Living In A Post-Marvel World, Nothing Frustrates Me More Than The Newfound Expectation That Movies Absolutely

Living in a post-Marvel world, nothing frustrates me more than the newfound expectation that movies absolutely *must* have mid/end credit scenes, and that all movies will become massive Star-Wars-esque franchises.

I remember a time where you watch a movie, say "Wow! That was a really good movie!", and that was that. Now, the more common sentiment seems to be "Wow! What a good movie! Can't wait to see the sequel, and the TV spin-offs, and the movies that take place at the same time as this one!". Movies aren't allowed to be standalone anymore. Not everything has to be intimately connected.

This goes double for sequels/prequels. Not every good/popular movie needs a dozen movies to flesh out every single minute detail from the original movie. Movies are allowed to have open endings without leading into eighteen more movies to drag the story out for a decade or more.

Also, movies set in the same universe do not have to be directly related to each other in inextricable ways. I will die on the hill that references do not equate to direct links between characters in different movies.

This morning I was reading a fanfic (ao3) and everything was fine until in the comment section the author answered a question about the writing AI she was using. I felt such visceral disgust at that. I dropped the story like it was acid.

To those that use AI. How dare you? How dare you to have the audacity of using a program that steals people's creativity? How dare you feed it, taking that which was granted with love and passion and then transform it into a soulless program? How dare you bend yourself to these corporations that only seek to exploits us further?

I would 100% prefer to read a fic that has mistakes but that has care into every word and a person behind it with immense love for the fandom, than to read Shakespeare vomited by a code that it was written by a thousand cunts that wank themselves at a picture of Mark Zuckerberg.

If you're doing mental gymnastics to justify art theft and exploitation, then there's no mistake. You are wrong. Nothing will change that.

I'm willing to offer mine in exchange for one (1) corn chip.

Girls can ride trains, if you care at all

To this day people will cry over the knowledge and works destroyed when the library of Alexandria was burned down.

And yet no tears are shed as Palestinian archives and libraries are bombed.

Saint Porphyrius Church, built in 1150 and the 3rd oldest church in the world has been bombed.

It's not an accident.

Israel aren't simply killing Palestinians, they are trying to erase that there ever were Palestinians in the first place.

Destroying their livelihoods, trying to to destroy their culture and history and pretend this land was never there's.

It's easy to deny someone's existence when there's no record of them.

Which is why it's so important to look at the atrocities and bear witness to what's happening.

But to also recognise that Palestine is more than it's suffering.

There is a living breathing culture, of art, history, literacy which all come from the Palestinians.

Traditions they've carried for centuries.

So while we mourn the dead, we shall fight for the living. Fight for the preservation of their crafts, amplify their voices as they speak on their culture.

Palestinian history and culture is alive. And no matter how much the world wants to erase that, they cannot and will not.

Hi excuse me, I'm just going to leave this here

I only have eight to share D:

The rest of my wips are mostly in bullet point format, so there's not really a first line(s) to them. Please accept my humble offering.

His steps were heavy, crashing through the underbrush with no regard for stealth. Escape was the only thing on his mind; if he could get far enough from the huntress, he could focus on removing the silver bullet in his leg, then he could shift and flee.

(The Huntress)

The smell of tobacco reminds me of home: of Grandfather chewing on his pipe and rocking on his creaky old chair, of Auntie Huan scolding him for smoking around us orphans, of sitting on the straw-covered floor around the rocking chair until my legs went numb while Grandfather told us about the world long past.

(Stories Grandfather Used To Tell)

If you're reading this, then you already know that I am dead, and that I did not go quietly.

(Silver and Steel)

Roger watched her as he used to watch her years ago. How long had it been? Many years, at least. He thought they would never meet again... And yet, there she was, sitting at a cafe across the street, her belly so rounded that she had to sit sideways to be able to reach her tea.

(Reunion At Last)

"Rachel. Psst! Rachel!"

I wake to the sound of Molly whisper-shouting my name. Reluctantly I roll over, and nearly crash to the floor. Even after four months, I'm not used to how narrow my new bed actually is.

(Belltower)

When Mercy was four years old, she burned her hand when she tried to grab a loaf of bread Mama made while it was still hot from the oven. Her fingers stung with heat, her skin red, and she cried, as children often do when injured. Mama scolded her for grabbing the hot bread, then gently blew on Mercy's fingers to cool them. Her hand hurt for many hours afterwards, but the pain was gone by bedtime.

(Burn the Witch)

She stared into the bubbling vat of bluish-gray liquid, its noxious, sulphurous fumes stinging her eyes. For the millionth time, she wondered if she was doing the right thing. Though she was extremely proficient in magic of all sorts, from combat to theatrical to healing, this was SO far beyond the realm of what her textbooks taught.

(Necromancer, placeholder title)

The world is really quiet now. It used to be so noisy, what with the cars and people and airplanes and such. Then it was less noisy, but there were the Biters, who never stopped making all kinds of little noises. Groaning, gurgling, chomping. Bumping into things, tripping over shit. Occassionally they banded into hordes so big that the very ground rumbled from hundreds of shambling feet in search of their dwindling food supply.

(The Author Dies at the End)

Tags: @voidcreativity @yourlocaldragondealer

10 First Lines

Saw this challenge going around and thought I’d try it! Most lines are from WIPs since that’s all I got. Reblog with your own! No pressure tags: @stesierra @queen-of-the-weenies @lordfenric-writes @octoberconstellation

BANG. BANG. BANG. Someone was pounding on the door of her tiny apartment. (God-Touched, Book 1, still untitled)

Nobody is going to believe this story, and that's the only reason I feel safe enough to tell it.

(The Lightbringer Chronicles)

“Alice!!!” My brother’s scream pierced the early-morning quiet.

(Untitled WIP)

I floated through the abandoned underwater base. The hissing of my respirator was the only sound, the faint glow of my headlamp the only light.

(Untitled WIP)

I could start this story in a lot of places.

(The Changeling Trilogy, Book 1, Changeling Rogue)

Never sail out to the Old Fortress. That’s the number one rule whenever I go stay with my Aunt Robin in England. I’ve always been able to resist the temptation before.

(The Banshee, Short Story)

The cemetery was filled with music tonight.

(Untitled WIP)

The young tavern hostler yelped, jumping back. She’d heard stories of predator birds big enough to ride on, but having one land right in front of her stables was another thing entirely.

(Tales Of Kaurian, Book 1, Storm Crosser)

Kharim would have killed the Princess and gotten his money by now, if it hadn’t been for the cats.

(Untitled WIP)

The sleek golden car wove through the perpetual parking lot that was Manhattan traffic, music blaring from the open windows. In defiance of the ongoing pandemic, neither the older male driver nor the girl in the shotgun seat were masked. Although in their defense, neither of them were affected by human illnesses.

(Untitled WIP)