Unstable Calami-Tea

They/Them - 20 - Writer - Open to Asks & Tag Games

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Writeblr Intro (Fourth Edition): A normal intro?

Hi to all! If you’re reading this, it means you’re in either exactly the right place or the exact opposite of the right place. There’s no in between.

Fanfiction Master Post

Bluesky: erraticrambler

AO3: erraticprocrastinator

For the sake of keeping my gender demons at bay, my name is E. I write fanfiction, and have been doing so for the better part of eight years. I currently write for the Hazbin Hotel fandom, and would absolutely love some fandom friends if anyone is willing. I’m currently in my second year of university for creative writing, and will soon to be commencing a second major in history after dropping film earlier this year (as it turns out picking your second major in five minutes because your enrolment is due isn’t a good idea).

I’m AuDHD, queer, and possessed by the aforementioned gender demons genderfluid. My updated pronouns will always be in my bio, and I’d love it if you would introduce yourself with yours if they’re not in your profile. I’ve recently realised that I’m also very likely somewhere on the ace spectrum, and am currently coming to terms with the fact that, in my doctor’s words, there’s a 3% I don’t have POTS. Yay me!

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Well you know it’s time to sleep when you accidentally text “Thank Vox” to your (thankfully Hazbin-acquainted) best friend instead of “Thank God” 🤦

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2:18 AM thoughts: One thing I’ve never really seen anyone talk about is the subconscious distinction between ‘things you do’ and ‘your thing.’

What I mean, I do a lot of things. I have a lot of hobbies. I play video games, I cook, I dabble in the occasional craft and finger knitting. But writing is my thing. It’s been my thing ever since I first tried it, and for a long time, I haven’t really been able to articulate how I know that. It’s just always existed as fact in my mind, in the same way that I know my eyes are green, even though it doesn’t make sense by any logical or quantifiable measure. But I think I’ve finally figured out how I know, and how I think most people know that their thing is their thing: writing might not be the thing I spend the most money on, or the most effort on, or even the most time on, but it is the thing I think about the most. I don’t think about video games when I’m not playing them. I don’t think about my finger knitting after I’ve put it down for the day. Writing, though? Writing, I think about all the time. It doesn’t matter if I’ve been working on a story for ten hours straight or if I haven’t put a single word down in weeks, it’s the one thing that always has a place somewhere in my mind. When I lie in bed at night, I think about what I wrote that day, or what I wish I’d written that day, and I always think about what I hope to write tomorrow. Unlike my other hobbies, even though my output ebbs and flows, my desire never does. Wanting to write is my natural state of being. That’s how I know it’s my thing.

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Guys I think this is the closest I’m ever going to get to one of my fic ideas turning out to be canon 😅 I’ll take it!

(AKA “yes, I was a little late to watching the new Insane video”)

[erraticprocrastinator]

Alright, people, enough is enough. I’m going to start writing a fic that I’ve had planned for ages today. If I don’t, you guys get to internet-hit me. Here are your sticks 🏑🏑🏑

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Guys, I’m not surprised that Abel is straight. I already sort of assumed he was, and a heterosexual guy who’s comfortable with his masculinity and kindhearted? Amazing, bellissimo, there’s a shortage. What I want to talk about is the fact that, not only is “Dick Master” Adam apparently an ally, but they also chose to include him in the merch, which typically tends to reflect the state of the show at its latest official point (hence why Angel appears with the Vees and not with the hotel crew), rather than Lute, implying, at least to me, that she’s so homophobic that the double-dead misogynist was a better fit for the range. Or, alternatively, she’s so off-the-rails that she’s now progressed from hallucinating Adam to cosplaying him, and it’s actually her in the picture. Take your pick.

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In honour of… me just feeling like it, I present Neurospicy Nightmares: The Contradicting and Complimentary Anxieties of the Everyday Social Situation.

(as induced by years of being constantly scolded for every imaginable behaviour)

“Am I talking too much?” / “Do they think I’m being rude by not engaging enough?”

“Am I staring?” / “Are they upset that I’m not looking at them when we’re talking?”

“Would it be rude if I left now?” / “Have I stayed too late?”

“Did I just overshare?” / “Did I accidentally brush off a genuine question?”

“Am I being too loud?” / “Can they hear me over this chatter?”

“Was that sarcasm?” / “Could they tell I was being sarcastic?”

“Should I step out to decompress?” / “What if they think I’m attention seeking?”

“What if they didn’t actually want me here?” / “What if they talked about me because I didn’t show up?”

“Is it rude to not eat the food they brought?” / “Would it be weird to eat finger food with a fork?”

“What if ‘5 PM start’ actually meant 7 PM?” / “What if they wanted me here and I was late?”

“Will they judge me if I don’t drink?” / “What if they don’t like me after I’ve had a few?”

“Do they genuinely not mind dropping me home?” / “What if they think I don’t want to spend extra time with them?”

Just to give a short list of the perils I and many of my neurodivergent (and generally anxious) brethren go through each and every time a major social situation comes up ❤️

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A little late, but I feel like I can’t pass up the opportunity to use this for my AO3 anniversary.

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Sounds Get Worse at 3 AM

Sounds get worse at 3 AM.

A truth best left untold.

Sounds get worse at 3 AM.

A tragedy of ages old.

Sounds get worse at 3 AM.

At slowly first, a creep.

A footstep forged from a falling twig.

Danger borne from a creak.

Sounds get worse at 3 AM.

When sleep defies the mind.

When today strangles tomorrow.

When fear is yours to find.

Sounds get worse at 3 AM.

As sight deserts you once again.

When pitter-patter causes thoughts to scatter,

And foe is wrought from friend.

Sounds get worse at 3 AM.

Even those left undisguised.

A car gone past not the benign of last.

A door knock means doom arrived.

Sounds get worse at 3 AM.

When help feels out of reach.

When awake now means alone.

Courage paper-thin to breach.

Sounds get worse at 3 AM.

As the ear reveals its true intentions.

To deceive, to trick, to frighten.

To conjure such cruel inventions.

Sounds get worse at 3 AM.

A time that wasn’t man’s to claim.

A time for the weakened barrier,

And the horrors that cross the same.

Well, you guys can probably guess what time it was when this started brewing in my head 😅 Also, I haven’t written a poem in a long time (like, longer than even I thought), so please don’t judge too harshly. I’m rusty!

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I always loved that the Alastor Youtooz figure looks like he’s midway through being himself an Annoying Shithead™, but I love it even more now that I’ve discovered that the Vox figure has this faceplate as an option.

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I just saw a post from @paperplateprose (I was going to reblog but then the tangent did what tangents do and got long enough that I felt like it deserved its own post) that really got me thinking.

So many of us writers, including myself lately, are victim to the “I should/could/would write more” mentality, and I’m not sure about everyone else, but for me it definitely turns into guilt and determination to somehow force myself to write more often than not. It’s gotten to the point where I’ll sometimes sit at my desk staring at Word for upwards of an hour just trying to write, or rewriting the same three lines seventeen times because I just can’t get them to sound right, neither of which ever lead to me actually writing anything that I won’t just scrap or completely reword later when I’m actually in the right headspace. Reading that post finally helped me make the connection between this plight and another concept I’ve seen floating around and have had a personal issue with ever since I first heard it, which is that writers need to be avid readers.

Setting the actual debate aside for another day, the train of thought brought me back to when I was younger, when I was your textbook undiagnosed autistic “gifted kid,” complete with hyperlexia and a love of reading so strong that you would quite literally find me with my nose buried in a book at any waking moment that didn’t strictly need to be spent doing something else. Reading was my entire personality, the thing I was known for, the thing I was good at. I tested at a high-school-graduate level of reading comprehension by the time I was thirteen. Like a lot of people in the same boat, I never imagined there would come a time when I didn’t enjoy it anymore. Then came the later years of high school, when “class books” went from something we did to pass the time to serious pieces of class work with assessments and deadlines attached. Reading The Outsiders to introduce the idea of themes and motifs turned into essays on Of Mice and Men and notated analyses of Pride and Prejudice. Reading became a demand, which, even though I, still being undiagnosed and never having heard the term “Pathological Demand Avoidance,” didn’t realise at the time, slowly but surely killed my desire to do it for fun. Even though the books were often ones I would have enjoyed if I’d come to them on my own, turning reading into an expectation destroyed the safe space of escape it had previously been for me. By the time I actually graduated high school, I only read books when I had to for school, forget about in my spare time. These days I’m lucky if I do my university readings or read a fanfiction every once in a while, because even though I’m able to rationalise that I’m being silly and could read all the time if I wanted to, I still can’t bring myself to do it. That part of me is gone, or at least so damaged that it’s going to take a long time to recondition myself.

This all comes back around, because I’ve just realised that, in trying to make myself write because of some made-up pressure I’ve placed on myself, I’ve accidentally come very close to doing the exact same thing to writing. By developing these expectations and convincing myself that I’m somehow doing a hobby I do for fun and for free inadequately, I’ve turned writing into a demand, just like school did for reading. The frustration I feel staring at Word for those mindless hours is the exact same feeling I had the last few times I actually tried to read a book for my own enjoyment, when I just couldn’t get into them and couldn’t articulate why. At some point, wanting to work on my stories but not being able to went from “just”executive paralysis to something bordering on the demand avoidance I’ve been struggling with in almost every other area of my life. I’m within a hair’s width of losing my greatest joy again. Fuck.

I guess the reason I wanted to post about this is to implore other writers on here, especially other neurodivergent writers, to please, please try to get away from the “I have to write for the sake of writing” mindset I talked about before. I know first hand that you might not even realise you’ve slipped into that way of thinking until something (like a random Tumblr post) points it out, but I can tell you that it’s worlds better to have a WIP sit untouched for months because the mood just hasn’t struck you than to drive yourself almost to the point of no return like I have. I’m just grateful that I’m now at a point in life where I have the self awareness and reframing tools to stop myself slipping all the way (thanks, free internet therapy). Thanks again to paperplateprose for making me catch it before it was too late. I guess it goes to show that one person’s random post is another’s existential crisis.

[erraticprocrastinator]

Dear universe,

When I said that I wish I had more time to write, tearing something in my knee so that I can’t do much else was not what I had in mind.

Screw you but also thanks I guess?

- E

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Hazbin thoughts: The whole concept of sinners being confined to the Pride Ring because it’s Lucifer’s domain and being forced to coexist with the evil he helped create without being able to harm them is his punishment is cool and all, but it gets a lot less significant when you consider we have nothing to suggest that Lucifer himself can’t leave the Pride Ring, and, on the contrary, can surmise with almost complete certainty that he can. There’s theoretically nothing stopping him from just picking up and deciding to live in one of the other rings instead. He could build a palace next to Ozzie’s and call it a day if he really wanted to. Sure, one could argue that he has a duty as Hell’s king and should put up with the sinners even though it drives him mad, but when has this guy ever shown any interest in wanting to be an active king anyway? We’ve thus far seen him step up twice, and both times were in extreme circumstances to protect his daughter where his hand was forced or he needed to be talked into it. He’s certainly not the kind of leader to take daily strolls to engage with/terrorise the public or put on regular displays of infernal power to remind the sinners who the big boss of Hell is, at least not in his current state. What was there to stop him just, you know, moving to one of the six other sections of Hell where the sinners can’t follow him prior to S1? Considering he wasn’t supposed to interfere with the exterminations anyway and didn’t for many years, you’d think it’d make it easier for him to disassociate. At first I thought it might be because Charlie is there, but you can’t convince me he can’t just portal himself to anywhere in Hell just like we’ve seen him do around Pentagram City. I don’t think there would be any real difference in him getting to her if she needed him whether he was living around the corner or halfway across the Greed Ring. Is there some kind of divine intervention that makes it so he can travel across all of Hell but not live there? How would that work? Would he be able to go on vacation? Or does this theoretical divine power have a sense of humour and just dump the sinners wherever he decides is home? If so, I would be so here for a fic where Alastor is chosen as the singular person to fulfil this punishment, and Lucifer ends up returning to the Pride Ring because he’d rather deal with a thousand other sinners than just this specific one –✨Alastor dilution✨(okay, someone please write that. I’m in new-fic-timeout until I finish at least one of my several WIPs. My best friend is holding me accountable, and they will find out if I try to start another. Mostly because I tell them everything)

Thank-you for coming to my RED Talk.

[erraticprocrastinator]

The urge to write is strong, but never stronger than the urge to spend hours designing a cover for my story instead, despite the fact that there’s copious amounts of picture evidence on this blog proving that I am most definitely not artistically inclined.

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Guys, the last 24 hours have been a goddamn whirlwind. I may or may not have had a minor medical episode last night (I’m fine, I think, don’t worry about me), and even after things settled down I had trouble sleeping because I was anxious that something might start up again. Thankfully everything was fine, but I woke up for work this morning with a vague understanding that I’d come up with the most spectacular fanfic idea ever sometime during the night but with absolutely no recollection of what that idea actually was, so, naturally, I’ve been mildly annoyed all day on top of being shaken. I just opened the Notes app on my phone to jot down what happened for my doctor and discovered that I WROTE THE IDEA DOWN!!! 1:19 AM, a whole note with the basic outline of the story and even a few pieces of dialogue that must have popped into my head as I was falling asleep. I have absolutely no idea what possessed me to actually note something down this time, because this is not my first rodeo with midnight inspiration and I’ve never had such initiative before, but I’m so glad I did, because it’s juicy (and probably requires a higher word count than I can handle, but let’s not talk about that). Silver linings, right? Who needs stable health when you have fics to write?

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Well the spectacular fic idea has officially made it past being presented enthusiastically to my best friend (using a whiteboard and character magnets, of course), so I guess this is happening 😅

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So now that the change is official, I feel the need to share what a strange but wonderful domino effect this incident ended up having. Researching for the aforementioned story idea (now WIP) is what finally pushed me over the edge and made me realise that history is what I want to study, not film. Ignoring the slight mental breakdown that happened in the time between my realisation and actually changing over my major, I’ve never had such a moment of clarity and peace. I’ve always loved history and all the research involved (I honestly think that it’s part of the reason I love Hazbin so much–there’s so many characters from different times and places), but it took biting into this fic to make me realise that I love it enough to pull myself out of a pathway I was in denial about being unhappy with. I guess now I get to say that my unhealthy obsession with The Dumb Red Loudspeaker™ (legally known as Alastor) paid off? Right? Anyway, on a serious note, please consider this proof that anyone who tries to tell you that fandom and fic writing aren’t meaningful uses of your time is dead wrong. They might just be the only things that help you find your meaning.

See you when the story is finally ready ❤️

P.S: I finally saw my doctor. I’m fine. Mostly.

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Following what I can only describe as a midlife-if-I-die-at-the-same-age-my-mother-did crisis, I’m finally throwing in the towel and admitting that film just isn’t my cup of tea, and have started the process of changing my second major to history. Apparently the gap year didn’t save me. The whole mental fiasco of the past few days has made me realise how strange it is that society these days generally discourages us from getting tattoos, having children or getting married at 18, because it’s such a young age to be making decisions that could potentially impact us for a huge portion or the rest of our lives, and yet choosing a degree that could put us thousands in debt and dictate the kind of career we have for decades is fine. All I’m saying is that maybe it’s not a coincidence that I’m reconsidering my major and the shoulder ink idea I’ve been sitting on at the same time. I’m definitely not projecting because I have irrational guilt about giving up on something I’ve spent a year of my life trying to convince myself I enjoy. At least I’m still happy with my creative writing major.

Anyway, there’s the life update.

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One of the harder parts about being autistic is that some people will just blatantly tell you that they don’t care about your special interest whilst you’re quite literally midway through talking about it, just because it’s perceived as too childish or weird. Like, okay, Chad, rude. I don’t care about football, but I still listen and nod when you talk about it for hours. I even make a point of asking you questions about it because I know you’re excited. Just because whales can’t wear jerseys or abuse umpires doesn’t mean it’s okay for you to cut me off and change the subject when I’m telling you about the new documentary I like. I also find it deeply ironic, seeing as we’re the ones who are apparently “too honest.”