in an age where generative ai use is rampant, i think people are forgetting one very important thing: ai learned how to write by being trained on human writing.
em dashes are not an ai tell. short, choppy sentences used for emphasis are not an ai tell. the rule of three is not an ai tell. repeated sentence structures, certain metaphors, transitions, overly polished prose, whatever stylistic quirk is getting passed around as the newest “obvious sign of ai” this week—real writers were doing all of that long before chatgpt existed. that’s precisely why ai does it.
and yeah, it fucking sucks that generated writing isn’t always immediately obvious. it sucks that people can generate an entire fic and pass it off as something they wrote. but turning suspicion into evidence and going on an ai witch hunt every time someone’s prose checks enough boxes on an arbitrary list of “ai indicators” isn’t helping actual writers. you’re inevitably going to accuse people who wrote every word themselves, and now those writers are second-guessing perfectly normal elements of their own style because they’re afraid someone will decide they “sound like ai.”
if you have actual evidence that someone is generating their work, that’s a different conversation. but if all you have is “they use too many em dashes” or “this sentence structure sounds like chatgpt,” you don’t have proof. you have a suspicion.
false accusations don’t strengthen the fight against generative ai. they discourage actual writers and make people take legitimate concerns about ai use less seriously. if anything, treating normal features of human writing as incriminating is doing a disservice to the exact cause you’re trying to defend.
IDK if you do non-reader fics, but if you do, and have requests open, what about something involving Matt going from "what have I become" to "what else can I become"--slowly accepting and embracing his powers and the freedom that being a shapeshifter brings in full.
(Got one or two fics like this in the works myself, but I'd like to see what others would do with the idea, IYKWIM)
metamorphosis
w.c: 461
First, it was himself; then it was another man he didn’t recognize. Then a woman, another man, a child, then himself once more. He can feel his flesh shift and churn as he goes through this change. It wasn’t human, it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t what he asked for. What he wanted to be. Everything his body used to be was something else entirely.
His own flesh would turn soft like Play-Doh, sag downwards in an unnatural way, not unlike a dying blobfish on the surface or a sea slug, soft and moldable like clay. His bones and muscles underneath would either stay put or shift along with whatever metamorphosis he subjected his poor body to. Leaving behind a brownish, translucent liquid that emitted from his body.
His hair would change from sandy blonde to black to brown to platinum blonde to red in record time. Eye colors could be blue to green to brown to hazel.
At first, everything hurt. His skin burned from underneath as if burning hot coals were beneath his skin, would develop terrible sores and become grotesque. Like looking at a funhouse mirror. His face would either sag or become bloated, his body would sprout and grow round, bulbous tumors all over his flesh. His bones ached, bent unnaturally, hurt. All he could feel was how uncomfortable he was underneath a mass of pulsating, distorted flesh.
His anger, his fury, how his own pain caused this monster to be released.
Allow your anger to flow. Your performance could be your last.
As if he wanted to be a monster, he could shift into anyone he wanted. Be who he wanted to be. An actor for the most part. Or a comedian, a surgeon, a lawyer, a writer, a mobster, or just…Matt.
But Matt was an actor. He can act in a play or in movies. He was Gotham’s most famous actor of all time. He wasn’t pretty anymore for the cameras, but he can shift into anyone that can be. He can still be an actor; he can still be famous.
There wasn’t any need to have his skin if it never was his. He can rip it off his bones, just change. Change into someone else for a bit. He can never be Matt Hagen; he can be clay. Only clay for his performances. Clay can be whatever it desires to be, molded into different shapes and even people. The Greek Gods did it; why can’t he?
The old man, the woman, the homeless addict, the young woman, a small child, another man, then back to clay all over again. With the shifting, squelching of his soft flesh. Turning into whoever he ever so pleased, no matter the consequences. The greatest performance of his career…
A/N: Not a lot but this is what I can come up with
you met him in paris one night, not knowing he was an actor or the fact that there was a monster hidden beneath his beautiful eyes and kind smile...
Matt Hagen (film ver) x f!reader
genre: angst
warning(s): slight smut (not too graphic), body horror
w.c: 1.6k
song inspo: drop dead by olivia rodrigo
You could’ve sworn you’d seen an angel that night with blonde hair, bright blue eyes, a kind smile, and so much charisma that it knocked you off your feet so quickly. Just near the Palace of Versailles, where the sky was bright with stars, not many were around to spot you. Except for the man with the bright eyes and warm smile.
It was so inviting, so enticing. He beckoned to you with his eyes, and of course, you obeyed. You approached him with an open mind, and he looked to you, grinning at you. You introduced yourself to him, and he did too. Matt Hagen. You hadn’t heard that name before. “I’m an actor. Been in a few movies in Gotham.”
He replied. He listed a few of them, but you couldn’t recall any. “I’ve been in a few plays there, too. Like Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka and Amphitryon.” He told you. Oh, someone who also loves the French playwright Molière. “Do you prefer theater or filming movies?” You asked him.
“Movies. Occasional television shows.” You questioned him on why. His reply was: “I like being in front of the camera, getting into character, and just…having the focus on the characters rather than…everything else.” It didn’t make sense to you, but you weren’t a movie star yourself. You’d only participated in a few plays in school, like Beauty and the Beast, Tartuffe, Unnecessary Farce, and even A Streetcar Named Desire.
But that’s as far as you went in terms of acting.
The night air was chilly tonight, but it was still beautiful to you, at least. Especially in the presence of the angel right beside you. You both strolled along the garden to escape the noise of the movie premiere nearby.
“What do you do? Professionally?” Matt asked you suddenly. You looked to him quickly; your breath hitched when your eyes locked with his beautiful eyes. “I’m a museum curator at the Louvre.” You said. He gave you such a beautiful smile that it made your heart stop just for a moment.
“Oh? What is your favorite art piece in the museum?” He asked you pretty point-blank. You thought about it for a moment. You loved every art piece in the museum the moment you set foot in the building. From the Mona Lisa to Liberty Leading the People to Venus de Milo, you thought for a long while before answering his question: Psyche Revived.
He smiled at you, eyes lighting up. He could tell that you loved the arts. Maybe not the same as for theater or movies, but your love for painting and drawings that told you a story. Perhaps a story that re-told you history, or told you a romantic story, or a story about a historic battle.
You and Matt walked about the gardens. The premiere was still ongoing in the background; it bustled with people dressed delicately. In golden and silver gowns, made out of chiffon, silk, cotton to linen. The dresses and gowns were donned in gold stars to silver specks. It reminded you of celestials amongst humans.
While the men wore mostly dark suits, from moss green to navy blue. It was the women’s attire that stood out to you, not so much the men, except for Matt.
You sat outside the palace as the premiere continued. People were bustling back and forth, talking with one another. Speaking in either French or English. Matt sat next to you on the bench. His eyes looked into yours for a moment before looking at the night sky instead of the premiere.
“Are you in the movie?” You couldn’t help asking, even if you knew he most likely was. He chuckled. “Yeah, I’m one of the leads.” He answered, and it made you lace your fingers together in slight embarrassment. “Sorry, I-I’d never heard of this movie. I’m just here as a volunteer.” You answered. “It’s okay. It’s actually my first time out of Gotham.” “Really?”
He nodded. “I’ve never left Gotham. That’s why I wanted to be an actor. So, I can leave that city.” Matt explained.
-
It was slowly starting to get chilly, so you and Matt entered the Palace of Versailles. Normally, it’s closed around this time, but because of the premiere, it remained open until it was over. The walls were golden, white, and black. With designs of marble. The walls were painted with an ornate scene from Greek mythology.
It was a rather luxurious room that patrons would come in and out of just to see. The Salon de Venus. The room was rather empty while the main dining hall was busy with guests from the event.
You had been in this room many times. When you were bored, you’d either come to the Palace of Versailles or the Louvre to enjoy the artwork.
It’s at least quiet. No guests, no loud music, literally nothing. You can even hear a mouse patter across the floor because of how quiet it is. Looking at Matt again across from you, the glint of light really highlighted his features, like his eyes. His dirty blonde hair, his cheekbones. You truly believed he had a halo above him. All that was missing was a pair of angel wings.
He didn’t even hesitate to kiss you. It was soft, like how an angel below God would be, delicate and intricate. So he wouldn’t hurt you. Another angel. In the walls of King Louis XIV's palace, painted in gold, silver, rose gold, and white marble. Paintings from Greek mythology were painted so intricately that it felt like the Gods were watching your every move.
Every touch, every kiss, his nimble fingers toying with the straps of your dress. His touch electrified your skin, giving you goosebumps. It made you want more of him. Your fingers through his blonde, soft hair. His taste was intoxicating. The feeling of his lips against yours, the smell of his cologne lingered around you. He smelled like fruits: citrus and lemon.
It reminded you of a garden you visited in Italy on holiday. It had fruits like apples, oranges, lemons, grapes, watermelons, and strawberries. The apples were the most enticing to you in the tree, just as Matt kissed your lips a little harder this time. It made you feel like you were going to take a bite from the apple in the garden right before you.
Matt stuck his tongue down your throat so deeply it made you gag. You broke away from him to look into his crystal blue eyes. “What?” You looked at his hands, and it looked like a trick of the light, but it looked like his skin was sagging. Similar to that of a liquid. Eyeing him again, his eyes seemed rather sincere.
“Nothing.” You replied, and he smiled at you. You leaned in and kissed him again. You felt his hand on your thigh, the feeling of his skin wrapped around yours like liquid dripping down. It sent shivers down your spine at the feeling, yet you kept ignoring it.
You wanted the angel in front of you. The angel that sought you out in the gardens of Palace Versailles, the angel that wanted you, the angel whose flesh wrapped around your body like a blanket. It definitely felt like an octopus wrapping its appendages around its prey. It definitely felt liquefied the more he wrapped around your body, your arms, your legs, your torso, your neck, your face.
You can still see the angel right before you, with a bright smile. Even as his face molts off his skull downward. It drives you mad with fear that you couldn’t help but laugh at the insanity of it. His own body encases your body in his skin, his own body. His skin felt like a wet, thick, sticky substance, almost like clay. His smell went from a musky fruit scent to a rotting one.
It made it harder for you to breathe. Akin to drowning in water, but it was thicker than water. Surely the angel wouldn’t kill you in a very beautiful yet sacred room in all of Paris. With the Greek gods watching from above. His elongated fingers, almost like tree branches, made you look at him.
His smile still warmed your heart as his face was so contorted that his fingers entered your mouth, which choked you nearly to death. You almost vomit when you feel his fingers enter your body, your eyes, your nose. You can feel him slowly leave your body, almost as if not to hurt you. His skin was slowly returning to normal, his once sagging skin turning back to what it was previously.
Matt’s beautiful blue eyes turned a different color. Your eye color. His blonde hair shifted to a different shade. The angel before you turned into someone else, someone you know. He turned into you. Every detail was on point: from your hair length, your eyes, your makeup, your dress, your voice. God, your voice.
He’d completely turned into you. You were still you, of course. Just completely covered in a thick, brown substance that soaked your body and your dress completely. “You should be getting back home; it’s getting late,” Matt told you in your voice. The voice that belonged to you.
“I-I still have to-to get back—”
“You had a bit too much to drink tonight, (Y/N). I’ll see you around.” Matt told you. “Go home.” He told you as he walked away from you and outside into the garden. He walked away from you and back to the premiere as if nothing had happened.
Like he didn’t wrap himself around you, stealing your identity and your personal life. Leaving you alone, covered in clay. The angel disappeared into the lights of the event, like going back to Heaven as an impostor. A thief in the night. Even Heaven still held onto its demons, you supposed…
in a hotel room with nothing but heroin, you and power spend the night together
Power Noel x f!reader
genre: angst
warning(s): drug abuse, smut, oral (female receiving), creampie, tit fucking
w.c: 784
You let him hit from the needle before you. The small silver needle poked his already bruised skin, hitting a vein, and injecting the intoxicating drug. It took a few minutes for the drug to enter his system. His pupils blown wide, his body sweating, breath slowing down as he relaxed into your touch.
Power loved it when you embraced him; he hummed under his breath as your fingers raked through his dirty-blonde hair. He had booked this nice, expensive hotel in central London. The room was painted a vibrant color, with soft lights from the small lamps illuminating it; the bedsheets were pristine white.
Which you and Power fucked each other on. From early afternoon until later that evening, you fucked each other like rabbits in heat. You nearly destroyed the hotel room from your sexual pleasure, from Power giving you head to letting him fuck your tits to just plain having him cum in you.
The curtains off the rods, lamps on the floor, the sheets on the floor. Entangled in each other for a while before he brought out the strong drug that he snuck into the hotel room.
“When are you going to write that song about me?” You asked him quietly. You felt his chest rumble; he moaned as the drug hit his head. “Later, love.” He mumbled under his breath; your nimble fingers played with the chain around his neck.
Power takes a while to actually finish his songs. When you met, you deemed him to be a musical genius. Especially under the influence of heroin. Though really, Power is usually fueled by the money he gets from his parents that made him somewhat successful.
He’s capable of writing and performing songs, but only if he’s high or drunk. He made a song about getting high on heroin once, but he never released it.
“Are you going to hit?” He asked you, trying to steady his breathing. The drug encircling his body as a whole. His skin hot, face red. His blue eyes pierced yours. Your fingers in his hair; it was still soft to the touch.
You don’t remember exactly when you started using with Power. You know for sure that it wasn’t the night you met or the time he fucked you in the bathroom at his album launch party. The days were blurs where you and Power tried to write songs with Brown and Aslan in the room; Laura just lingered in the background.
At the end of your sessions, you would all take a hit of cocaine. Then moved on to heroin.
You would only spend your days trying to think of a new song with Power beside you in your shared bed. From breakups to sex to messy romances to trips to Paris that had yet to be taken, those were the only subjects you could think of for your songs.
You took a needle from the bag Power managed to sneak in. Already filled with the drug. You took a deep breath in before sticking the needle into your forearm, though you hesitated to inject the drug. You promised yourself you’d stop at some point. Way too many nights where you were up at night, then back to sleep when using.
You weren’t able to write the songs that you’ve always wanted to, despite the support from your family, giving up your dreams to be a singer and a songwriter. The days before were spent fretting over Power. Kissing his scars and bruises on his arms, taking care of him and the rest of his friends.
He loved it when you fretted over him. Just like how Laura used to before she started using. You still worried over him as a mother hen would from time to time.
You promised yourself to stop using heroin and go back to cocaine, but the drug in the needle was more promising. More soothing, more relaxing than cocaine ever could. Let alone your usual fags from the store down the street. You injected anyway so you could rest with your musician boyfriend.
Your own body relaxing in his arms. Listening to his heartbeat, his body heat warming you up. His sweater was soft against your cheek. The drug made your own body warm up. Before you drifted off in a euphoric daze, you questioned whether you loved Power. Loved him the way your mother loved your father, loved him the way Roz loved Michael Pearson.
But it didn’t matter as much as the drug made you sleepy. It calmed you down and made you feel better, like a secret kind of medication. Or maybe a love potion, a love spell towards Power Noel.
“We meet Matt at a real turning point in his career and then, very quickly, at a real turning point in his life,” he says. “It’s a horror, but it’s a thriller. It asks, How far would you go to reclaim your life that you’ve built?”
Tom Rhys Harries photographed by Max Montgomery for EW (source)
Tom Rhys-Harries, star of upcoming Clayface movie.
(I'm sure he's a fine actor, and certainly pretty (and this is him at 33), but it's going to take me a while before I stop thinking "Oh look, it's Ricky September from Dot and Bubble")
New Clayface news today with Entertainment weekly realising an article + photos of the Clayface movie set + shots from the film and they look fabulous and it looks like a dark but colorful comic.
The article reads over some of the actors experiences on filming the film, some more details of the film's plot and certain scenes, some including why we see Matt Hagen being cut in the trailer and the running scene with Hagen later being hit by a car after he scares himself with his own reflection in a store window
I'm so excited, kinda nervous, and slightly peeved about this movie but I know it's gonna be a fun watch either way
Sorry guys, rn I’m a little self conscious about my writing at the moment and I’m not entirely sure why 😕 I’ll try to keep myself busy at the moment behind the scenes and write the best I can over the Summer.
The ones I said I’ll write in a previous post will be put on pause for the moment and the only one I’ve finished is a Clayface one. Not sure when I’ll post it though…
currently writing a Matt Hagen fic or two in the meantime while waiting for another clayface trailer to drop 🙂↕️ currently listening to olivia rodrigo’s new album as inspo
