Enby they/them. I write fanfic on Ao3 and spend far too much time thinking about how to fix bad writing. You can find the deleted scenes from my fics here.
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the horrors persist but so do books, art, hot chocolate, winter nights, the moon, the sea, the stars, sunsets, literature, libraries, cats, flowers, stories, love and the wistful feeling you get when you finally return home
This is literally what people are talking about when they say AI will be used to mainstream widely held bigotry. LLMs are trained on frequency and probability -> straight relationships are more well represented in the dataset -> straight pronouns and terms become the "correct" normal.
This is a form of backdoor bigotry from both normative facts (there are more straight than gay relationships) and well represented bigoted beliefs (men are superior to women).
Combine this with the mass of people inclined to believe (and being encouraged to believe) that if AI says and does something it must be correct
[ID: a tweet by @/MissTrifolium that reads, "Shoutout to Google Docs for casually being homophobic"
They attached a photo of a sentence in it that says "his husband," and there is a blue zigzag line under "his" indicating a grammatical error, and a tooltip above it saying to correct it to "her"]
The parking attendant paused by the double-length bay. Intended for mobile homes and cars with trailers, it was currently occupied by a sleeping dragon.
No parts of it extended beyond the lines, and the paper ticket was clearly displayed, impaled on a horn.
Keith Haring's story is usually told as a solo rise, but that version leaves out Angel "LA II" Ortiz, a Puerto Rican artist from the Lower East Side who collaborated with Haring from the very beginning. Angel was a teenager when they met, already active in the neighborhood's graffiti culture. He taught Keith how tagging worked on the street, painted alongside him, and guided him through spaces Keith did not come from. Angel's tags, infill, and visual language appear across works that later became associated with Keith Haring's public legacy.
After Keith Haring's death, the story changed. Museums mounted exhibitions, publishers released books, and merchandise entered the market under a single name.
In that process, Angel Ortiz was framed as hired labor instead of a collaborator, even though his work remains visible on paintings, sculptures, and objects shown in major institutions today. Angel has said openly that race played a role in his erasure, and photographer Clayton Patterson has explained how institutions chose a simpler version of the story that centered one white artist and removed a Puerto Rican collaborator. Angel Ortiz is still working as an artist today, and the time has come for the art world to give him clear credit for the work he helped create…yuliaxgon
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it's just really apparent that people think it's okay to want pain but morally abhorrent to want to give it. sorry but the sadist gets to have fun too. it's actually pretty crucial to the process.
Image ID: A screenshot of a tumblr comment that says "yeah, its only abhorrent imo, when the recipient is non consenting, i've" the screenshot cuts off.
Zoey loves blasting music while she does things around the house, she says it's the easiest way to concentrate on the repetitive tasks. More often than not, the girls end up singing along, some other times they end up talking about the songs in her playlists.
Mira and Zoey are surprised by the number of times Rumi comments a song was either written or produced by Celine. They're even more surprised to find out she has not only sold lyrics in Korea but the rest of the world as well. It soon became a thing where Mira or Zoey would ask Rumi whether the song they're listening to was written by Celine or not.
Mira is the first to realise a lot of the songs are love songs, and she starts making jokes and asking if Rumi remembers who inspired those songs. If she had a stepdad or stepmum around at some point. Rumi always insists they're not love songs since most songs are from back in the day when she was writing for Sunlight Sisters, ideas Celine discarded for her group but were worth selling later on.
One evening Zoey is blasting and singing "Jenny" by Studio Killers. Mira is sitting on the couch mumbling the lyrics, finally paying attention to them, and jokingly asks Rumi if Celine wrote that one too.
To what Rumi happily replies, "I think so, yeah! 😄"
Both Mira and Zoey stop what they're doing and look at Rumi.
"You're kidding, right?" Mira asks, then turns to Zoey. "Zoey, please stop shaking."
"What?"
"Celine wrote Jenny?"
"Around the time mum was pregnant and they were on hiatus living together, yes. She had a lot of free time. Why?"
OP, this is so good, it is correct in every way and I am now lowkey obsessed with the idea.
And there's only one thing to do when that happens ;)
Over on Jeju Celine gets a phone call.
"Did you write "Jenny"?"
Celine lifts a brow; honestly, not the strangest thing she's heard when answering a call from any of the girls. "Good morning to you too, Mira."
"Nu-uh! No cryptic non-answers or crap about how 'you don't remember;' just answer the question: Did you write Studio Killers' "Jenny"? Yes or no?"
Sighing, Celine sits back on her heels; pressing the phone against her shoulder she tugs off her gardening gloves, finger by finger. She'd done enough interviews in her life to know when a question was loaded, and she could feel this one creaking in the air above her like a snow-laden branch waiting to fall. Typically she'd deflect, sidle out of the way of the coming avalanche with a reply that answered the question without truly saying anything.
But this was Mira, who was smart; Mira, who could see around the tricks of a seasoned celebrity because she knew them all herself (Celine had made sure of it); Mira, one of her girls who she'd promised no more lying, no more secrets.
And she loved her- all her girls- enough to honor that.
"Yes."
There's sounds from the other end of the line, the muffled "eep!" of a fangirl trying desperately to keep her enthusiasm in check, and a mildly irritated "why's that a big deal? I told you she did" that could only be Rumi.
"Okay." There was a building glee in Mira's tone that put Celine on edge. "Follow up question:"
creeeeeeeak went the invisibly laden branch.
"Did you write it about Rumi's mom?"
No avalanche could have hit harder.
Mira's question landed in the air with a hearty fwoomp!, leaving Celine as stunned as if she really had been the victim of the spring thaw and found herself buried in wet slushy snow. From the phone, she could hear Rumi squawk, then silence.
They were waiting for her answer.
And oh, did she have an answer.
She had hoped no one would ever ask that...
But now Mira- smart, clever, merciless Mira- had and was awaiting an answer.
One Celine had honor-bound herself to give.
And she would. But first-
"Am I on speaker phone?"
(some things were easier to say when your daughter-in-all-but-name wasn't listening)
Unfortunately, she'd media trained her girls too well and her request- and more importantly the reason behind it- was as transparent as glass. She yanked the phone away from her ear as it erupted with Mira's bark of laughter, Zoey screaming about how "she knew it" and "the fics were right!!!" and Rumi alternating between cries of "Celine!!!" and the agonized groans of the dying. Or, more accurately, someone who just learned her dead-mother had been...desired by the best-friend-who-raised-her-daughter, in the most romantic sense of the word.
She was very glad she wasn't at the Penthouse right now; her cheeks were flaming.
Just then music started to filter through the speakers.
"I wanna ruin our friendship
We should be lovers instead"
"Oh no!" Rumi's voice rose over the unmistakable lyrics of "Jenny." "Zoey! Turn that off!"
"What's wrong, Ru?" Mira's voice was shaking with barely-contained amusement. "It's a good song! That happens to be Celine saying how she looked at your mom and wanted to-"
There was the distinct clattering of a scuffle and a phone being dropped, and Celine decided that was her involvement in the conversation was over.
The peace of the garden returned as she hung up, and Celine sat for a long moment, letting it settle around her before she went back to her weeding. Before she did, though, she opened her phone's music app, pulled up a song, and pressed 'play.'
She sat back, shut her eyes, and the garden melted away. She was back on the ugly ochre carpet of the den before she finally scraped together the wons for a tasteful replacement, back against the sofa. She could hear Miyeong's even breaths as she dozed behind her- she'd been tired a lot, her second trimester-, smell the jasmine and hibiscus of her favorite shampoo, and see the trace of a smile still on her lips from when Celine had jokingly (or, it was a joke to one of them) kissed her temple as she tucked her in.
(feel the way she'd had to restrain herself to keep the kiss modestly near her hairline)
She still remembered the sound of the pen moving across the page, and the longing that burned through the ink.
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