

“They’re out.” Rick frowned disappointedly, the corners of his lips turning down as his brow furrowed in. 

“Tough luck buddy,” Prime patted his back, not sounding sympathetic in the slightest, “Welp, shall we get back to the ship? We still got a couple more hours to go sooo….” 

Prime started walking toward the exit of the small corner store, vaguely checking out a section with different coloured plumbuses on one of the shelves as he wound his way through the colourful aisles stuffed full with wacky looking products. When he saw that Rick hadn’t followed him, he sighed with exasperation and doubled back with his hands on his hips. He found his twin still staring at the empty shelf longingly. 

“Come on, Rick. Let’s go.” His patience was starting to run thin.

“Man, I really wanted to get these.” Rick said wistfully, ignoring his impatient twin. 

“There’s snacks at home, let’s go.” Prime pulled on his arm but Rick still didn’t budge. “Rick,” he said warningly. 

“Okay, okay , fine,” Rick let himself be pulled away, “can we stop by the next gas station though?”

“No, we can’t.” Prime refused to let go of his twin’s arm until they cleared the threshold. 

“Why not?” Rick protested as they walked toward the ship in the parking lot. 

“There’s no more gas stations around here.” Prime lied as he unlocked and got into the driver’s seat.

“That’s not true— how would you know? You didn’t even check!” Rick argued as he slid into the passenger side. He pulled up the navigator and began typing in a search for the nearest gas station on the way. “Hah! See, here’s one.” He said triumphantly, pointing to a red dot on the screen. 

“It’s probably closed.” Prime started the ignition, ignoring the red blinking dot his twin was pointing to. 

“How can it be closed? It says it’s open 24 hours.” Rick rolled his eyes, “Every time you’ve said somewhere was closed, you’ve almost always been wrong.” 

“It’s my ship, I’m driving ergo, we’re not going.” Prime snapped as the ship rose into space quickly. 

“Come on,” Rick whined, “can’t we at least go check?”

“I don’t get why you’re so obsessed with these fucking chips. They’re not even that good.” Prime scoffed, “out of a million flavours in this universe to fixate on, of course you’d choose the shittiest one.”

Rick flushed, hands kneading together in his lap. It was difficult to say exactly why he’d been craving them as of late. The flavour wasn’t perfect but somehow, the hot smoky spice reminded him of home. His Earthly home, that is. Prime disliked it when he brought up Earth or any lingering ties to their home planet and with things as tense and rocky as they were in the ship at the moment, Rick found himself chewing on his bottom lip, not knowing how to defend his intense craving to his twin. 

“They’re not that bad,” he said lamely before looking out the window glumly. 

Stars and distant galaxies twinkled and winked at him like tiny gems sewed onto inky black fabric. Rick usually found the sight quite comforting and awe inspiring but today, they only seemed to remind him of just how far home was. 

Distantly, he heard Prime flick the radio on, an alien tune crackling through the speakers of the ship. Disappointment settled in his stomach heavily. He’d been really looking forward to munching on those chips on the ride back. 

Other than the radio playing and the drone of the engine shuttling them home, the ship was silent and Rick found himself lost in his thoughts, staring out the window with unseeing eyes. 

“We’re here.” Prime said roughly, jolting him out of his thoughts. 

Rick looked up and then out of the ship. This— this wasn’t their little dwarf planet! His eyes dropped to the navigator between them, the coordinates for the gas station still blinking on the screen as the ship closed distance rapidly. He sat up straighter, completely alert and awake. He could hear Prime snickering at his eagerness— but Rick couldn’t care less. His heart skipped, mouth watering eagerly as he silently urged the ship to go faster. So close! He squeezed his hands together tightly, anticipation welling in his chest. 

The neon sign for a gas station was spotted below and Prime eased the ship toward it. 

As the store came into view, Rick felt his heart plummet and the smile that had crept onto his face dropped. 

The lights were completely off inside. 

“No!” Rick cried out in disbelief, “you’ve got to be kidding me!”

“I told you so,” Prime said smugly as he parked. “Told you it would be closed. Now can we— Hey! Where are you—“

Rick threw the door open and ran toward the storefront. There was a notice tacked to the entrance and Rick squinted at the Galactic Standard written on it, deciphering it in his head quickly. 

CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE   

“Are you serious?!” He groaned, hands and face plastered against the glass as he squinted into the dark store like he might somehow magick a store clerk into appearing if he stared hard enough. 

Prime walked up behind him slowly, lighting up a cigarette as he went. 

Rick turned around at the sound of a lighter clicking and hissing. 

“Prime—“ 

“No! No way!” Prime exclaimed, catching the hopeful look on his twin’s face, “I’m not wasting any more time or gas on this goddamn wild goose chase for shitty chips!” He took a drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out into Rick’s face. “We checked it out and it’s closed. End of story. We’re going home.” 

“Then—“ Rick looked around furtively, “then we break in! We still got the lock picking kit in the ship right— we’ll be in and out, super fast—“

“No.” Prime rolled his eyes as he inhaled. “I’m not gonna do that.”

“Come on,” Rick wheedled, “why not? We’ve broken into other places for less— how’s this any different?” 

“I’m not playing accomplice to your stupid chip heist.” Another cloud of smoke to the face. 

“Unbelievable! After everything you make me do!” Rick huffed, dispersing the acrid smoke with a wave of his hand. “You’re being so unfair right now!”

“I don’t care,” Prime flicked his half-smoked cigarette onto the ground, crushing it out under his boot with an air of finality. He began walking back toward the ship. “Come home with me or stay here licking glass, I really couldn’t give a shit.”

Rick stared at his twin’s back but Prime never looked back once. Fuck . His hands hardened into fists at his sides. He knew that tone of voice. His twin wasn’t kidding. Prime really would leave him here on this nondescript planet that only functioned as a pit stop for intergalactic travellers if he didn’t move his ass. He’d done it before. Rick spent the better part of a week hitchhiking through the galaxy just to get back to their base. 

“Fucking asshole.” Rick muttered crossly as he followed his twin back to the ship dejectedly, feeling like a leashed dog following its owner. He truly was at Prime’s mercy out here. Sometimes he felt like his twin was a golden ticket that could take him anywhere— but some days, he couldn’t help but feel shackled and bound to his whims. 

Rick yanked the ship door open and slammed it shut extra hard to vent his feelings. 

“Hey!” Prime barked, “Don’t take your shit out on my ship! You break the door, I’ll break your arm.”

“Fuck you, asshole!” Rick snapped, “I hope that shit shatters!” 

“If that shit shatters, we’re both dead in the water and I’m not gonna die because you wanted to get a bag of shitty chips!” Prime punched Rick’s arm hard enough to leave an ache. 

“Ow!” Rick yelped as he twisted around on his seat to face his twin, “what the hell, dude! That fucking hurts!”

“That’s for slamming the door!” Prime growled, “keep it up and the next one will be on the kisser!” 

“I fucking hate it here!” Rick yelled out, face reddening with hot frustration. It wasn’t true. But the bitterness at being foiled over something that should have been a simple pick up, coupled with his twin’s unreasonable attitude had him lashing out angrily. Rick felt like kicking the footwell of the ship but the ache in his arm restrained him. He let out a disgruntled snarl instead, clenching his jaws together. 

“Oh yeah? If you hate it so bad, you can always leave.” Prime said sweetly, but his eyes flashed dangerously. Honeyed poison. He hovered a finger over the glowing red eject button located on the dashboard threateningly. “You wanna leave?”

Stars had surrounded them once more. Leaving was clearly a death wish at this point. 

“No.” Rick said sourly, arms crossed over his chest again. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

Prime didn’t bother turning on the radio to ease the tension. His knee bounced restlessly, knuckles white as they gripped the steering wheel. He piloted the ship hunched over and grouchy, exuding an aura of quiet murderous rage. 

The ship felt uncomfortably cramped— almost claustrophobic with the silent tension crackling between them. A muscle in Rick’s jaw jumped as he turned himself towards his window, physically angling himself away from his twin. He rubbed his arm discreetly, glowering out the window. Fucking hell, Prime could pack a punch. Rick could already tell he was going to find a fist shaped bruise later from the way his skin ached hotly. 

They sat like that for the next couple of hours in stony silence. There were no comments on interesting looking nebulae or space objects. There was not a single joke or word exchanged. The only sound was Prime’s finger tapping out an irritating beat against the handle. Rick would ask him to stop but that would require speaking to his twin and he absolutely refused to do that. 

Both Ricks mirrored an identical expression of sulky anger; brows furrowed deeply, corners of their lips tugging downward as their shoulders tensed into hard lines. 

By the time Prime had landed the ship in the familiar parking lot, Rick’s bottom lip was practically swollen from how much he’d been chewing on it in an effort to hold back his acidic vitriol. He kicked the door open— not even bothering to close it as he stalked towards the building angrily. He could hear Prime yelling something at him but Rick simply flipped him off without looking back. 

Rick jabbed in the 20 digit passcode rapidly, scanned his hand and stormed into the bedroom, locking the door behind him swiftly. Shucking off his labcoat, Rick dropped it on the floor without a second glance, kicking off his shoes as well.

Starlight streamed in through the bedroom window and Rick strode over to it, closing the blinds and plunging the room into semi-darkness to match his mood. He paced around the floor, back and forth as he nibbled on his thumbnail. His chest was hot and tight with pent-up anger. Rage bubbled in him like a bottle of shaken soda; pressure building with no real outlet. The room felt extra small today. Like a jail cell. It may as well have been. Rick was stuck out here, millions of miles away from home, no way to get back. 

He heard Prime enter the apartment— front door slamming shut loudly. Rick’s heart began to thunder in his chest; half expecting his twin to pound the bedroom door down, demanding to be let in. He steeled himself for a blistering confrontation— shaking with equal parts dread and savage anticipation— but no such thing happened. Prime began moving around in one of the rooms noisily, clearly ignoring him. 

They’d woken up in high spirits, laughing about something insignificant and chattering over where they’d go over a bowl of cereal excitedly. What happened? How did their day turn out… like this? All he wanted was a bag of chips! If Prime wanted something he wouldn’t let them rest until it was in his greedy hands. If Prime had no vested interest in it, it wasn’t worth pursuing. Fuck what Rick wanted, right? It wasn’t fair.  

Rick scowled, flinging himself onto their unmade bed face down, yelling wordlessly into his pillow until his throat felt raw.

Soft cotton quickly absorbed the hot pinpricks of wetness that seeped out of his eyes. Rick continued to lie face down until he couldn’t breathe before finally turning over, chest heaving. 

He stared at the ceiling, at the weird stain that sort of looked like a dick. The one they always laughed at while lying in bed together. Rick glared at it like it had caused him personal offence. He wished he could rewind time and forget this afternoon completely. 

Rick got under the covers, cocooning himself as he curled into a tight ball. Safe in the soft darkness, there was no way to tell whether he was in space or on Earth. It didn’t matter anyway. 

The angry knot in his chest gradually loosened and was replaced by bone weary exhaustion instead. 

Rick dreamed of his mama. The old kitchen he grew up in with the sunny terracotta tiles. Warmth. Comfort. Soft arms folding him into her aproned chest, stroking the top of his head softly while she croons to him in their native tongue. Her clever boy. He looks up, the stovetop towering over him as she stirs something rich and fragrant with spices. Bubbling cheerfully. Rick inhales deeply, smiling widely. ¡Mamá! His mama beams down at him. Bright as the afternoon sun spilling across the yellow walls. The wooden spoon that often raps him across the knuckles when he’s being naughty is being held out to him. Today it offers love and nourishment. He opens his mouth eagerly—

Rick woke from deep sleep. For a moment, he was back at home. His childhood home. Any moment now, mamá was going to come in and get him up for dinner. He was still half dreaming, stomach rumbling as the rich aroma from his dream filled his senses. He longed to fall back into the warm embrace of the dream but it was quickly leaving him like cupped water in his palms. Slowly, the room came into focus and he remembered where he was. Millions of miles away from Earth. Middle of bumfuck nowhere. Rick sat up slowly, rumpled and groggy with exhaustion but the knotted tension from early had left him completely. All that remained was a gnawing hunger. 

Swinging his legs out of bed, he sat perched on the edge, not quite ready to leave just yet. The argument from earlier crept back into his mind and Rick chewed his cheek, feeling his arm ache dully from where Prime had punched him earlier. He rubbed at it, scowling a little. He wasn’t ready to face Prime but his stomach was insistent— still worked up from the delicious scent in his dreams that was somehow still lingering. 

Fuck it.

Maybe he could quickly sneak into the kitchen and grab a snack. With any luck, Prime might be passed out high on the sofa, watching TV or something. 

He padded over to the door, unlocking it quietly but as he opened it, Rick found himself stunned, frozen with his nose in the air like a hound catching the scent of a fox. 

That smell. 

Warm. Rich. Aromatic. 

It washed over him fully, making his stomach rumble and his mouth water. It wasn’t his imagination. It was real. But how…?

Rick swallowed. He tracked the homely scent, following it as if in a trance, feeling like he was still dreaming. 

The apartment was unusually dark and there was a warm flickering light at the end of the corridor coming from the kitchen. 

“What the—“

Rick stood rooted by the entrance as he looked over their kitchen that had transformed in the few hours he’d been asleep. The messy kitchen table that was usually laden with half drunk mugs of coffee, stacks of blueprints and various half completed inventions had been cleared. In its place sat two bowls and a few burning candles that cast an orange glow over the kitchen. The sink which was usually overflowing with glassware from the lab was filled with actual dirty dishes and bowls. A pot simmered away on the stove, bubbling lightly on low heat; the source of the delicious aroma that was wafting through the entire apartment alluringly. Rick gawked at all of it, mouth parted slightly. He could count on one hand the amount of times they used the kitchen for its intended purpose. 

A pair of arms circled his waist, lips brushing against the back of his neck causing him to jump out of his train of thought. 

“Are you still mad at me?” 

“Did you…” Rick swallowed hard, “did you do all this?” For me? The last two words were unspoken, but they hung in the air between them all the same. 

Prime made a noncommittal noise, his arms tightening around his twin. 

“Are you hungry?”

Rick nodded slowly, leaning back into his twin’s embrace. A small kiss was pressed into the side of his neck before he was released. 

Prime walked over to the fridge, bottles clinking as he opened it up. Yellow light pooled onto the floor briefly, illuminating his face. He pulled out two glass bottles by their necks, popping the tops off with his teeth before handing one to his twin. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Check the uh— check the cabinet over there. Food’s almost ready, by the way.” 

Rick went over to the aforementioned cabinet, setting his beer on the counter before pulling it open. He reached in, bringing one of the plastic bags closer to his face. It was hard to see with just candlelight but it only took a moment to recognise the brand. To his complete and utter astonishment, the shelf was filled with the chips he’d been looking for all afternoon 

“Y-you— when did you—?!” 

“I told you we had snacks at home.” Prime said gruffly, back turned to him as he stirred the pot. He had taken off his usual jacket, wearing his long sleeved brown shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. 

The bag crinkled loudly as Rick ripped into its contents eagerly, popping one in his mouth. Immediately, addictively hot, smoky spice tingled his tongue and Rick couldn’t resist crunching down a few more. He set the bag down on the table, not wanting to ruin his appetite for what his twin had made for them. Now it was his turn to wrap his arms around his twin’s middle for a quick squeeze before his hands drifted to rest on Prime’s hips lightly. He could feel the flavour heating up his cheeks and neck, the warmth spreading through his body. He pressed in closer, inhaling Prime’s comforting scent and the mouthwatering smell from the soup bubbling  heartily. All the animosity from the day melted away. 

“… Thanks,” Rick mumbled, the gratitude muffled against his twin’s back, barely audible. 

“Mm.” 

Rick peered over Prime’s shoulder to watch him stir the stew, making sure the bottom wasn’t burning. With only candlelight illuminating the kitchen, it was difficult to make out the contents of the pot. It could have been a witch’s cauldron from how dark the contents looked in this lighting. 

“It’s super dark in here,” Rick observed, “how can you see like this?” He reached up to turn on the stove light but Prime caught his hand, turning around.

“Don’t,” he laced their fingers together, “it’s fine.” 

Candlelight flickered in his twin’s eyes; twin flames dancing in an ocean of blue. Tipping Rick’s chin up with a finger, Prime kissed his twin on the lips tasting the cheap flavoured powder from the chips. 

“Yeah, they still taste like shit.” But unlike the chips, his words lacked any real heat. “Taste this, it’s way better than that garbage.” Prime grinned as he picked up the long wooden spoon, blowing on it a little to cool it off before offering it to his twin. 

Rick obediently opened his mouth to accept the spoonful of soup. 

The unmistakable rich, unctuous flavour of menudo spread over his tongue thickly and Rick closed his eyes; instantly transported back to his childhood. It was spicier than a conventional menudo. But it was perfect. Just the way he liked it. Rick swallowed around the lump in his throat. 

“Just like mamá makes, right?” Prime whispered quietly, watching Rick savour his cooking efforts with prideful delight. He leaned in for another kiss, stealing the flavour out of his twin’s mouth until Rick was left breathless. 

“Sit down, I’ll plate up.”

Rick picked up his beer from the counter, sipping as he watched his twin bustle around the kitchen, ladling the dark soup and throwing a couple of finishing garnishes on top of the food. He sat down on his side of the table, lips still buzzing from their spicy kiss, feeling completely bemused. He had no idea Prime was capable of cooking. They usually ordered take out, ransacked the local corner store for high calorie snacks or ate out at fast food chains. He never imagined his twin picking up a knife to cook rather than maim. 

“Eat up,” Prime set down a bowl of menudo down in front of him. Rick inhaled deeply, his stomach growling loudly. He could smell garlic, cilantro and other spices wafting up with the steam. Where did he get these things? He knew Earthly ingredients were notoriously expensive and hard to find, especially out here. Even KOI planets couldn’t quite replicate the taste of Earth’s resources completely. 

Rick picked up his spoon. The flickering candlelight made the dark chunky soup gleam and shine. Menudo never looked great, but it more than made up for its looks in flavour. Ugly delicious. He began to eat, making sure to get a good ratio of chopped onions and other fixings on his spoon. 

Instantly, the flavour of garlic, aromatic spices and tangy citrus hit his tongue and started warming his body from the inside out. Hunger seemed to increase twofold and Rick was ravenous. The crispy fresh ingredients contrasted delightfully with the soft, braised meat— tender from having been cooked for hours. It was hearty and healing. It was everything Rick never knew he needed. His cheeks pinkened slightly— from the heat of the chilis and… his twin’s unexpected thoughtfulness. Had he known? That Rick had been feeling homesick? Or had this all been one gigantic coincidence? Rick mulled on it as he ate, savouring the flavours of home. 

The table was quiet apart from the sound of chewing and spoons scraping against bowls, but it was an amicable, comfortable silence. 

When Rick had gotten halfway through his bowl, he stopped to take a break with a sip of cold beer. The intense spiciness had begun to creep up on him and his neck and ears felt warm— tongue tingling with heat. But Rick wouldn’t have it any other way. He sat back, regarding his twin with a content expression on his face. 

“Okay,” he said, “I have to ask. Where’d you get these ingredients? It can’t have been easy sourcing cilantro and cumin and all the other stuff.”

“Oh well, you know,” Prime shrugged, busy looking at his bowl, “just here and there. I got a— ah— uh— a pretty sweet deal on some meat. Picked up some stuff last time we stopped by Earth. No big deal.”

Prime spooned some more menudo into his mouth before he looked up, almost shyly like he was nervous about Rick’s reaction.  

“D’you—“ he cleared his throat, “do you…uh, like it?”

“It’s good,” Rick nodded, “really good. I—“ he hesitated, “you should— uh, you should make it more often. If you can. Of course.” 

“I mean,” Prime swallowed his mouthful, washing it down with a glug of beer, “it’s extremely time consuming to make. Not to mention getting all the right stuff takes a lot of effort and then there’s planning—“

“Yeah,” Rick said quickly, looking back down at his half eaten bowl, “I get it. It’s a lot—“

“—But if you want it, just tell me. I can make it happen.” Prime shrugged, leaning back in his chair as he ruffled the back of his head with one hand. 

“Really?” Rick looked up.

“Yeah,” Prime spoke to the bottom of Rick’s beer bottle on the table, “‘cause, you know,” he paused, rubbing his neck sheepishly, “… I miss mama’s cooking too, sometimes.”

There was a beat of silence after this admission and the pair chuckled together. Something in Rick’s heart eased and then swelled. 

“I didn’t even know you knew how to cook.” Rick said teasingly before spooning a large mouthful of stew into his mouth, biting into a chilli by accident. Instantly, his eyes watered, cheeks peppery hot as he swallowed the spicy mouthful. He quickly took another sip of his beer as a chaser, blinking back tears. 

“Hey! There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Anyway, I am the smartest man in the universe, after all. Name something I can’t do.” Prime grinned cockily before balling up his napkin and throwing it at his twin lightly. “You missed a spot, by the way.”

“What— where? Did I get it?” Rick licked around his burning mouth before attempting to wipe off whatever it was with the back of his hand only to feel his twin catch his wrist, pulling it away. 

“Here.” Prime caught the dribble with his thumb, slowly pushing it back and over the curve of Rick’s lip and into the soft heat of his mouth. 

Rick’s mouth tingled as his twin pressed his thumb into his tongue gently causing saliva to well up around the intrusion. He swallowed, inadvertently sucking the tip of Prime’s finger, feeling it drag over his teeth as it left him too soon. Heat flooded him as he dazedly watched his twin suck his thumb clean of himself. He wasn’t sure if it was the chillis or something else that was making him pant lightly. 

“Eat your food,” Prime smirked, catching the flushed look on his twin’s face. 

Rick blushed, bending his head to quickly shovel the remains of his dinner into his mouth. 

The candlelight was dwindling, struggling to stay alive in the melting wax as the candles reached their stumpy limits. 

Still, the kitchen never felt warmer or brighter. The pair found themselves leaning in closer over the cramped table— two stars orbiting one another, powerless to their combined gravitational pull. 

Even after they’d finished and pushed their bowls to the side, they still lingered at the table— sipping out of mostly empty bottles of beer, talking about nothing and everything in between. Neither of them wanted to burst the fragile bubble of serenity this meal had brought them. 

But finally, when the last candle fizzled out, Rick sat back and stretched, sated and relaxed. 

“I’ll wash up.” 

“Oh— uh,” Prime sat up hastily, “that’s okay. I’ll do it. There’s a lot of stuff to wash and I wouldn’t wanna—“

“Why? You cooked so, it’s only fair, right? I don’t mind.” Rick stood up and carefully began clearing the table, squinting as he stacked their empty bowls. “God, it’s really dark in here, huh.” 

He walked over to the light switch in the corner. 

“Wait—!” Prime nearly tripped out of his chair, bumping the table loudly as he lunged for his twin. “Don’t—“

“What?” Rick turned around as the kitchen lights flooded the area starkly. “What the—“ 

Rick’s eyes widened as he stared down at the empty bowls of menudo in his hand, streaked with blue. In fact, he could see a bunch of the dishes in the sink were also covered in an unfortunately familiar shade of blue. 

“Dude,” he started, “tell me that’s not the—“

“God,” Prime rolled his eyes, huffing out a breath of air with his hands on his hips, “I told you not to turn the lights on! I knew you’d be such a baby about it.” 

“When you said you had a sweet deal on meat, you meant—“ Rick paled as nausea twisted his stomach. 

“I mean,” Prime flung his hands into the air, “what was I supposed to do? Leave the bodies to rot in the lab forever? What a waste. At least this way we can get rid of the bodies and save space and get free protein. This is a three birds one stone sitch! You have to appreciate that! It’s an extremely economical solution to a—”

“Have you learned nothing from putting alien things in our bodies?” Rick demanded, one hand on his hip.

“Relax, it’s totally fine,” Prime shushed him, “everyone knows heat kills germs and this stuff’s been boiling for hours!”

“…” Rick stared at his twin incredulously, not knowing what to say. “I’m going back to bed,” he said finally, feeling a bit ill as he set the bowls on the counter. He turned to walk out the kitchen. 

“Sure you don’t want seconds?” Prime called out to him, “You looked like you were really enjoying it!”

“No!”

“Okay, we can have it for breakfast tomorrow, then!” 

[swordbisexual]

No one:

Me at @catnapunicorn at 6:45 ante meridiem:

[rollercoasterwords]

hi! thank you for the kind words, i'm happy you're enjoying the fic. but i also want to use this message as an opportunity to talk about something/set a boundary that i haven't really known how to discuss, and i've blocked out your name because even though i'm not angry or upset with you, i want to make sure i'm not sending any hate back your way. 

i know that this message is well-intentioned, and i know you likely think it's nothing but a compliment to ask me to write more--after all, you're only asking me to write more because you enjoy the story so much! shouldn't that be a nice thing for me to hear? 

and like. i think that's why this is difficult for me to talk about. i don't want to come across as ungrateful or overly sensitive or like i don't appreciate the compliments, because i do. but at the same time, hearing someone say, "please write more of this fic for me, i love your writing so much!" is still hearing someone say "please write more of this fic for me!" like. 300,000 words is incredibly long. most novels are between 70k-100k words. a 300k word book usually takes years to write--years, and hundreds of hours of labor. maybe you chose that number randomly, or you're exaggerating for emphasis; but no matter how nicely you're phrasing it or how facetious you're being, ultimately this sort of message still puts pressure on me to produce a massive amount of writing in a short period of time. and even if you meant it as a compliment, it doesn't feel nice to me. being pressured to churn out hundreds of thousands of words makes me feel as though i'm being seen as a content-creation machine for the entertainment of others, and i don't like that. writing is a labor of love for me, but it is still labor--hours of time and effort that i'm putting into these works which i share for free, with no expectations of anything in return except maybe a few kind words from those who feel like reaching out. when i get messages or comments like this pushing me to write more, to write faster, it makes me feel as though my time and labor are not respected at all; as if there's absolutely no consideration for the amount of effort it takes to write the stories. which, again, makes me feel like i'm being viewed as some sort of fic-writing machine that can just pump out hundreds of thousands of words on demand for others' entertainment.

and none of this is helped by the tongue-in-cheek comment about how you're "suffering" waiting for updates. again, i understand that this was well-intended and maybe even a playful exaggeration that's supposed to be complimentary. but there are ways to tell me you enjoy my writing and eagerly wait for updates without telling me how much you dislike waiting between chapters. posting once a week is already a difficult schedule for me to maintain, and it's entirely possible that i'll need to take another break in the future or skip a week or something. i've been very clear about the fact that my update schedule is subject to change since i started writing the fic; that's just part of reading a wip. but when i get messages or comments like these with people telling me how they don't like waiting for updates, or comments directly asking me to post more than once a week, or--back when i did take a break--comments begging me not to take a break, it all adds together and builds up and creates this pressure to write more, write faster, post the new ch now now now. if you were the only person making this type of comment, it probably wouldn't bother me and i'd just respond and go "thanks lol" and move on. but the problem is that you aren't the only one--since more people have started reading the fic, i've consistently been getting comments like these, where the backhanded pressure to write more or write faster is couched in compliments. it's just so hard to wait for updates because i love your writing so much! i just want you to write more and post now and write faster because i love your writing so much! i know it's all well-intended, but none of it makes me feel good. it just makes me feel a mounting pressure to produce produce produce.

i feel like there are so many conversations happening in this fandom about how we need to treat writers better, where people go "the fandom is so shitty" and everyone goes "yeah!" but no one ever thinks they're part of the problem. and i think it's because everyone thinks the problem is like...really blatantly rude and entitled messages. and like, i get those too--people telling me they don't like a certain characterization and asking me to rewrite the fic; people repeatedly demanding that i write a certain fic for them; people just outright shitting on things i've written because they don't like it and for some reason think i want to know that. but none of that is super common. what is super common is the steady stream of comments and messages like this one, where they are so well-intended and don't see anything wrong with what they're saying because they think they're giving me a compliment. but all these "compliments" build up and create this pressure that hangs over my head to be constantly producing and writing, which is ultimately what leads to burnout and also makes me feel like i'm not being seen as a person so much as a machine. 

so like. idk. i'm not gonna try to speak for every writer in the fandom; maybe there are people out there who do appreciate this kind of message, who feel like it motivates them to write. but for me, i want to make it clear: i really don't appreciate being asked to write more or write faster or to write a certain trope/ship/etc; i am not a waiter taking your order at a restaurant. writing fic is not a service i'm providing for you that you pay me for in comments or kudos or messages or any sort of attention, because i am not writing for that attention in the first place. so when it comes to interacting with me, i'd ask that you reevaluate the way you give compliments and think about what sort of pressure you're putting on me, regardless of how well-intentioned your message is. again, no hard feelings towards you--like i said, this message probably wouldn't even register as pressuring to me if not for the fact that i get so many little comments like it, all from equally well-intentioned people who think they're just giving a compliment, all of which builds up together. 

anyway. all that being said. to answer your question: the fic will likely be four parts, not three as i originally intended. it will probably end up somewhere between 100-200k words based on the fact that we're already at 80k and i've only just started part iii, but i am not going to put pressure on myself to write a certain amount of words or hit a certain length. i'm just going to write what i want to write when i want to write, and share it as i want to share it. i'm happy to have you along if you want to be here, but if the cliffhangers or waiting for updates becomes too unenjoyable for you then there's no pressure for you to stay, yknow? no hard feelings on my end either way :•)

[presiding]

What is your favourite thing about Billie Lurk?

(Answers are obvious possibly but i love when people talk about her👍)

thanks for the ask!! YEAH ME TOO I love when people talk about Billie! I can't say I have a favourite thing specifically, but I can explain why she's my fav. apologies for not taking this qn literally, but -

short answer: she’s really cool

& you can stop reading there, or, for the maybe 2 mutuals who might have time to read this my thoughts on her as a character, her meta, and her character as raw potential...

long answer:

i considered making this entire thing a gush so you could read a gush about Billie. but, part of what draws me to her is that she’s not always well written, and in fandom she’s underrated for a literal protagonist.

since you ask...

billie is a cool character

when I played Dh2 (hadn't played Dh1), I was excited to see a black woman with disabilities who was captaining a massive ship by herself. wow.

then I discovered Billie’s backstory with Deirdre, the way she responded to that, then having to survive while living on the run, and her bisexuality. as well as her history with daud & delilah. fascinating!

she’s an outsider who has so much to lose, and knows what it's like to lose everything - having lost everything not once but three times - but nevertheless speaks truth to power. she's so brave! she went and helped Emily & Corvo and she must have known they might kill her! plus, she’s smart, she’s funny, she gets shit done, she’s gorgeous.

but... the meta

mild critique of fandom & arkane incoming.

skip this bit if you want - you've been warned twice now - jump to tired Hayao Miyazaki and read from there if you'd like my thoughts on writing her.

i thought Death of the Outsider was going to be amazing and then... well. *sad trombone* i've written about that before so i won't keep banging on. i figured others must be disappointed too, so I joined a few fandom spaces in hopes of finding camaraderie.

most people with complaints about DotO didn’t like how the Outsider and Daud were handled. which is valid & I agree. but it seemed like most paid no attention to Billie; when people talk about her it’s with respect to Daud, as opposed to in her own right. you could argue for fandom misogyny because people don’t talk about adult Emily Kaldwin that much either, but in Billie's case, it’s misogynoir (compare & contrast with the popularity of thomas, particularly the popularity of thomas portrayed as a white man for no particular reason that i've been able to discern - i keep asking around, is it in the books???).

i think this is a LOT better now than it used to be, which is fantastic. or perhaps i have found the correct echo-chamber? ha.

ultimately, The Fandom is a fraction of the entire picture, and not even the important bit since The Fandom is not who these games are made for. you can't make money relying on only your hardcore fans even if all of them spent a fortune on merch, this is true for any AAA game.

while it's true that Billie is underrated from a fandom perspective - but Billie as an underwritten protagonist is squarely Arkane’s fault.

it was reasonable when she was a side character - the lack of info in Dh2 makes perfect sense (if anything there was more lore in Dh2 which is kind of wild)-

- but as a protagonist in Death of the Outsider?

.... there’s lousy writing, and there’s whatever is going on with Billie Lurk, a black woman who mostly exists as a foil or saviour for light-skinned characters. In her own game there’s barely any of her own lore except where it's relevant to saving two dudes.

lore hints at, but barely touches on what race means in the Dh universe (xenophobia is stronger in Dh1; separate essay i guess), but Arkane has patted themselves on the back for portraying non-white characters, which feels like the same thing as the aesthetic of diversity we're seeing in advertising currently because it’s in marketing trend guides. it's self-congratulatory and it's a missed opportunity for deeper storytelling.

you can see an example of diversity at its most shallow in the way that Billie’s written: there’s little engagement with her as an entire person with history & wants & preferences, and the world she walks through in that game feels like it has nothing to do with her. you could make a case for alienation as a theme, but then, how do you handle the titular premise of 'Dishonored' without ever letting Billie make changes in an environment without a chaos system? it's disappointing from that angle too.

in my opinion, whatever it's worth, it was an accident Arkane created such an awesome character - they needed someone to betray daud. congrats billie.

all this said, it makes her an underdog as far as characters to enjoy & create art & stories for. it's nice to find so many like-minded, switched on people! <3

billie's character potential

she’s got a wealth of unexplored lore, being deeply intertwined with both Karnaca & Dunwall’s fates & criminal underbellies, as well as her connections to the witches & whalers, and three Empresses.

she’s lived a few distinct lifetimes and in the games we get to meet her at two peaks (KoD & DotO) & a low (Dh2 as Meagan).

her voice is very distinct, her dry & often dark humour is entertaining & fun to write. her perspective is really interesting - she’s had the widest variety of void-powers of anyone canonically, and she’s also lived through the highest highs and lowest lows.

she's got everything going for her :) i couldn't really pick a fav thing!

[decayingdirk]

the STORY BEATS in todays episode of dimension 20: burrows end are absolutely insane. the slow tension of exploring this strange dead rock world and the intrigue of the prey. the excitement and the dread of all this food in one place working to drive the tension ever higher and then. and then. MEGAFAUNA. strange behaviors and stranger tools for entirely eldritch purposes. A HERD OF MORE PEOPLE THAN YOUVE EVER SEEN. the call of the wild and freedom and investigarion. LIGHTNING. intervening in something you fundamentally do not understand that nonetheless you understand will end in disaster if you do not act, and succeeding. being heard. a child would like for his mother and aunt to help someone please. a fallen warrior goes unnamed in the night. an act of kindness buys the mother, sister, and children the possibility of safety and rest. hold on hey grandma would like to kill that megafauna please. grandma is a battle hardened warrior who moves with great efficiency toward a common goal but. oh shit? maybe grandma does have self control issues. nerves on top of addrenaline on top of confusion. erika thinks quick and the nervousness passes. the group reforms and the addrenaline passes. now all everyone can think about is the confusion and shit starts getting addressed but BUT the world is so much bigger than they ever could have imagined. every question makes more questions, every topic is an entire conversation (they have to be introduced to the concept of thousands and im obsessed with that as a theme tbh) but they are safe. we feel secure. we are assured that an amount of safety and stability has been found. then we go inside and there are two thousand stoats literally just that they can see and our family is so so small. the world is enormous. and there are monsters who want to destroy that world. what. What. What??????? holy shit. yeah id fucking scream as soon as aabria said the episode is over too

[eluminium]

more insane thoughts about life seires skizzleman coming up

okay so as I continue to sit in this basement and every wall is nothing but thumbtacks and red string, I am slowly losing even more of my marbles. As in, I have a lot of scattered thoughts about Limited Life and I'm about to share these slightly insane ideas with all of you. Please enjoy, as I'm starting to run out of red string and I might die if I do.

Skizz being The Dove/A manifestation of peace or something insane like that idk man I'm punching the wall:

Okay, hear me out on this. In my previous post about Limited Life (The Skizz and Number 3 one yes this is a link), I talked about how technically, Skizzleman could be considered a Dove. Y'know, a symbol of peace. The last warning before everything truly goes to shit. Skizz very much prefers negotiation and deals over violence and all that, man chooses to be kind. Not out of naivete, but out of a pure will and want. 

He has ONLY killed with justification he's never just...killed. And every time he's tried to kill without reason he has failed spectacularly and probably also died. Like, take Jimmy and Cleo from 3rd Life. Skizz killed Jimmy because he was an active threat to The Red Army and because the Red Desert had been antagonizing Dogwarts for a while. It wasn't something against Jimmy, it was more against the Red Desert itself. He later spares Scar by changing the bargain to "Give us the banner and we'll leave you alone" instead of just straight-up murder. Because he had already taught the Desert enough, there was no need to spill more blood. Cleo is even easier to understand. Cleo attacked Ren, Skizz's king and the guy Skizz was THE most loyal to during 3rd Life. Of course, Skizz acted in defense of his king and took Cleo out. And he also spared someone this time too. Bdubs. He let Bdubs take Cleo's stuff back. There wasn't a need to spill more blood. 

Then we have the latest of his kills, his Bdubs kill in Limited Life. An honor duel. Skizz had been wronged, knew that it was going to get in the way of future alliances, and was looking for revenge, but he still made sure it was going to be clean with no resentful feelings afterward. Then after killing Bdubs he made sure to make it up to the man with not only a very sweet compliment but a golden apple as well. By doing this, by cleanly ending his feud with Bdubs, TIES were able to complete a very promising-looking alliance between them and The Clockers. 

Skizz only sheds blood when he has no other option. When it's better.

And then there are the times he's tried to kill without reason but he's just, failed. Horribly. He died in 3rd Life by mindlessly charging into the Crastle, failing to kill anybody. He got no kills in Last Life because when he turned Red, he was just running around trying to kill people once again, mindlessly. Or in service to another, in one instance. And he died in Last Life almost the exact same way as in 3rd Life. Charging an enemy like a wild beast and being put down. Skizz just can't get a kill when it's out of pure bloodlust and a wish for revenge.

And that's what makes Skizz a Dove. He only kills in instances when it is needed. He's not a symbol of peace because he's a perfect little pacifist who never wants to hurt anyone, no. He's a symbol of peace because he unintentionally and intentionally acts as one of the biggest forces of it. Not only choosing mercy for enemies who pragmatically should have been taken out but also killing those that push for war and conflict whether intentionally or unintentionally. And when the Dove tries to strike like an eagle, the Dove dies. And with it, peace dies. After Skizz died in 3rd Life there were no other forces for even a negative peace between Dogwarts and the Desert Alliance. The rest of it was all just a bloody war. After Skizz died in Last Life, the Wither was summoned, forcing the remaining players into groups. Red names and Non-red names. They fought bloodily too until both groups rotted away slowly. 

And do you wanna know something even crazier? The ones who were present while the Dove was put down, would go on to be 2nd and 1st in survival rankings. Grian killed Skizz in 3rd Life while Scar was there for backup. Grian won and Scar was second. Ren killed Skizz in Last Life with Scott as a backup. Ren came second and Scott came first. And it makes sense, doesn't it? Of course, the two who witnessed the death of peace would, in the end, turn on each other. It makes sense. IT MAKES SENSE.

BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE.

One comes first...the other comes second. Those are the only numbers above three. three. T H R E E. NO. NO THERE'S MORE BLOODY EVIDENCE FOR THE STUPID CONNECTION BETWEEN SKIZZ AND THE NUMBER 3. I. I WANT TO CRY. WHY. WHY AM I STUCK IN THIS DUMBASS BASEMENT JUST MAKING MORE AND MORE AND MORE CONNECTIONS FOREVER???

AND I'M NOT EVEN DONE.

Because if you buy into the "Skizz as a symbol of peace or whatever" concept...it makes Limited Life make even more sense. Y'know how some people have been saying "Oh Skizz is inheriting the Canary Curse from Jimmy!!!". While this is valid, I think my utter insanity has, at least in a little way, proven that Skizz himself is cursed in some way. Or blessed even, I don't know at this point. But instead of taking Jimmy's curse, it could be that his curse as a peace guy who's doomed to be the server's final warning is just showing up earlier. Because it could be that this time, peace dies quicker than the coalmine can kill the canary...because if you know you have limited time... what's the point in keeping the peace? Nothing is gonna matter anyways, your time is so obvious that it's unavoidable. That ticking in your brain isn't just a vague feeling you sometimes acknowledge. It's loud. It's unavoidable. You can't close your eyes, the digits are inscribed inside your eyelids. You can't cover your ears, the ticking keeps on like the beating of your heart. With such limited time, why waste it on trying to maintain order and peace? Why put so much energy into compromise when everyone is gonna die soon? In the other series, you don't know how much time you have, so you try your best to buy as much of it as possible by maintaining some semblance of peace. In Limited Life, what's the point? The consequences don't matter, because you KNOW your time is limited. It's all around you.

And so Skizz, the man possibly most aware of their limited time, the man who's trying to use that time to be nice, to not make enemies, to be as peaceful as a man in this series can be, is the one who's on track to die first. The Dove, the peace, the will and want to choose kindness and care when cruelty and selfishness are so much easier to justify, is up for slaughter.

Once again, Skizz is not a peace symbol because he's a perfect little guy. He's not a peace symbol because he's always nice, or innocent, or a pacifist. He's a peace symbol because he has only spilled blood when he had no other option and made as many amends as he could to minimize the pain afterward, he's a Dove that only pecks you if you burn the olive branch in its beak. He's a peace symbol because he actively chooses to push for it, to truly believe in the good of others even when that has gotten him killed or exploited many times, not because he's stupid or naive, but because that's what he does. He's a peace symbol because, without him, the series enters its final and most bloody crescendo. 

Y'know, I know Skizz started to be drawn as an angel because he's best friends with Impulse, and Demon/Angel best friends are a killer thing. But maybe we accidentally hit some pure gold there by mistake. It fits too well, doesn't it?

Or maybe I am just actually losing all my marbles and I'm never getting out of the red thread basement.

You be the judge and jury on that, dear reader.

[see-arcane]

I am so goddamn tired.

Okay.

The Vampyres final draft is done. I’m holding off on finalizing a front, back, and spine design until I land on a good self-publishing venue so I can work with whatever format they have. ISBNs for paperback and eBook to follow. This is as far as I’ve come after an endless Promethean torture loop of:

1. Trying to comb for a self-publication option that isn’t rife with reviews listing the myriad ways authors have been fucked over by said sites’ handling and/or don’t have a mountain of user warnings about royalty-sponging and bloated service fees.

2. Dragging my brain over broken glass as every advice site yammers about the Necessity of Getting a Domain Name [$], for your Author Site [$$$], Emailing Lists, Social Media Platforming, Selling Your Brand, Befriending Fellow Authors/People in Publishing for the Sole Purpose of Social Network Ladder-Climbing, Begging for Reviews, Providing Content, Content, and More Content to Keep Your Relevance Buzzing and Your SEO Optimized!!1!

3. Marinating in the requisite mire of self-doubts and dire certainties that this whole thing is a money sink and a waste of time because for all the well-meaning encouragement from folks on and offline for me to ~*~Go For It!~*~, I’m struggling to believe that anyone will bother to drop cash for a copy of this skinny little 100+ page thing, physical, virtual or otherwise.

Rinse and repeat for weeks.

All the while I just want to have the thing done. Scraped off my hands and free to go to a shelf or a screen, maybe to get a few bucks without being gutted, so I can get back to actually making stuff. I don’t have any delusions about becoming a Big Name Author. Even those who consistently conquer the bestseller lists are rarely diving Scrooge McDuck-style into their royalty payment vault. This is just something I’ve been wanting to do. A way to get my feet wet for if/when I pen other books to fling into the world like literary frisbees. But everywhere I look, every option, every supposed requirement for doing this right, feels like handling a ball of rusty nails and razors. It’s like there’s no version of doing this that isn’t designed to take more than I or a reader-in-potentia can give.

So, you know. Sorry for the wait on this.

I’m off to ram my head into a brick wall for a while.

It’ll feel like I’ve accomplished something before I return to the slog.

[milkchuu]

i just saw a post that said "i want more media with no drama and no problematic characters where nothing horrible happens" and someone responding "do you even want a story?"

i lost the post before i reblogged it, so i'm gonna make my own.

i want more media where bad things don't happen, where tensions aren't high, where the stakes are low and where all the characters are good people. i want more comfortable, happy slice of life books and shows and movies. i want media that feels like a nice warm hug after a hard day. media that comforts me, gives me joy and hope. i don't wanna stress over a story, or have a crisis over liking a character who's a bad person (i have slight morality ocd). i want to pick up a book and not take damage

i want more media designed to be a comfort, a sip of joy. i don't want to get attached to characters and see them suffer for hours. i want to get attached to characters and then see them be happy and do cute stuff like adopt animals or go on coffee shop dates or study at the library for an upcoming final

a story doesnt need to be gut wrenching and thrilling to deserve to be told

[triglycercule]

i have so many completely stupid drafts on here. like wdym triglycercule you think nightmare's gang but its all just a bunch of killer varients is interesting. the gang would completely fall apart like that. "if the mtt had mr beast levels of money how would they spend it" ?????????? NIGHTMARE'S GANG REMINDS YOU OF GRU AND THE GODAMN MINIONS???? FRON DESPICABLE ME?????

and then there's like the 10 different random drafts about how much i love mttpoly and the mtt. and then the random 4 different ones about error and star sanses and cross because i dont even know at this point.

i gotta admit though i kinda cooked with the relative proximity of characters theory. "two or more characters which are depicted together in official/fan works frequently are likely to be good ships." yeah youre right triglycercule its called being a popular ship why the hell do you think its popular if its not good. see now this applies to ALL ships except mttpoly???? mtt are drawn together like 80% of the time and suddenly theyre not a poly 🤨🤨🤨 i say slander because people ship bad sans poly like its water in a desert. this is SLANDER

[deadsince1973]

I finally saw the final episode of Till the End of the Moon, and I am LIVID. I hated that ending so much!!!! I am actually so angry right now!! >:(

[killerhoneybear]

I fucking adore the scene of Dan and Selina talking in her office after he becomes her campaign manager. (s3e5 “Fishing”)

They write the scene like they might hook up, Dan talks about liking older women and Selina doesnt lean away from that title, Dan loosens his tie and helps Selina take off her jacket, he says “this is gonna be a very intimate relationship” as they are facing each other with open body language. The first time I watched this, I literally screamed at the screen “DO NOT DO THIS” bc I hate when random sex and romance is shoehorned in as another storyline instead of coming up with good writing that makes sense for the characters and world you built.

Then Dan confesses his dark secret, basically saying he would do anything to be well liked/get ahead. It actually struck me that this is the same ep where Ben referred to “the 5% of Dan that needs to be loved”.

Selina is shocked, and moves on to her own secret which is much less bad considering Andrew fuckin sucks. Then they just turn away a little and drink at the same time, the credits roll. They never touch on these subjects again.

THAT is exactly what I want. Yes, both of their characters lend to sexual promiscuity, but more importantly, power is what is important to both of them. Them hooking up then would have made no sense for their characters bc then both would have been at risk of losing their power. When they did hook up later in the show, it was a celebration of both of their power and led to Selina continually overpowering Dan (making him get the remote and getting him fired) to make sure she had the power, not him. Its so much more satisfying to me, and in this case hilarious, when you write for the characters you’ve built and not for the audience at home. Don’t sell me a story about perfect characters, tell me a story about human people who have flaws and vulnerability and needs.

[rollercoasterwords]

like. i still wouldn't want someone to copy and paste my fics into a large language model like chatgpt but it's not so much bc i'm worried abt my work being stolen (seems unlikely that an LLM would spit back out my exact words considering how it works, and even if it did, i doubt any individual would be able to like. publish and profit from those words, based on the nebulous status of copyright law when it comes to LLMs like chatgpt. and having my words fed into the LLM really isn't going to make much of a difference when it comes to corporations profiting off the tool in the first place; plus in instances of corporate exploitation i think there are more effective ways to organize than like...arguing for strengthened ip laws or trying to like make ip laws for fanfiction spaces). it's more because i'm wary of what that says about how a person is like...approaching my fic specifically + fanfiction more broadly. in two main ways:

1. i think it is just. basic respect to check with a writer before u take their work off ao3(or whatever fanfic-specific place it's been shared) and put it somewhere else. and like, this applies to lots of things outside chatgpt--reposting fics to other sites, posting them on goodreads/storygraph, printing + binding fics, etc. if u are treating fanfic writers as people who u are in community with, who are generously sharing a gift with u, then it seems like basic kindness to check in and see if they're alright with u taking that fic outside the space it was posted to do something else with it.

with chatgpt and similar LLMs specifically, a lot of people are wary because there's still so much unsettled in regards to how copyright laws might shake out, and most people (myself included) are unsure of how/whether our writing/data might be stored and used by these corporations that own the LLMs. i don't think ai itself is something that should be mythologized as like ontologically evil technology, but anytime a corporation is introducing us to new tech like this we need to be wary of where it's coming from and how it could be used--people have already pointed out a lot of very serious issues with the way this technology is being developed and how it could/likely will be/already is being used exploitatively--which, again, is more a matter of organizing against corporations than railing against ai tech itself, but is still a valid reason for writers (again, myself included) to be wary of having their work fed to LLMs without permission.

and like. sure, u don't have to care abt writers' feelings + boundaries and can just take their stories and do whatever u want with them. but to me that says u aren't treating fanfic as a community space, but rather a content farm in which fics are products that u are entitled to do whatever u want with. and i just think that's shitty! and if that's how ur treating fanfic then i'd rather not have u reading my fic at all

2. i honestly think it's a strange way to engage w storytelling by treating endings this way. like. story endings are usually v important + intentional, and can completely change the entire tone, themes, messages, etc of a story. i understand going to the writer and asking them abt what they had in mind for the story ending if ur looking for closure, and i understand imagining ur own story ending or even writing ur own ending to an unfinished story. what i don't understand is plugging a story into chatgpt and having it spit an ending out for u.

and like. maybe this is bc we've all been calling these LLMs ai, which evokes an impression of like. a sentient robot creating something. but that's not what these programs do! the first article i linked explains how they actually work really well, but essentially--chatgpt and similar LLMs cannot create new ideas. they can't take a story and synthesize its themes or pick apart its tone to then come up with an original idea for an ending. at the same time, they aren't just plagiarism machines that are ripping text directly from other writers and spitting it back out.

instead (to my understanding), what they're doing is compressing vast amounts of information by running statisical analyses to just save the most common trends, patterns, recurring info, etc, and then plugging that in to fill the gaps. it looks like it's writing something new, but it's essentially just paraphrasing already-existing information pulled from the internet. so i'd imagine that if u fed an ai a fic and said "write an ending," the ai would basically compare the fic to whatever similar stories it has saved and then spit out an ending that is most commonly found on the internet for that type of story. [not an expert here tho--this is just my best guess based on the bit of research i've done].

my point is--you won't be getting a new ending inspired directly by the story u put in. you'll be getting a paraphrased version of the most commonly recurring type of ending for similar stories on the web. and i just....don't see how that would be satisfying in any way. it seems, again, like a way in which someone would be approaching fic like a product, something that needs to be finished + complete bc ur entitled to it, rather than viewing fic as a piece of art with its own unique themes, message, and story that can't just be plugged into a one-size-fits-most ending generator. and like, i'm trying to avoid mysticizing writing as some sort of ethereal art form that would be blasphemously degraded by having someone plug in a shitty ending paraphrased from a conglomeration of various similar stories--i don't think someone creating a shitty ending for a story is like. a horrible evil thing. but i can understand where the satisfaction is coming from if you're writing your own shitty ending, where you get to come up with where u think the story would go + where u get to synthesize the themes u picked up on etc. but ai isn't even doing that--so again, i don't understand where the satisfaction is coming from aside from just going "well every story i read needs to be finished," which. makes me wary bc it just feels like a completely different way to approach stories and storytelling than i would hope to find in fanfic spaces, one that treats fic less as a creative place to explore and more as a transactional space where u are entitled to products.

anyway. feel like my thoughts + feelings abt ai keep changing the more i learn abt it + i'm sure they could change again, but rn my impression of this whole situation is like. i find the fact that some people are plugging fics into LLMs less concerning re: ip + ownership rights, and i don't think it's useful to exaggerate or mythologize abt what ai actually does (i think even calling it ai has kind of misled a lot of people, myself included). what concerns me more is that plugging fics into LLMs to write endings feels symptomatic of a broader culture in which people treat fanfic as an informal profit economy in which fics are product or content that a consumer-audience is entitled to, and i think that sort of approach leads to a whole plethora of other issues + makes fandom a more hostile space.

[kiloskywalker]

OKAY, I have some thoughts

OKAY, I just got back from a quick couple of turns and I waited all day to post these thoughts but that means there is some time to ruminate on them. I am SO ANXIOUS, but SO READY and EXCITED for season 4.  With all of the crazy stills we got where it looks like TK is super concerned and Carlos seems to be reassuring him plus ^^^this bombshell, I have some thoughts about what could happen.  My secret dream fantasy is to be a television writer so this is what I would do. 1. I think its possible that Carlos has an older sister (YOU CAN PRY YOUNGER BROTHER CARLOS FROM MY COLD DEAD HC) that he doesn’t happen to be super close with.  Maybe when he came out she was already out of the house and he was worried about what she would think so he never told her, or they just aren’t close anymore for whatever reason and he doesn’t talk about her a lot.  Plus I wouldn’t find it super out of the blue that she doesn’t really know about TK especially since he didn’t really talk about his life with his parents (until TK came along that is).  I am assuming that the “pretty big secret” and the “investigation...” are two different plots here. 2. The other possibility that I have thought about is that Carlos had another serious boyfriend before TK.  Maybe even one that he considered getting married to (but still not as much as he wanted to with TK).  Maybe they broke up because of Carlos’s inability to commit long term because he was unsure of how he would tell his parents, or maybe they broke up because of a similar reason to how he and TK got into a fight at the farmers market.  Maybe they broke up but remained somewhat of good friends with one another and I think it would be so funny if he ran into TK some way maybe on the job and it freaks TK out a bit, not so much that he doesn’t want to get married, but maybe that he feels a little self conscious or concerned about why Carlos didn’t tell TK about this person.  There’s another interview where Rafa says that some people might be upset at Carlos and not telling TK about this person who was a big part of his life is something that I think would cause some people to get a little upset. That being said I don’t know about the second part but I’m excited to see a bigger role for Carlos outside of his relationship with TK.  I’m a sucker for hurt/comfort and angst so I’m ready for TK to be an absolute mess while Carlos’s life is in jeopardy. Furthermore, and I just want to say this.  I know there is buzz about the wedding being super dramatic like an emergency happening during the wedding, or Carlos getting hurt on the way and TK thinking he’s been stood up (even by Rafael himself lol), but honestly I just want them to have ONE DAY where everything is happy.  I want the wedding to be beautiful and make everyone cry and there to be no drama.  I know that’s a tall order with a drama show but man I just wanna see my blorbos happy together!  

[whysamwhy123]

Seeing as I'm not going to ever write it now due to Recent Events, I've decided to babble on here about this terrible idea I had for a big, elaborate comedy/crack fic. If I had been able to pull it off, I would have wanted to post it on either Halloween or April Fools Day because it's very much supposed to be dumb. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!

Keeping with my inability to come up with good titles, it was tentatively called ''Who Killed Tony Khan? A Hookhausen Mystery!''. At a company party where most of the AEW roster are gathered, Tony's giving a speech where he makes a mean joke about Danhausen, who decides to curse him. Tony then promptly dies on the spot, so now everyone thinks Danhausen is a murderer, no matter how much he insists the curse wasn't supposed to do that. He swears he's innocent. But no one's convinced. Other than Hook, that is. Naturally, Hook wants to clear the name of the man he loves so he and Danhausen have to team up once again, put on their detective hats and try to figure out what really happened to their boss and who's the true culprit. So the whole fic would have been a goofy romp with these two looking for clues, interrogating their co-workers and slowly piecing together the mystery. Obviously, it's not gonna happen now - I probably wouldn't have written it anyway because I'm nowhere near talented or smart enough to write a compelling mystery, but given the Stuff That's Happened recently, the whole inciting incident to that story now seems a lot less goofy and a lot more...distasteful. Plus, the dumb joke I was going to make at the end as a way to Deus Ex Machina the conflict away wouldn't work at all now (if you're curious, DM me about it, but fair warning, it's probably not funny to anyone other than me. And it's outdated now, anyway.)

Also...there were gonna be so many cocaine jokes in this fic. Like, enough that you could have made a drinking game out of it...

The thing is though...I still really want to write some kind of Hookhausen mystery fic! I don't know why but I really like the idea of Hook getting dragged into a situation so out of his element (like solving a fucking murder case - not exactly something in his usual wheelhouse) but willingly throwing himself into it because he just has to clear Danhausen's name. Why, yes, Acts of Service is one of my love languages, how did you know? So the more extreme examples of that, the better!

Hell, maybe I go even more out there and make it some kind of Film Noir AU. Hook as this young but still hard-boiled private eye, roped into some strange criminal plot with a heavy supernatural twist, thanks to Actual Demon Danhausen. I don't know, I just love dumb stuff like that, feels like it could be fun to play around with *shrugs*

[short-and-ugly]

GOD WHAT THE FUCK