Omg Bexxx!!!! Been a fan for the longest time. Everything you write is just so hot! Ive been dying for an update on Through The Heart Is The Only Way.! My roomie showed me how to jailbreak ChatGPT and I fed it the whole fic and the little preview and the AI was able to finish the fic for me!! IT WAS SO GOOD!!! If you're still having trouble writing the next chapter you should def try using it to help you finish!! <3
Wow. Okay. So. Hi there Anon.
I dunno where to even start with this.
So you say you are a really big fan of mine, and have been for a while. So where were you when I reblogged this post? Talking in depth about people plugging fanfic into ChatGTP, and me wholeheartedly agreeing that it is fucked up. Oh! Or how about this time? Or this one? Orrr this one? This one too. I said in the tags of those posts if anyone does this to me I am going to riot, so get ready for a fucking riot.
I have posted and reblogged several, SEVERAL TIMES, that I am not okay with and do not consent to this shit. I will repeat now, with my whole fucking chest, so the fucking nosebleed seats can hear me, like a goddamned theater kid trying to impress a broadway talent scout level of volume, straight up BELTING TO THE BACK ROW-
I AM NOT OKAY WITH AND DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WRITING, TO MY ART, BEING PUT INTO AI PROGRAMS!
This is just, so far removed, I don’t know why you would think this is even remotely okay!
I write for the love of the game, for the sheer love of CREATION ITSELF! Do you understand how much my writing and love for it and the media these characters are in and those same characters themselves permeate my thoughts? My days? I pour so much care and thought and effort into my shit behind the scenes. Hours and hours of thought and parsing, re-watching, writing that you don’t see and I do it not because I am getting money, not for likes, or comments or followers but because I fucking LOVE it. The urge in me is literally uncontrollable to do this. I feel proud of what I do! Do you have the smallest conception of the time, effort, blood, sweat, hours of sleep lost to my craft and this hobby that gives me creative satisfaction? I do NOT want this discounted or tramped on or heaven forbid forgotten.
How about we really break this down so you understand it. Let’s do some math.
Through The Heart Is The Only Way has not gotten an update innnn a little over two months, sixty four days to be exact. But. How much writing have I posted in that time since I last updated that fic, the last chapter of which was, if you remember, is twelve THOUSAND words? I have posted, in the past sixty four days, since that last update, thirty eight thousand words.
Wow! That is a lot of words for slightly over two months!
It is almost like I care so much about TTHITOW that I am purposefully taking my time with it, not rushing it and writing it when the inspo grabs me by the fucking ovaries and will not let go. I re-watched the entire movie franchise and the tv series for this fic, I have a doc with piles of ideas and character study, I have chapter ten plotted, outlined and had it started! But shit like this?
It doesn’t make me want to write it Anon.
It is demoralising.
I feel disrespected as fuck right now.
I KNOW what I am doing with this fic, I KNOW where it is going, I have the ending already planned, we are about half way through this fic AT BEST! I have probably another over sixty thousand words in me to tell this story the way I want to but knowing me? Definitely more. The fact that you think the only reason this fic isn’t updated more frequently or isn’t done yet is through lack of thought, from not knowing where to go? Is insulting as fuck. Me taking my time with this fic doesn’t mean I don’t care, it doesn’t mean I am not obsessed with it or love it. Frankly, it means the opposite, me dragging this out is because I love it so fucking much and I want to do it right.
I have a ton of love for lots of movies, lots of characters, I want to give them all attention, I want to follow my muse, I don’t want to FORCE myself to write something when the mood isn’t right. The readers deserve better but so DO I! This is my love, this is my hobby, I want to do it my fucking way, because I guaran-FUCKING-tee, that whatever the fuck ChatGTP pumped out for you is a weak, pale, pathetic, whisper of a God forsaken SHADOW of what I have planned to unleash for this fics ending.
I know that a lot of people look down at sexual content which is what 99% of what I do is. Lots of people view it as base, lesser, shallow, no care or thought or heart. That is not the fucking case, certainly not for me. Sex has deep personal meaning to me dude, I CHOOSE, actively make the decision to write and do these fics in the fashion I do. I write these character explorations and studies centered around sex and sexuality and write them through that lens because that is what I want to do, that is what speaks to me, that is what is important to ME and what I want to contribute to the fandom space.
I am human. I write to an inhuman degree, (remember last week when I posted three fics, totaling over eight thousand words in one day? Crazy that still isn’t enough somehow and you felt the need to do this-) but I am still a fucking person. I am an artist, a writer, an author and I deserve the most basic respect of my supposed “FANS” patience and ability to WAIT. That is the barest minimum. I write so often, I give so much of myself to it but some days I just want to come home from work and watch a movie. I want to have a bath, I want to cook or bake or spend time with my husband and those times, those breaks, make my writing all the better. My writing, all writing that is worth a damn, is inspired and pulled from real life experiences, hence why AI writing sucks, there is no actual life experience or interpretation, no fucking soul. All it is capable of doing is vomiting back out what is put into it and the idea that my shit is in there, that you took my writing and it is contributing to that writhing mass of technological horror that is doing this to countless other artists and writers? It is genuinely fucking upsetting.
I am so unbelievably mad it is insane.
This was so gross, never do this again, to me or anyone else. And if you ask what to do when you are having trouble waiting for a fic? How about you leave some detailed comments? Try to talk to the author? I bet that most would LOVE to be talked to and asked about their fics, they are the prime people who want to talk about this shit, they are writing the fucking fic, clearly have a lot of love for it and get it, and also if you talk to them about it and show interest it might kick start their inspo again which means you will get that real and authentic update from the artist themselves. Also. Re-read, just re-read or explore more new fic, like me for instance, I have, again posted over ONE MILLION WORDS IN THREE YEARS OF POSTING! I have so much backlog, go read some of that while you wait for the updates man fucksake.
I don’t want to hear this is too harsh, I don’t want to hear this is too mean, I do not fucking give a singular goddamned shit at all. You fucked up here hard Anon, take a good look at yourself and do fucking better.
And in case it wasn't obvious, my writing? Isn't for you, not anymore.
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you were raised in comparison.
it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.
you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.
you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.
what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.
it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.
you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.
you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?
a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.
you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.
it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.
something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.
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