Random Stuff I Reblog

The gun doesn't have to be fired. It can symbolically fall from it's wall-mount, or be replaced by something else, or melted down, or merely be the trigger for a plot-relevant conversation.

Because they're good braids, some of them quite complicated and no one can understand just how he knows how to do that.

The only conclusion they could come to is that the hobbit must have a paramour back in The Shire, some long-haired lass who he spoils with pretty love-braids.

Thorins temper had been truly foul after Balin had proposed the theory out loud.

After weeks of Thorin sulking, it was ever curious: Ori, who finally asked where Bilbo had learned such intrecate braid work.

You are not a court of law. You are not required to hear them out, argue, nor give them a second chance. Block them. Nothing bad will happen to them without you! It's fine! Goodbye forever! Prevention is better than cure.

You do not owe anyone your time or attention. Why argue on the internet when you can block and move on?

Arguing means that while followers will so you standing up against hatred, they'll also see the original post in all it's stupid glory.

"If you don't like [insert issue here], why don't you leave???"

Of course, the answer is: Because many people can't leave.

Leaving requires considerable savings to not only leave, but afford food and accommodation when you get there, because the majority of transients are not entitled to participate in social programs without at least temporary citizenship. Leaving requires a passport, or contacts for people smugglers, neither of which are cheap or easy to get. Leaving requires the possibility of never returning.

There are also artist, and editors, and whatever else you need who will take a reduced price and a percentage of profit, rather than a lump sum.

Nearly all artists will offer payment plans, or payment in stages.

Affording a customised book cover drawn to my specifications, rather than a pre-made cover with some adjustments, often means several months of saving up, if I haven't just had a very profitable stall.

But it's worth it.

AI because you "can't afford to pay an artist" means that you didn't bother to budget for an artist, and if you didn't care enough to spend monty on the literal first thing people see, then what else did you skip and what effect did it have on the quality of the finished product?

I don't have a great imagination—I don't get a lot of genius ideas that come to me in wholecloth. I also don't come up with plots very easily, and my eyes are bigger than my stomach a lot of the time—I'll want to write about, idk, a heist, but I won't know how to come up with a heist to write about.

When I was a baby writer? Even an intermediate writer? I totally would have used AI to get around that stuff. I would have used it to help me come up with ideas and prompts, I would have used it to help me come up with heists and backstory and evil villain schemes, and all sorts of stuff. I know I would have, because I'm inclined towards laziness and impatience, which is why I'm a decent cook but a bad baker. I would have skipped the messy boring steps of figuring out what I wanted to write about—and how to do it—so that I could tell the kind of story that I wanted to tell.

And so I never would have learned that I don't get genius ideas that come to me out of nowhere, because imagination for me happens on the page, not in a daydream. I have to sit down and start writing in a character's voice, and then the idea unfolds itself (or it doesn't! and that's instructive too!). I never would have learned how to write my way through topics I find intimidatingly complicated—sometimes that means learning to write an actual heist story, and sometimes there's ways to tighten the focus on the parts of the story I'm actually interested in. Learning what to put in soft focus and what to keep in the foreground and what you can leave in impressionist watercolor and what has to be photorealistic is part of the craft. Realizing you don't have the skill to do something yet, or don't have the skill to do something easily yet, and figuring out how to do it anyway is how you become a better writer.

I don't know that there's a solution yet. I can't even blame the baby writers making these choices, because again, I 100% would have done the same thing.

But it makes me so sad, because there's all these young artists who aren't learning the things they should be learning, and that means they're not going to get better. Maybe the art they're making right now will seem better than what they could have made without AI, but it's not going to improve. And the thing about AI is that it can't innovate, it can only repeat and remix. So what's going to happen to those writers in ten years, when their skills haven't grown from where they are now, ie baby-intermediate big-eyed and small-stomached writers? They're not gonna level up. There are so many stories that won't get told.

idk. I'm really glad I'm not a baby writer right now. I'm glad I have a foundation of skill that I can keep building on, so in ten years I won't be the same writer I am now.

if you're a baby writer, and you've used AI, I get it, and it's okay—but it's not good for you. it's not good for your art. it's false nutrients. I want you to grow. That's not going to help you grow.

It makes a ton of sense to me that you could be legitimately writing good stuff right now with the assistance of AI. I think if I fired up Claude or Chatgpt or whatever, right now, and asked it to give me a plot, or to give me a scaffold, or to add a complicating element, I could write something really good. Because I'm a decently good writer, and more than that, I'm a decently good fanfic writer—I'm used to folding in ideas and plots and story elements that aren't original to me, and doing something fun with the result. I think I could use AI to make something, in this moment, that was 1) inclusive of sincere artistic labor on my part, and 2) a really fucking good story.

I bet there are a lot of writers who are doing exactly that, and who feel angry that people are treating the whole work like it came from nowhere, instead of something that they made themselves, when they DID make it themselves—most of it, or part of it, or the seams of it, or something. That really makes emotional sense to me. I would absolutely, ABSOLUTELY be doing this if I were nineteen. I cannot stress how much I would be doing this, and feeling happy and proud of the output—and I wouldn't even be wrong, because I WOULD have put real work into it, and it WOULD be good.

but aside from all the other reasons I find genAI repulsive—the climate damage, the theft of time and labor and expertise, the damage it's doing to literacy and truth and the foundations of what it means to communicate with another person across time and space—I'm a big enough age to know empty calories when I see them.

that story would be good!!!

but it wouldn't help me with the NEXT story. what it would teach me as an artist is how to write a story with AI, and that's naturally the skill I'd keep leveling up, because whenever I hit a weak spot, I'd use the AI to help me, and my other creative skills would atrophy and atrophy and I wouldn't be learning how to do anything NEW, and eventually, you bet your ass my taste would atrophy too, because that is how palates work. it's olestra for the brain. it feels like it's filling you up, but it's not. it might taste like a real potato chip on the tongue, but you'll die of malnutrition if you tried to live off it (and you'll have a really bad time in the bathroom later.)

People learning through AI aren't having that learning stick. Not in any meaningful way.

They're learning that when you hit a roadblock, you ask ChatGPT instead of using an online dictionary or thesaurus to look up the word that's evading them, or synonyms for a word they've used too many times. Having to do the brainwork yourself makes it stick better, because you put effort into learning it. That's why I can drop random facts into the work groupchat, or jokingly write a 100 word apology letter for forgetting to tell the rest of the Admin team that I'm back from the bathroom at the drop of a hat.

Because I took the slow route to learn those facts, and how to write something spontaneous.

"Iroh lied about killing the last dragon before Zuko was born because he wanted to protect them! They actually deemed him pure of heart and worthy to learn the truest form of firebending🥰" .......... even though he continued to be a violent general in an evil genocidal empire long after that...? I'm questioning the dragons' wisdom now.

Which is all to say I think it would be perfect if we got to the season three end game and realized Iroh was actually still an errand boy initiate in the White Lotus. And Piandao pulls aside the main tent flap to reveal our Supreme Grand Lotus:

Gran-Gran

Canonically traveled the world without Committing A War, thus reasonably having met and networked with most of these other people in a positive way? Check

Saw the Avatar and told her only grandkids to go help that kid ASAP, don't worry Gran-Gran's just going to stay riiiiiight here while you're gone and definitely not relive the excitements of her youth? Check

Would recontextualize Pakku's constant sour grapes face (and his reaction to seeing Katara's necklace) to "my ex left me and now she's my superior, if I don't train her grandkid she will mobilize a global movement to Kick My Ass"? CHECK

fiveforfive - collective fund for trans women and girls and transfem causes

gendered intelligence - trans led advocacy org

mermaids - supports trans youth

akt - lgbtq youth homelessness charity

loving me - domestic abuse service for trans people in england

Text: Aivelin Illustration: a-ida

The series finale of Good Omens dropped this Wednesday, leaving the fandom shaken and in absolute distress. The audience reaction was immediate, driving the Rotten Tomatoes score for Season 3 down to a disappointing 36%. The online debate grew so heated and overwhelmed with grief that numerous fan accounts faced 24-hour social media bans for their highly emotional confessions.

Viewers are highly divided. While a fraction accepts the heavy ending as a necessary evil, the overwhelming sentiment across platforms is utter bewilderment and heartbreak: "These characters do not feel like the ones we grew to love in previous seasons!"

This raises painful, critical questions: Is this sudden shift in characterization a narrative misstep? Is the tragic, suicidal ending a harsh subversion of the original book, which famously promised a comforting happily ever after?

To find the answer, one must look closely at who held the creative reins for the scripts of Seasons 2 and 3. By analyzing the writing credits, clear and undeniable patterns emerge, linking these distressing plot choices directly to Neil Gaiman’s broader, often dark and subversive, body of work.

The Solitary Vision and the Realigned Mold

While the first season captured the shared spirit of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman’s 1990 novel, the subsequent seasons belong to Gaiman’s solitary vision. When viewed alongside his wider world of storytelling, such as The Sandman, American Gods, and Stardust, the tragic fractures in Aziraphale and Crowley’s bond lose their surprise. Gaiman’s worlds are populated by immortal beings who are deeply fractured at best and cruel at worst. In these narratives, it is almost a rule that celestial entities will take advantage of the hearts that love them, turning devotion into a tool before abandoning those souls to a devastating fate.

Crucially, Gaiman always veils this emotional cruelty behind high-minded dilemmas. The act of abandonment is never framed as simple coldness; instead, it is masked as a profound moral crisis ("We cannot be together because I am a god and you are human"), a sacrifice of monumental importance ("I must leave our future to save my kingdom"), or an unyielding divine necessity. Even when Gaiman’s romances lack outward malice, they are consistently denied peace. In Stardust, the mortal husband passes away, leaving his immortal, celestial wife to endure eternity in silent, isolated grief. By transforming Aziraphale into a colder, more emotionally distant figure who abruptly leaves Crowley for a heavenly promotion, Gaiman is merely reshaping Good Omens to fit his favorite creative blueprint.

Deeply Pessimistic Parallels

Ultimately, the ending of Good Omens Season 3 and the conclusion of The Sandman reveal deeply pessimistic parallels. The Sandman closes with its protagonist suffering the consequences of his own rigid nature, forced by higher powers into self-destruction so that his kingdom might survive. In the wake of this death, the universe offers a surrogate replacement - a new entity stripped of the original’s memories, whom the remaining characters are forced to accept despite their lingering grief. 

Aziraphale’s sudden, illogical decision to leap at Heaven’s offer mirrors this exact brand of narrative cruelty. Neither Aziraphale nor Crowley deserved to have their hard-won autonomy stripped away for the sake of a grandiose self-sacrifice. 

A Profound Departure from Terry Pratchett

This shift represents a profound departure from the late Terry Pratchett’s fundamental worldview. Pratchett harbored a deep-seated aversion to suicide tropes and grand, sacrificial violence in fiction. His works respected the dignity of both life and death. In his narrative, the Apocalypse is defeated not through self-sacrifice or bloodshed, but by the quiet resilience and stubborn pragmatism of ordinary people. The first season beautifully honored this philosophy, as the Antichrist and a group of children stopped the Apocalypse through sheer, down-to-earth humanity.

The subsequent seasons discard this logic entirely, altering the very cosmology of the universe. In Season 1, God was an infallible, detached observer whose ineffable plan quietly empowered the right people at the right moment to prevent ruin. By Season 3, God is reframed as a petulant, semi-malicious entity capable of erasing existence on a whim.

Furthermore, while Pratchett and Gaiman likely brainstormed the concepts of the South Downs cottage and the conflict between Heaven, Hell and Earth together, Pratchett would never have designed an intentionally suicidal and destructive endgame. In his philosophy, survival is achieved through an attachment to mundane, earthly joys. In the first season, Crowley is saved from hellfire by his love for his car and his human-like imagination, while Aziraphale survives because of his eccentric, earthly devotion to collecting rare books.

Conclusion: Fanfiction or Harsh Reality

A true thematic continuation of both authors' visions would look radically different. It would find Aziraphale and Crowley left alone in a quiet bookshop for eternity, weaving their magical memories and shared love for humanity together to rewrite every lost book back into a brand-new universe. If that choice ultimately stripped them of their divinity and left them mortal, it would be a logical, bittersweet happily-ever-after within the sanctuary of a beautiful, earthly garden.