#using grammarly

[bravegrumpy]

While i agree that it is important to edit and reaf your own work, and ensure that a human has the final say, it is incorrectly to completely disparage the use of spelling and grammar checkers. I ams AuDHD, and have lots of dyslexia and dysgraphia symptoms. I use tools like Grammarly as an accessibility tool.

My writing always has huge spelling and grammar mistakes as my AuDHD encurages long runon sentences with too many commas, and my dyslexic symptoms mean that it is super common for me to misspell the same word in different ways each time. When i get frustrated enough, i might just intentionally misspell a word using my best phonetic guess, because I genuinely have no guess as to how it is really spelled.

Most of the time, even an AI enhanced spelling and grammar checker cannot guess my intended word when I am using a truly unusual misspelling. But i would absolutely rather have a super common misspelling of a word, than my attempt at a phonetic spelling. When another reads my work, a common misspelling might be distracting, but can also go unnoticed. However, if the entire work looks "smtehnig leik tihs" then it would be distracting to most audiences.

A spelling and grammar checker is an accessibilty tool for me, as sometimes my pros do turn into word salad, because of my neurodivergence. However I do not allow these checkers to automatically change my work, and i continue to have the final say, by reading through the sentence before and after the correction, and ensuring that I have the final say.

A big part of using these tools in my workflow is the ability to know how and when to use the ignore button.

I read through my work, send it through the grammar checker, and read through it again, and usually once more a week later, BEFORE i even send it to another human. I just want to emphasize that this is a method to at least keep my writing legible before it goes to an editing stage.

I just stumbled across somebody saying how editing their own novel was too exhausting, and next time they'll run it through Grammerly instead.

For the love of writing, please do not trust AI to edit your work.

Listen. I get it. I am a writer, and I have worked as a professional editor. Writing is hard and editing is harder. There's a reason I did it for pay. Consequently, I also get that professional editors can be dearly expensive, and things like dyslexia can make it difficult to edit your own stuff.

Algorithms are not the solution to that.

Pay a newbie human editor. Trade favors with a friend. Beg an early birthday present from a sibling. I cannot stress enough how important it is that one of the editors be yourself, and at least one be somebody else.

Yourself, because you know what you intended to put on the page, and what is obviously counter to your intention.

The other person, because they're going to see the things that you can't notice. When you're reading your own writing, it's colored by what you expect to be on the page, and so your brain will frequently fill in missing words or make sense of things that don't actually parse well. They're also more likely to point out things that are outside your scope of knowledge.

Trust me, human editors are absolutely necessary for publishing.

If you convince yourself that you positively must run your work through an algorithm before submitting to an agent/publisher/self-pub site, do yourself and your readers a massive favor: get at least two sets of human eyeballs on your writing after the algorithm has done its work.

Because here's the thing:

AI draws from whatever data sets it's trained on, and those data sets famously aren't curated.

You cannot trust it to know whether that's an actual word or just a really common misspelling.

People break conventions of grammar to create a certain effect in the reader all the time. AI cannot be relied upon to know the difference between James Joyce and a bredlik and an actual coherent sentence, or which one is appropriate at any given part of the book.

AI picks up on patterns in its training data sets and imitates and magnifies those patterns-- especially bigotry, and particularly racism.

AI has also been known to lift entire passages wholesale. Listen to me: Plagiarism will end your career. And here's the awful thing-- if it's plagiarizing a source you aren't familiar with, there's a very good chance you wouldn't even know it's been done. This is another reason for other humans than yourself-- more people means a broader pool of knowledge and experience to draw from.

I know a writer who used this kind of software to help them find spelling mistakes, didn't realize that a setting had been turned on during an update, and had their entire work be turned into word salad-- and only found out when the editor at their publishing house called them on the phone and asked what the hell had happened to their latest book. And when I say 'their entire work', I'm not talking about their novel-- I'm talking about every single draft and document that the software had access to.

[zae-heeyyy]

Seraphic

Summary: You are Arthur's angel. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word count: 2,222 Tags: smut, high honor Arthur Warnings: 18+ MDNI

a/n: Whew 😅 I'm a little nervous to post this one. 🫣 Been sitting on it for a while (no pun intended) I've read and reread it a million times, and I'm ready to share. Also, we're pretending like Arthur's tent actually closes. Anyway thanks for reading!

Seraphic: something angelic or celestial in nature, often suggesting purity, beauty, or holiness.

By 1 a.m., the sounds of camp had reduced to the songs of crickets and the crackle of the fire. While everybody else slept, you waited up for Arthur, reading a book under lantern light in his tent. He arrived eventually, keeping his greeting short and joining you on his cot with slouched shoulders, seemingly exhausted. When he took his hat off, the grimace on his face became all the more apparent. His expression and tense body language told you all you needed to know; whatever happened out there wasn't good.

You handed him a match and a cigarette from his nightstand, and he thanked you with a nod. Using the heel of his boot, he struck the match and lit the cigarette, holding it with his thumb and index fingers. Flickering lantern light and the burning ember tip illuminated his bruised knuckles.

"Should I ask?" You traced a gentle finger over the bruises, and he shook his head.

"Best not," he replied, exhaling a ribbon of smoke.

"Well, I'm glad you're still in one piece," you said, looking him over. His shirt had seen cleaner, less wrinkled days, and sweat plastered his hair to his forehead. "Well, mostly in one piece."

He let out a gust of air, a failed attempt at a laugh, before pinching the bridge of his nose and groaning.

"Headache?" you asked, and he confirmed. The discomfort came with the life he lived. Loud gunfire, the rush of adrenaline, and focusing on his shots all combined to leave him in pain afterward. You exited the tent momentarily and returned with a bowl of warm water, a cloth, and a bottle of miracle tonic.

"Here—for your head." He took the medicine and snuffed his cigarette. Rejoining him, you sat on the cot and dabbed his face with the wet cloth, wiping away dirt and sweat. A soft kiss on his temple prompted him to lean into you, the tension finally dissipating. You wrapped your arms around his big frame and held him close. Obviously, he was your safe space, but oh—were you his. Eyes shut, he rested his head on your bosom.

Arthur found comfort in his typical role as protector and provider. But in these moments, when roles faded, he could feel the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders—a crushing weight he didn't even realize he was carrying. Being with you like this made him wonder if heaven was real because you were godsent.

To Arthur's dismay, you unraveled yourself from him to tie the tent flap closed, sealing the two of you away in the dark. Walking between his legs, you untied his neckerchief and dusted his soiled shirt.

"—Needs a wash. Your blood or someone else's?" you questioned, fingers undoing the top button.

"Not mine," he answered. Peeling the shirt off and tossing it aside, you studied him for a second time tonight. He'd seemed more relaxed than when he arrived, but his brow stayed brooding. Still positioned with his legs on either side of you, you caressed his face, one of your thumbs stroking the hairless scar on his chin.

"What else can I do?"

"You done enough; I'm fine." He gave your hand on his face a reassuring squeeze.

Leaning forward, you kissed him tenderly. His arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you nearer until your foreheads touched. You spoke low against his mouth, a playful grin forming on yours.

"You gotta stop getting yourself into so much trouble, Arthur Morgan."

Your demand was met with a chuckle, and he replied, "I'll do my best, darlin'." You peppered his lips with loving, tender kisses, making him smile against them and squeeze you tighter in a hug. You would do just about anything to see that man smile at you the way he did, all soft and endearing.

Your kisses subsided, but Arthur's affectionate gaze stayed fixed on you. The slight smile on his face had straightened, his expression mirroring the intensity of the one he wore when he first confessed his love for you.

"Got that look on your face," you told him, and he just blinked slowly, awestruck. Though he often swore he was a man of few words, he could fill volumes with his devotion for you. You loved it when he got like that, entranced and overwhelmed with love.

The way he watched you set a fire within you that warmed the most intimate parts of your being. He was surprised when you let yourself fall heavily into him, trying to get as close as possible. Maybe he was going to say something or make a noise, but he didn't have the time before your mouth was on his again, your tongue pushing through his lips to tangle with his. You only pulled away when you needed to breathe.

Instead of pressing your lips to his once more, you dropped to your knees in front of him. Eyes widening, he tried to bring you back up to your feet, shaking his head, once again astounded by you.

"Sweetheart—"

Still on your knees, you patted his cheek and looked up at him with doe eyes. "Shhh, let me take care of you, Arthur." His hand found yours on his face, and he turned to kiss it, nodding placidly. Both of you managed to keep your volume low as you helped him strip down to his union suit. You began working at the buttons of his neckline, doing more ripping than unbuttoning, shoving the fabric down his shoulders.

As more clothing fell away, you trailed sweet kisses down his abdomen. At the same time, his hands roamed wherever they could. The rough pads of his fingers lightly tracing your skin mirrored a faint electric charge. Despite being a brute of an outlaw, he was overly careful with his hands when it came to you; your body was fine china and deserved to be treated as such. Goosebumps formed in a wake left by his touch.

As you kissed down the trail of hair under his belly button, his rapid breathing hitched, and the bulge between his legs strained against the flannel fabric, begging to be unleashed. You tried to find his eyes as you groped him through the underwear, but his head was tipped back, his mouth agape.

"Look at me." You whispered, and he snapped to attention like a soldier following commands. Eyes locked on his, you unclasped the last button, and his length sprung free, the pink head of his cock primed with anticipation. A teasing laugh crept up within you as you trailed soft kisses from the base of his shaft and left one long lingering peck on the tip. The loud, rhythmic thumping of his heart was music to your ears. Not wanting to keep him waiting any longer, you took his entire length in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down, taking him deeper until your nose touched the curly hairs at the base.

Then he couldn't hold it in anymore; a deep, guttural groan escaped him.

Your mouth was the warmest, most intoxicating blanket he'd ever been wrapped in, and he never wanted to leave. He gaped at you, seeing your mouth full of him, his pupils dilated with pure lust. The blunt tip of his cock pressed to the back of your throat, making it constrict around him. His whole body shuddered.

"Look whatchu' do to me, woman," he rattled, tangling his hands in your hair. Despite his eagerness, you withdrew from his aching sex, a string of saliva joining your lips to him. Something reminiscent of a whine exited him when you stepped away, but his open mouth fell shut at the sight of your bloomers slipping down your legs. You kissed him, savoring the salty, bitter taste of his arousal mixed with the tobacco and herbs of his mouth.

"Lay back," you murmured in his ear. Obeying your command once again, he let out a grunt as he felt your weight on top of him. You straddled him, and he held you up, his fingers digging firmly into your sides. Bending at the waist, you kissed longingly, your hips undulating against his. He pulled your nightgown up around your midriff, one of his hands gripping the flesh of your ass while the other one went between your legs. His index finger sank painstakingly into your weeping cunt, then brushed over your clit, making you shiver. He raised himself on his elbows, reaching for the hem of your sleep dress.

"Take this off; let me see you." You raised your arms and let him yank the garment away, leaving you completely exposed on top of him. "Beautiful," he breathed, using the back of his hand to graze your skin. Breathy sighs escaped you as he traced delicate circles around your nipples. His eyes bored into you, absorbing every detail like you were the most captivating thing that ever lived. Hyperfocused on your body, he fondled your breasts before gliding his hands down your torso, ogling, taking all of you in.

Freezing, his stare intensified as you massaged the tip of his cock up and down your glistening slit. Touching his lips to yours, you pushed him into your wet folds. Neither of you could contain the sounds building with you. He split you open, stretching you, making room for him, filling you. You held yourself up with your hands braced on his chest, but you went weak as he bottomed out within you, brushing against that deep, tender spot. You would've fallen if he wasn't there to hold you up, a thought mirroring one he had about you so often.

"I got you," he whispered into your ear. It took every ounce of restraint he had not to snap his hips up into you, the warm embrace of your center clearing his mind and driving him mad all the same. Finally, you started to ride, surging and sinking into him. He was a simple, agnostic man, but being with you like this made him believe in all the theocracy of angels, soulmates, and divine intervention. This was his bliss. This was his heaven, and you were his seraph. He'd go through hell every day if it meant coming home to this—to you. Hypnotized in the rhythm of you, a new thought crossed his mind every time you bounced.

Up.

She's so goddamn beautiful.

Down.

So perfect.

Up.

My girl.

Down.

My girl, my girl, my girl, my girl.

Up.

My angel.

Down.

I love her so much.

Up.

So wet.

Down

So warm.

Up.

So danm tight.

Down.

Shit.

And before you could come back up again, he squeezed his eyes shut, halting your hips with all the strength he could muster, fighting the damn-near irresistible urge to cum inside of you. Sweat had built up on his brow, and his stomach rose and fell quickly with each panting breath. You folded to kiss him, your hard nipples grazing against his chest.

"It's okay," you whispered, patting his face and grinding antagonizingly slow against him. You wanted him—needed him— to come undone for you. With that goal in mind, you picked up the pace and rolled your hips relentlessly, moaning your every thought into his ear.

"You feel so good inside of me."

"I need you."

"I love you."

Your climax was building fast, and you reached to give relief to that sensitive bundle of nerves atop your center. Arthur pushed your hand away swiftly, replacing it with his own. Always a giver, he'd do anything to feel useful while you were treating him like royalty.

While one hand worked your clit, his other gripped the meat of your hip, rocking you in time with his upward thrusts. His head tipped and hit the pillow, and you could feel his thighs tensing and shaking beneath you. Lips parted, he stared up at you. You felt him twitch inside you, and his brow finally relaxed.

That did it for you.

You were wordless as your orgasm ripped through you, your head swirling, and your veins on fire. Arthur's guiding hand on your hip didn't stop, and he fucked you through your climax. Hugging your body close and nuzzling his face into your neck, he growled as he painted your inner core with his own release. You stayed like that, glued to each other as you came down from your highs.

"You're too good for me," he finally said. You clasped a hand into his, kissing the long-forgotten bruises on his knuckles.

"Shut up." You responded, and he didn't say another self-deprecating word. It was the least he could do.

You cleaned up and redressed, nestling into the small, one-man cot. Finally settled for the night, you resorted to your regular bedtime positions: your head on his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you, your legs tangled in one another's.

He rose before you in the morning, perching himself on the cot's edge while you slept behind him. He wrote in his journal, his thumb leaving a smudge on the page:

"For a long time, I believed I could not live a bad life and expect good things to happen to me. Yet somehow, this woman of pure goodness entered my life, and it is clear now that I have been a fool."

[bitchinbarzal]

Dad | C Keller

-

“Go, Daddy, go!”

Marlee’s excited giggles filled the living room as she bounced on the couch, her tiny Coyotes jersey nearly swallowing her small frame. Her eyes were glued to the TV, her little fists clenched in excitement. It was one of her favorite things—watching her dad play hockey.

You smiled from your spot beside her, sipping your tea, enjoying the moment. These nights had become a routine: just you and Marlee, watching Clayton’s games when he was on the road. It never got easier, not having him home, but seeing how much your daughter adored him made the distance a little more bearable.

“He’s so fast!” Marlee declared, bouncing up and down.

“He sure is, baby.”

But the moment of joy shattered in an instant.

It happened so fast. One second, Clayton was racing down the ice. The next, he was colliding with the boards at an awkward angle, the sickening thud of impact making your stomach drop. He crumpled to the ice, unmoving.

The broadcast cut to a close-up of him, and your heart clenched at the sight of his face twisted in pain.

“Daddy?” Marlee’s voice was small now, unsure.

You barely processed the way your hands trembled as you grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. The commentators were talking—Clayton had gone into the boards hard, wasn’t getting up yet. Trainers rushed onto the ice.

Marlee turned to you, big eyes welling with tears. “Why isn’t Daddy getting up?”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to stay calm. “They’re just making sure he’s okay, sweetie.”

Marlee wasn’t convinced. She looked back at the screen, her little face crumpling as Clayton still hadn’t moved much.

Her tiny fingers gripped your arm. “Mommy, he’s hurt!” Her voice cracked, and suddenly she was sobbing. “I want Daddy!”

Your heart shattered at the sound.

You pulled her into your lap, wrapping your arms around her tightly. “Shhh, baby. I know. I know you want Daddy.” You pressed kisses into her hair, smoothing her back as her little body shook with sobs. “He’s so strong, Marlee. He’s got lots of people taking care of him.”

“But what if—what if he—” She couldn’t even finish the sentence, her breath hitching.

It broke you to see her like this, terrified, her whole world crumbling because her daddy was hurt. You felt it too—the fear, the helplessness—but you had to be strong for her.

You kissed the top of her head again. “Daddy is the toughest person I know, Marlee. Remember when he got a boo-boo on his arm last year? He was okay, wasn’t he?”

Marlee sniffled, nodding hesitantly.

“This time, it just might take a little longer. But he’s going to be okay.” You hoped your voice sounded more confident than you felt.

Marlee curled into you, hiccuping between sobs as the game went to commercial. “I just want Daddy,” she mumbled into your shirt.

“I know, baby.” You rubbed slow circles on her back. “Me too.”

It felt like forever before Clayton finally texted you.

I’m okay. Sore, but okay. Will call you soon.

The relief hit so hard you nearly burst into tears.

“Daddy’s okay, baby,” you whispered to Marlee, who had finally dozed off in your arms from crying so hard. She stirred at the sound of your voice, rubbing her tired eyes.

Her little head shot up. “Really?”

You smiled and kissed her forehead. “Really. He said he’s sore but okay.”

Marlee exhaled shakily, but the tension in her tiny body eased just a little. “Can I talk to him?”

“Of course, baby. Just wait a little longer, okay?”

And when Clayton finally FaceTimed, Marlee nearly dove out of your arms trying to grab the phone.

“Daddy!”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Clayton’s voice was soft, and despite the exhaustion in his eyes, he managed a smile. He was already in sweats, sitting on a couch in the locker room with an ice pack strapped to his shoulder.

Marlee frowned, her lip wobbling again. “You got hurt.”

“I did, but I’m okay,” Clayton reassured her. “Just a little sore.”

“But you didn’t get up!” She sniffled. “I was scared, Daddy.”

Clayton’s face softened. “I know, baby. I’m so sorry.” His voice was thick with guilt. “But you don’t have to be scared, okay? The doctors are taking really good care of me.”

Marlee’s fingers curled around the phone. “Are you coming home now?”

“Not just yet, sweetheart. But I promise I will soon, and I’ll give you the biggest hugs.”

Marlee pouted. “I want a hug now.”

You had to bite your lip to keep from crying again.

Clayton’s voice was gentle. “I know, baby. I do too.”

There was a pause, and then Marlee held up her stuffed animal—her favorite little coyote plush that Clayton had gotten her at a game months ago. “I cuddled Howler all night ’cause I missed you.”

Clayton chuckled softly. “That’s a good idea. You keep cuddling Howler, and before you know it, I’ll be home.”

“Okay…” Marlee’s sniffles were slowing now, but she still looked worried. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“You promise you’re really okay?”

Clayton nodded. “I promise. And you know what?”

“What?”

“You made me feel even better just by talking to me,” he said, smiling. “You always do.”

A small smile finally broke across Marlee’s face. “Really?”

“Really.”

She snuggled closer into your arms, finally relaxing. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you more, baby girl.”

Later that night, once Marlee had finally fallen asleep with her coyote plush tucked against her chest, Clayton called again.

“Hey, babe,” you whispered, stepping out onto the balcony so you wouldn’t wake your daughter. The desert air was cool, a welcome contrast to the warmth of your home.

“Hey.” Clayton sighed. “God, that was awful. I hate that she was so scared.”

“She just loves you so much.” You leaned against the railing. “She wouldn’t stop crying, Clayton. It killed me.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I wish I could’ve been there.”

“You did everything you could.”

He exhaled slowly. “I’ll be home soon.”

“I know.”

And for now, that was enough.

Because even hurt, even miles away, Clay was still the best dad in the world.

[sickwhispers]

PLAYING FAVORITES

Pairing: Dandy x reader

Relationship: romantic

Warning: no warnings surprising, are you guys shocked

Type: headcanons + drabble

It's no secret that he picks favorites

"Dandy, I appreciate the sentiment but..." you stare at the medkit in your hands, a confused look on your face as you attempt to understand just why he had given it to you. You definitely didn't need it, and you certainly had all your hearts intact. The only wound you had received during the last floor you had ventured into was a tiny scratch you had made yourself. Which had been a complete accident when you found yourself tripping over a capsule and onto the floor. "I don't need this..."

"Nonsense! Take it, free of charge! We don't want our greatest friend dying any time soon, do we?" He winked, nudging the first aid further into you. It seemed like he wasn't taking no for an answer.

"Hey, uh- I need one too." Oh god, Vee looked terrible. Normally, only one of her antennas would be bent. But, this time, it had looked like a twisted had tried to forcefully rip the other one off her head. And when that didn't work, decided to scrunch it up and tug at it until sparks came flying out of its base. The left side of her screen had been cracked, a long line running down from top to bottom with tiny strands breaking off near the edge. Just one look at her and it was almost obvious that she had lost a heart, and probably would've lost the last one had she not gotten into the elevator on time.

Dandy took one look at her, his smile never wavering as he spoke. Although, if you looked close enough, you could see the strain behind it. "Two hundred tapes."

Safe to say the others would catch onto this little trend after a while

He pretended he wasn't biased when it came to you

Acting dumb like there was no difference in the way he treated you, compared to how he treated everyone else

Sure, he would smile and wave, act nice just to keep the tapes rolling in

He was still their friend, he couldn't just be mean

But, he couldn't doubt how special you were compared to them

Day one he was practically at your beck and call, even before everything had turned to ruin

He knew things were different now, he knew you probably wouldn't let him do all the things he used to back when you didn't have to worry about the possibility of having some corrupted version of your friends tear you to pieces

But, he could still dream, couldn't he?

He couldn't help but indulge in fantasies every now and then

Letting his head rest in his hands as he watched you interact with the others

Sure, he would've preferred if your attention was on him

But, he could pretend he didn't mind sharing

Although, sometimes he wasn't so good at it

He'd miss the days when you'd let him just lay beside you

His head on your stomach as he'd pick at the floor beneath you both, mindlessly staring up at you in an almost dazed like look

The others used to tease him about it

About how well known his feelings for you were, and yet he never wanted to admit it

After all, what would happen if he did?

There were risks he had to consider when it came to telling you how he felt

And he never liked any of them

He almost preferred keeping them a secret, letting them fester inside until they were practically pouring out of every crevice in a desperate attempt to keep himself sane

Maybe you were the reason he hadn't gone crazy yet

But, if you kept your attention straying from him for a bit too long, there's a good chance he might just lose it

Make sure to talk to him every round

Say hello, tell him about the twisteds you encountered, share how you made a mistake when extracting ichor from a machine and almost run into a wall while trying to hide

Anything. Just anything.

He needs it.

[elf-trash]

reposting this bc the OP blocked me (and is blocking anyone else who disagrees which means blocked people can't reblog) and i want to say this loud and with my whole chest!!!!!

another Dragon Age fic was recently outed as being AI, and this is what the writer had to say for themselves about it:

so actually, Grammarly uses generative AI and is just as bad as ChatGPT. it also objectively makes your writing worse, it sucks the voice out of your prose and turns it into corporate sounding homogenized paste. it's also unethical for all the same reasons any generative AI is unethical. get a writing group and have a real human beta read for you if you don't trust yourself to check your own grammar etc. but honestly something unpolished and written entirely by your human brain and human imagination will ALWAYS be better than AI slop.

also, the part about published authors doing this is patently untrue. i know this is a huge problem in the self-publishing space, but most publishers now are including clauses in their contracts that expressly forbid the use of AI in ANY part of the creative process. this includes using ChatGPT to generate or clean up outlines or Grammarly to spellcheck and revise. so if you're trying to publish, don't fucking do this or you could literally be asked to return an advance if you get caught.

i've posted about this in the past, but AI detectors are actually shocking accurate these days. i've tested them extensively recently and they can consistently and correctly flag individual sentences written by ChatGPT in an otherwise original passage. and they almost never flag false positives. so the argument that AI detectors can't be trusted is just flat out wrong. are they correct 100% of the time? no. but can they indicate with a high degree of accuracy if AI was used in some capacity? absolutely, especially if there is additional evidence.

and for all the people hand wringing about AI detectors flagging false positives, let me just say this: if something is not AI written it is very easy to prove. you can't write anything of any considerable length without leaving a massive paper trail of notes and drafts. almost all writing software tracks changes and makes it very easy to prove you wrote something yourself. being falsely being accused of AI isn't actually a real problem and is only being made to seem as such by people who are trying to get away with and justify using AI or who are worried about getting caught.

i think a lot of people are just lured by a seemingly easy shortcut, and to their untrained eye, what the AI is spitting out feels "better" to them than their own writing. but i promise you it's not. trust your own brain and put in the work to improve at your craft rather than outsourcing the gift of your imagination to a robot that steals from other people's work.

i will continue to die on this hill!!!!!

[aropride]

if you've used it in middle/high school And in college, vote for the most recent one

[goldenmetstli]

General Headcanons of Seto Kaiba

I have nothing to say but that he has been on my mind lately lol ¯\(ツ)/¯

✮ Doesn't like being touched, and Mokuba is the only one who can hug him. When they were kids, Seto was more affectionate; they held hands while crossing the street; when Mokuba had a nightmare, they cuddled, etc. After being adopted and enduring Gozanburo abuse, Seto now has a hard time being physically affectionate.

✮ He's always extremely busy, so he doesn't get to watch a lot of movies, but his favorite genres are horror and sci-fi.

✮ He is running with 5 hours of sleep every day, eats only when he remembers (or has quick snacks like nuts and berries) and his mind is always running. Even with that, he tries to be healthy because he is one of those people that, when they get sick, they get knocked down for days.

✮ In his job, he is pretty innovative and willing to try new technology to improve his company, but in his private life, he has specific meals and drinks that he enjoys and rarely tries anything new. They also need to be prepared in a certain way; otherwise, he won't eat them.

✮ Not a fan of fast food and sweets, the complete opposite of Mokuba, who always has candy in his pocket and wants to eat out every day.

✮ Rarely cooks for himself, but he knows how to make basic meals and occasionally puts together a sandwich as a quick meal (with very expensive bread and meat, of course).

✮ Kaiba usually works on silence, but in his spare time (if he has any), he listens to rock and alternative music.

✮ Reads A LOT, primarily business-related. If he doesn't have time to read, he listens to audiobooks, usually in Japanese and English.

✮ He can speak english, chinese, korean and french.

✮ Until puberty, he had a stylist, but after becoming the CEO of Kaiba Corp, he fired them. He chooses what to wear for events and has even designed some of his outfits (his coat, for example). Needless to say, all of his clothes and shoes are very expensive.

✮ Even if he is extremely busy he would never ever spend more than a day without taking a shower. He takes great pride in looking clean and presentable. He has an image to maintain, so you bet he always looks his best and smells amazing.

✮ Does he consider himself good-looking? Yes, and not only that, but he knows he is effortlessly handsome, so trying to look hot is not a priority because he knows he just looks like that. Still, it is not like he flaunts his appearance; he is more proud of his mind and hard work.

✮ As much as he stays current with the latest technology and business practices, he is very far removed from internet culture. So yes, he only knew what a meme was when Mokuba told him, and now Mokuba helps in the digital marketing area.

✮ He's pretty much a jerk, but he is extremely professional and pays fairly to his employees. The work environment? Well, the higher your position, the higher the anxiety, but if you work at the desk, it is a pretty good job. But mind you, he expects you to give your best even if you are in the lowest position in the company.

✮ On days when he has had a lot of work and has not been able to sleep well, he has fallen asleep in his limousine.

[againaweasel]

Getting grammarly 's 'sound more confident' prompts when I'm writing fic

Like no no, I'm doing this to him on purpose.

[kitsunefyuu]

I understand generative AI is bad, environment and all that but people hating it for being used for any reason is kinda insane.

[tunemyart]

Literally: what.

[oxymoronicdumbass]

yes, grammarly, you are objectively correct, but your correction of my sentence takes away The Vibes, and I don't really feel like doing that. grammatically incorrect sentence it is

[respectwomenjuice]

the only censorship i would maybe get behind on ao3 is a ban on ai written fics

[tsfennec]

... yes, Grammarly, I am Very Aware that I am a wordy person. You don't gotta drag me like this. 😔

[etdraconis]

( my english professor sent out an email reminding us that using ai for our paper is considered plagiarism, and said that included using grammarly. miss ma'am. do you know how many spelling and grammatical errors i will have without grammarly??? fuck off lmao )

[satindregs]

y’all think Kratos ever misses his mom? like ik spartan life was tough, even for a child, and parents were encouraged to help w toughening up their kids, but Kratos had to learn to be soft w his family from somewhere right?

we don’t know(I don’t think) how Kratos feels about his mother, but he didn't seem to celebrate her death or act like he was able to rest easier after she died in Ghost of Sparta, I think it was. Like ik, he was on his way to find his potentially-dead brother but throw me a bone here.

And ik ppl don't have to grow up around gentle environments, or more specifically kind parents, to be able to be gentle themselves, but I mean shit it helps.

I think someone who is as “accustomed” to violence as Kratos is/was needs a reference when he wants to be kind or sweet or loving. (Ik he isn't all rough edges but like. Yk. Kratos.) And I think his mother could be who he channeled when he would greet Calliope or bond with Lysandra (YES GREEK ERA KRATOSS).

I just found out Kratos had to kill Callisto. Twice. Anyway ^v^ love to hear yalls thoughts but uh. I'm gonna cut this post short lolol

[peanutbutterandbananasandwichs]

Not a Grammarly ad being like "it can help you auto-generate citations" and it showing someone citing Wikipedia 😭

Also, I cannot stress this enough, most reference managers can do this for you, MUCH more reliably. In fact, my number one tip to any student that I wish I'd listened to sooner is to start using a reference manager. Literally life-saving 🫶