Indieblue

If I have already posted I am reposting

"this fic has long paragraphs with overly described details and scenes, so it must be ai-generated" real humans can write like this.

"this fic has inconsistencies, so it must be ai-generated" real humans make errors and mistakes. that's why we have this thing called plot holes. sometimes writers are tired and they don't remember what they wrote in the last sentences or paragraphs, let alone chapters.

"this fic sounds robotic and unnatural, so it must be ai-generated" not every writer writes in their native language. sometimes they can sound 'robotic and unnatural' if they wrote in their second or third or fourth language (and kudos to them).

"this fic has a prompt left in it that the author forgot to delete, so it must be ai-generated" the 'prompt' the author accidentally left in their fic could actually be a part of an outline that was meant only for them, so they could keep track of what they would write.

"this author posts too often, no human writes this fast, so they must use ai" 1.) you don't know how fast someone can or can't write, how much time a person has in a day or how motivated/skilled they are. 2.) the frequent updates you see could be something that has already been finished and sitting in the author's drafts for god knows how long. just because it's recently posted doesn't always mean it's recently written.

read in 2025: and then there were none by agatha christie

In not so many words, Sydney tells us in 3x10 and 4x06 that there's only one person who is her rock, her constant, who she trusts enough to depend on and love: her father, Emmanuel Adamu.

But is that true?

Who else might fit the bill and meet the standard set by Papa Adamu?

Have we met another person that Sydney can love?*

A person Sydney can love makes sure she's caffeinated.

A person Sydney can love is someone whose opinion she values.

A person Sydney can love must give forehead kisses.

A person Sydney can love picks up when she calls.

A person Sydney can love notices when things are off and checks to see whats going on with her.

A person Sydney can love gives her their focus.

A person Sydney can love comes when she calls them and is willing to take her where she needs to go.

A person Sydney can love makes her feel at home (with a bed just for her) and does what they can to help her succeed.

A person Sydney can love tells her when they're proud of her.

A person Sydney can love is supposed to be there, with her.

Weather in stories is not just there to make your characters wet or sweaty or annoyingly cold. It means stuff, like, big emotional metaphory stuff. You can totally use it to say what your characters aren’t saying out loud, or to punch your readers in the face with vibes.

༄ Storms – Big messy chaos energy. Fights or maybe Panic. Something bad is either happening or about to, like the universe is yelling “brace yourself!”

༄ Rain – Sad tears or soul shower, take your pick. Sometimes it’s like, "boohoo everything sucks," but also kinda healing? Think of it like an emotional reset button.

༄ Sunshine – Happiness, duh. But also those moments where everything is finally clear and warm and safe, even if just for a second.

༄ Fog – No one knows what the hell is going on. Secrets, confusion, probably someone making a very questionable decision.

༄ Wind – Change is coming, dear. Restlessness in the air...Could be thrilling, could be terrifying. Hair will get messed up either way.

༄ Snow – Either magical winter wonderland vibes... or total emotional frostbite. Loneliness, silence, maybe death if you’re feeling extra dramatic.

༄ Heatwave – Everyone’s cranky and sweaty and one second away from snapping. Tension is so thick you could cut it with a popsicle stick.

༄ Thunder – Something (or someone) is pissed off. Like divine wrath, or just the universe doing a mic drop.

༄ Lightning – FLASH of truth. Insight. Or rage. Whatever it is, it’s fast and it changes everything.

Read in 2025:

My name is Mary Katherine Blackwood. I am eighteen years old, and I live with my sister Constance. I have often thought that with any luck at all, I could have been born a werewolf, because the two middle fingers on both my hands are the same length, but I have had to be content with what I had. I dislike washing myself, and dogs, and noise. I like my sister Constance, and Richard Plantagenet, and Amanita phalloides, the death-cup mushroom. Everyone else in our family is dead.