#and me projecting onto fictional characters | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pr-incey · 20 hours

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For a while—after being exposed to the antiship movement, because goodness knows I didn't care about this when I was younger—I wondered *why* fiction and reality were so different in my head. Why I could happily see things depicted in fiction that would make me sick to my stomach or upset me to tears just from thinking of it happening in real life. I couldn't come up with a reason for this for a while, which caused me distressed and made me worried that I might secretly be a terrible person after all.

But I've done some thinking and I've figured it out. Or, rather, I've returned to the mindset that came so easy to me in the past and probably did to a lot of people before the well was poisoned.

When I see a fictional character, I don't see a person. I don't see a person like *me*, anyway. I see a person within that piece of fiction's universe; a plane of existence that is wholly different from my own. Lines and colour, words on a page, virtual drawings being played sequentially at a speed that simulates movement. Sure, the written passage, 'He had eyes, ears and a mouth' is a representation of what *I* am, and what other people around me are, but it is fundamentally a plane of existence that is *alien* to me.

An alien is something that is decidedly not human. I feel empathy for other humans because I can relate to them. I have no desire to hurt them because I either know what it is like to be hurt in that way, or I can imagine what it would be like. I know the harm it would do to them, which illicits a reaction of disgust and apprehension in me. 'That's terrible,' I think, which simply kills any desire to cause any harm to a real person or do any disgusting actions.

This is why predators are such terrible people. They are fully aware of the harm their actions will cause and then go ahead with them anyway.

But with a fictional character, it's different in these ways:

1. First of all, we have to remember that they AREN'T human and so whatever I feel towards them cannot accurately mirror whatever I feel towards real flesh and blood individuals. They're projections of humanity from OTHER people in whatever medium they choose, but fictional characters are—and I cannot stress this enough—NOT HUMAN. If I pull off the head of a Barbie doll, does that mean I have the desire to behead someone in real life? Does it mean that I MUST have the urge to behead someone in real life, because a barbie doll is a 'representation' of a person? Your answer, I'm hoping, is no. Because Barbie is not human.

2. And because fictional characters are not human, I don't have empathy for them. Not REAL empathy, anyway, the type that stops the desire to cause harm. When I 'violate' a fictional character, it illicits at most only superficial disgust because I know that character will not live with the lasting consequences of my actions. They're a projection, a facsimile.

So that might bring you to another question, 'Even if they're not real, why would you WANT to do that to them, anyway?'

That I can't answer. The human brain is weird. Sometimes, people have dark urges. If a kid tosses their Barbie onto the ground and seems to take pleasure in it falling, can that accurately say they want to push a real person onto the ground? If someone seems to enjoy a violent video game like GTA where they can run people over and shoot them to their heart's content, is that a surefire way to know that they want to do those things to real people? I wouldn't say it is. Would you?

The final thing to remember is that it's not completely black and white. A serial killer might have been 'inspired' by a violent horror story, whereas the actual author of that story is a nice, well-adjusted individual. People with the desire to hurt actual humans might make do with projections, but it does not change the fact that they actually want to HARM people. The fiction didn't make them want to do that. They already did, and probably would have even if they didn't discover said fiction. And horrible people CAN make their own 'projections'.

Generally though I believe it is obvious when someone is just playing with dolls, and when someone is exhibiting an actual desire to hurt somebody.

#proship safe #proshippers please interact #proship #profic #just thinking

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fellshish · 7 months

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I love long haired femme presenting and genderfluid crowley to death but also i like to headcanon that the reason crowley is going for a more masc look and a short hairstyle in these modern times is because his feelings for aziraphale have risen more and more to the surface and his male presentation is a reflection of him seeing this as an inherently queer love that he wants to present as queer to the world

#good omens #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #watch me project my own stuff onto fictional characters lol #but i hope you guys get what i mean here #trans

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potatobugz · 3 months

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eek! scary!

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explodingstarlight · 1 year

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returning to my baby donnie roots

#i was doodling at lunch #there he is the lad #yes he has a sticker on the mug #mikey added it and he didn't have it in him to remove it #he actually washes the mug very carefully to keep the sticker from getting wet because it's special #shut up i can and will project my rare sentimentality onto a fictional character ahshshs #shout out to anyone who actually reads all these tags #and shout out to the cool moot snailsnaps for actually giving me the push needed to actually start drawing the turtles #it's fun :)#moment of weakness and sentiment over enjoy the cute purple turtle and all that /lh #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt fanart #my art #explodingstar art #e stars scribblez #turtle tot donnie #turtle tots #rise donnie #rise donatello #tmnt #tmnt donatello #even as a child donnie knew edison was a fukcing hack atta boy #i actually was in a lot of stem classes and so i have a lot of beef with many historical figures in the sciences #don't get me started

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hardly-an-escape · 3 months

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Stormy Weather, or: Outside, the Wind (Inside, the Light) | Dream/Hob | 1600 words | Rated T

tags: I recently spent an evening without power therefore I must put the blorbos in a Situation, love confessions, first kiss, getting together, power outages, Hob Gadling throughout history, gratuitious use of mildly accurate Middle English

The wind tears around London like a living thing, a wild animal, a predator, intent on the hunt. It chases birds into their nests and people into their homes, moans around corners and rattles shutters, sending piles of leaves whirling into miniature hurricanes and whipping branches into a frenzy, sharpening its claws on roof tiles and telephone poles.

Except in Hob Gadling’s flat.

The New Inn, and the cozy home above it, is in one of those old buildings that’s actually been loved and maintained – thanks in no small part to Hob’s own care and attention. The walls are thick and strong, the roof is solid. The shutters may rattle, but the windows are double-pane; the curtains and carpets are warm and soft, and no drafts encroach on the sanctity of his living room, where Hob and Lord Morpheus, King of Dreams, are having a movie night.

It’s part of Hob’s concerted effort to introduce the Prince of Stories to the stories he’d missed during his imprisonment. Tonight it’s Blade Runner – the final cut, of course – which isn’t necessarily one of Hob’s personal favorites, but seemed to fit the stormy, rainy vibes of the weather. They’re installed on the couch, with hot chocolate and wine and snacks, which Dream has deigned to pick at. Harrison Ford is eating noodles and wandering through wet, moodily-lit streets. The wind is howling outside, but they’re safe and warm and surrounded by soft things and life is about as good, Hob thinks, as it ever gets these days.

And then his lights flicker. Once, twice; there is the impression of a sort of electrical last gasp, and the room is plunged into darkness.

The wind whips and the shutters rattle. A volley of rain spits itself against the windows.

“Bugger,” says Hob.

Dream says nothing, merely brings his wineglass – which had already been cradled in one elegant hand – to his lips.

“Hang on,” says Hob. “I’ve got some candles around here somewhere.”

He gropes his way to the kitchen. In one drawer he unearths some beeswax tapers and several tea lights, which he arranges on a plate. He rummages in one of the deeper cabinets and makes a triumphant noise as he discovers his prize behind disused mugs and a fondue set from the 1980s: a pair of old-fashioned brass candlesticks equipped with round reflectors, highly polished to catch the light and bounce it back out into the darkness.

“You are remarkably well-prepared for an event such as this,” says Dream, as Hob lights his various prizes and returns to the living room with his hands full of flickering flames.

“Well, you know,” Hob demurs. “When it comes down to it, I’ve lived a lot more of my life without electricity than with it.” He arranges the tea lights on the coffee table and sets the brass candlesticks on a nearby bookshelf. “You never really get out of the habit of preparing for the worst. Although I will say, these beeswax ones beat the hell out of the old tallow jobbies we had when I was young. Got ‘em from a local bloke who keeps bees not half a mile away, isn’t that cool? A beekeeper in the middle of London. There, now,” he says, and having arranged the lights to his satisfaction he plops himself back down on the sofa.

Outside, the wind wails. The lack of lamps on the empty street below and the gentle candlelight within make the night seem even darker, and turn Hob’s living room into something even softer and cozier than it already is.

Dream’s face, in the flickering candles, seems even more otherworldly than usual; and Hob, for his part, truly looks as though he belongs in another century. The very shape of his face has changed, somehow, into something older; taking on a new appearance in the candlelight the way a man’s tongue might curl differently around the syllables of another language.

“I miss it, sometimes,” he says lowly. “This kind of world. Before the wires and the phones and the cars. It was… quieter.”

“You speak often of your delight in change and progress. Do you truly long for your past lives?” asks Dream.

“Yes and no,” answers Hob. “Some things are better now, no question. Antibiotics, wouldn’t want to live without those again. Vaccines and X-rays and chemotherapy and antidepressants – almost all the medical stuff. Mass transportation. Cars and planes have never been safer. Honestly, I’ve never understood the people who moan about the olden days and oh, life was simpler back then. Don’t they know how many people died? How many kids? Because they caught a cold or fell out of a tree or had a case of the runs that lasted a little too long?”

He leans forward to adjust one of the candles, which is dripping unevenly, and when he sags back into the couch there is just the hint of a frown between his strong brows.

“And yet…” he says, staring into the flames, voice quiet. “Nights like this. I do sometimes think…”

Hob trails off for a long moment.

“There was a rhythm to life, back then,” he says finally. “You counted hours by the church bells and days by the tasks that needed done. And there was so much that needed to be done… cows milked and fields planted and clothes knitted or mended. And it was all so important, so… necessary. Regimented. But in the in between time – Christ! your time wast thine.” As he speaks, his voice has slipped into an older register: his Rs grown rounder, his vowels longer, curling from his mouth to mingle with the candlesmoke hovering over his coffee table. “I remember fair hours as a lad, even into my manhood, of which I spent lyende in th’ fields, watching ants in th’ grass. And later, too, we’d hie us to bed with the sonne, the fire banked in the hearth. An’ it happen that if we awakened before dawn, ’twas a simple thing to pass the time in simple ways, be it in prayer or in pleasure…”

The innuendo in his words is clear, but Hob is not looking at Dream; his eyes are unfocused as he stares into the middle distance, revisiting the past via candlelight. Until one of the wicks lets out a small pop, and flares, and he shakes himself, coming back to the present.

“God, sorry,” he says, voice back in the 21st century. “Woolgathering. I’ll go on for an age, me. More wine?”

But Dream’s eyes have also gone unfocused, his lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling with unnecessary breaths as he stares – no, gazes – at Hob. He, too, must shake himself into the present moment at Hob’s offer of more wine. He silently holds out his glass.

“May I ask you a personal question?” Dream says.

“Anything. You know that.”

Dream pauses. Sips. Outside, the sound of the wind has not abated; has grown, if anything, even more dramatic. There is the muffled sound of branches scraping against the side of the building.

“Why,” asks Dream finally, “do you pretend to yourself that you do not want me?”

Hob chokes. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Why do you pretend thus to me?” Dream pursues. “Who has known you longer than any being on this planet or any other; who can know your innermost dreams?”

“What do you mean, other planets?” Hob demands. And then: “Have you been peeking at my dreams?”

“I need not peek, as you put it, to see the truth of the matter. It is writ plain on your face and in your every word and deed. I merely wonder why this truth has hovered before us for over six hundred years and you have yet to press your suit. Do you doubt, after all this time, my affection for you? Do you find me – unworthy?”

Dream sounds, impossibly, almost uncertain. Even vulnerable. Hob sighs heavily and leans forward, elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

“I – God. Dream,” he stammers. “Yes, Christ, I am full of doubts. You stormed away from me when I implied you might be lonely, I… I have never, once, thought I had a suit to press at all. What on earth has brought this on? Now, of all times?”

“I do not know,” Dream murmurs. “Perhaps… this darkness is working on me, as well. Perhaps I am as susceptible to candlelight and nostalgia as the next anthropomorphic personification.”

He smiles, a little quirk of the mouth that contains worlds, and Hob leans over, listing helplessly into Dream’s space as the tapers flicker.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together, turning his head to butt his cheekbone against the sharp line of Dream’s nose. “Art thou rēal? Speak you treue?”

“Aye, my Hob,” answers Dream. “Min herte is treue and bilongeth to you.”

A sob catches in the back of Hob’s throat at the words. “Fuck,” he whispers again, “Dream, I’m yours. I am. I always have been. My Dream, min sweven, my leof. Alwei, allesweis…”

Their mouths find each other, then, finally, lip against lip and breath against breath. They kiss for a long, long moment, desperate and hungry and soft all at once, as outside the wind howls coldly around the corners of the New Inn, and inside the light cast by Hob’s candles bathes their whole little world in a cozy glow.

“Take me to bed,” murmurs Dream against Hob’s mouth. “Make me your lover. Show me how you pass the time by candlelight, and in darkness.”

“Oh, darling. Dearheart,” Hob answers. “Nothing in this world or any world past could make me happier.”

And he suits his actions to his words.

#my writing #the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #a needlessly complicated title for a truly simple little fic #I've already written this basic premise so many times AND I'LL DO IT AGAIN #the archaic English Hob uses in this fic is based on the most cursory googling #just tell yourself it's all over the place because historically English is.... all over the place #my unpopular opinion is that I think Blade Runner is overrated and yes I will project my opinions onto fictional characters #as usual this started in one place and went in another direction entirely #may post on AO3 tomorrow if the spirit so moves me

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shadeops21 · 2 months

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Rules/Recommendations for writing an Australian character/OC

(The following is just a list of things I personally feel should be included or considered if one makes a character of Australian nationality, descent or heritage. It by no means is a hard and fast ruleset, but just things that can be done to enhance a character’s flavour or add a little authenticity)

Shortened nicknames for fellow characters that follow Australian Shortening Conventions: multi-syllablic names are condensed down to one, and an -a/ah, -o, -zza, -y, or -sy is added, eg: McKenzie (or and Mc name) > Macca, Damien > Damo (Day-mo), Jeremy > Jezza.

Swearing. This is actually a common trap I’ve seen, with some Australian characters being less reserved in their language than others. This will depend on the specific background of your Aussie, as vulgarity is moreso a commonality in smaller cities and rural spaces, and less so in larger built-up cities. That said, we do tend to through the more vulgar words around with greater frequency than other cultures, with f### and c### being thrown around more freely.

Slang. Again another trap, especially with older “stereotypical” Australian slang that I personally hear more from my grandparents and older uncles and aunts and less so my own peers + 10 years. That said, some terms are still used very frequently and have no generational boundaries, including but not limited to: ute (pickup truck), bottle-o (liquor store), servo-o (service/petrol station), “the shops” (any centralised marketplace from your general stores to large malls), booze bus (roadside randomised breath testing/DUI checkpoints, some which do both alcohol and drug testing), hoon (reckless driver, typically young males in cars too powerful to handle at their skill level).

Weather tolerances. This varies based on a character’s geographical background, but you’ll find that most Australians have higher than normal levels of tolerance to extreme heat. However, those that live around the Brisbane latitude and north have decreased tolerances to cooler temperatures, decreasing the further north you go. (Personally I find myself pulling on long sleeves and hoodies after it hits 20 or cooler.)

There’s probably more here, but it’s approaching 10pm for me at time of writing, so for my Aussie followers/mutuals, please feel free to expand upon or add your own tips or recommendations to writing Australian characters in a believable fashion. Curious to see what they are!

#ramblings #australia #australian characters #definitely not trying to project my own personal feelings onto others #but the number of stereotypes i read in fiction and fan fiction is starting to aggravate me #like some of y’all have never actually spoke to an Australian person and it shows #even if i am guilty of employing some of these tropes and stereotypes to an extent in my own writing

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alicornze7 · 2 months

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“I’m not projecting”

#No one can relate to this struggle:(#I swear this only happens to me wth #Any type of strong emotions will immediately reduce me to tears #Soggy and soaked pathetic wet cat-#-Dassss me!:D #tadc gangle #tadc jax #ribbun #she's just like me fr #I love projecting my problems onto fictional characters I like #And labeling it as a headcanon #I can come up with roasts that’ll give 3rd degree burns #But only on a screen #Cuz the worst I can say to you irl is #“I-I think you're a-! *snifffff*...jerk” >:’(

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dogtooth-sunday · 2 months

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Commentors on my fanfics: wow, the way you write mental breakdowns and anxiety and depression and dissociation are so realistic!

Me: haha yeah, how about that

#dog's desk #fanfiction #slaps roof of me #this bad boy can fit so much projecting onto characters I relate to #tbf I'm way better than I used to be it's just cathartic to be able to write out those experiences through fiction

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bloggingboutburgers · 8 months

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hello! has anyone ever told you how gender your little aroace guy is? bc like. thats a gender i wanna eat. just a pocket sized person. the coziness in the pullover is 10/10.

I enjoy your comics, thank you for making them! I hope you are having a great day!

Aww, thank you!! That look is actually based off a nonbinary character design I came up with in 2020 for fun, which in turn, as it turns out, has most likely accidentally been based off how my partner looks in real life... And yeah I can confirm they ARE very gender, and very cosy in sweaters. So I guess that just happened 🙈

PS: hgjfklgdf I'm so goddamn rude but - I hope you're having a great day as well! <3

#thefebruaryfriday #gender #original character #back in 2020 i projected onto two character designs that wound up being reflections of me and my partner #except i stole my partner's looks for myself i guess #now i just default to those for privacy and because it's easier to be physically consistent with fictional designs #but ye that's about the jist of it

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yourleftpinkytoe-blog · 2 months

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Andrew Minyard listens to the song “Don’t speak” by no doubt.

No I will not take criticism on this.

#aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court #andrew minyard #the foxes #aftg fanart #neil josten #andrew minyard fanart #andreil #neil josten fanart #it’s such a cunty song #Andrew minyard is cunty #(maybe this one is just me projecting onto fictional characters again lol)

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nburkhardt · 7 months

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Enjoy this tiny thing based on my life:

There’s a large age gap between Steve and his older sister, about twenty years difference. With that said, he has nieces that are tiny and young that he loves with all his heart. He sees them even more than he sees anyone else, since they all live together.

He doesn’t mind tagging along on adventures with them or having to have a little shadow when he goes out. It makes life a little more fun with them around.

Something he didn’t realize he’d get used to is losing personal space.

He’s clingy and nosy but it’s nothing on his nieces. They’ll all be in the living room where there’s a number of spaces available to sit and he’ll be sitting down relaxing when all of a sudden a tiny body is climbing up on him and decides he’s the perfect spot to watch tv at, instead of any other spot.

They do move around, getting comfortable sitting either on top of his legs or moving to his shoulders, sometimes even jumping off him only to hop back on and elbowing him all over. Steve’s learn to brace himself for when it happens, sometimes he still flinches completely.

(It doesn’t come to a surprise when he’s ready for Robin’s clinginess; welcomes it actually. Eventually, he’ll also welcome it and he’ll get clingier when he gets together with Eddie)

I didn’t want to name Steve’s family or even write dialogue. Just wanted to write something since I’ve been out of it for a bit now. Anyway, this is based on true events. As in, my sister really is twenty years older than me and she has two young daughters that absolutely have no sense of personal space whatsoever. I got picture proof under the cut hahaha (also under the cut is the taglist)

@spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @estrellami-1 @strangersteddierthings

This is one of my nieces using my legs to lay on instead of you know, anything else hahaha.

#Steve Harrington #platonic stobin #implied steddie #nburkhardt writes #projecting onto fictional characters #no but seriously these girls are obsessed with using me as a jungle gym and a piece of furniture #also yes I do get called their mom half the time too since I’m old enough to have kids their age 😵‍💫

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snootchie-mcsnootchface · 6 months

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Never really bought season 1 Izzy as being homophobic. But a hurt and confused aro/ace Izzy makes all the sense to me.

I mean - the heartbreak and the bitterness of suddenly having to share your best friend in the world with their romantic partner? Wondering if someone has hit your mate over the head with a shovel, because why else would they choose some total fucking stranger over you?? It used to be you two against the world, and now you're just a third wheel, desperately trying to compete with somebody who's playing a whole different game you didn't even know existed??

And then season 2 Izzy realising that sometimes your bff falling in love just means you got a "buy one get one free" deal on friends. And actually you can have a whole community of people who love you and care about you, and you don't have to rely on one single person to throw you a scrap of affection every now and then.

You will never be canon aro/ace Izzy, but you will always have a special place in my heart

#don't mind me projecting onto a fictional character #just have a lot of feelings about a silly little pirate show atm #izzy hands #ofmd #ace stuff

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five-of-cr · 4 months

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ohhhhh i relate so much to wylan despite having had very different life experiences because he's been haunted by an unshakeable fear since childhood and wears shame like a shadow. ok

#and the grief of course #this is what jack means when he says he sees so much of himself in wylan and approaches everything with fear first #me too king #i've overanalyzed the core traits all my favorite characters have in common to hell and back and i'm not sure i like what it says about me #do i think i am fundamentally unloveable? the therapist in my brain says no but the projection onto fictional characters says otherwise #anyway #six of crows #soc #shadow and bone #sab #crooked kingdom #the crows #wylan van eck #wylan hendriks #jack wolfe #grishaverse

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losticaruss · 1 year

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man the scene after lockwood and lucy escape winkman's always messes me up. not just because lucy probably the first person in years to call lockwood out on his carelessness and recklessness, but also because of how lockwood responds to lucy. the pause before lucy asks "what is going on with you" and lockwood opens his mouth to speak, and nothing comes out, and he ends up staring at his shoes until lucy changes the topic. cause that is how it is though, when you're hurting and someone who cares takes your head in their hands and makes you look at what you've done, really look. and it's been years for him, years since anyone's asked that question to him, and he wants to talk about it, he realizes. he wants to tell her why he acts the way he does. but he's been hurting for so long, and for so long he's been telling himself that he's fine and he can figure it out on his own, that now it's not him that's stopping him from opening up to lucy, not anymore. somewhere in his mind, years ago, something switched, and talking about what he's going through and has gone through is like trying to break through a brick wall with your bare hands. "what is going on with you?" and he opens his mouth- let me tell you, let me let you in, give me this chance, just this once- but he can't, because what if she pities him? what if she hates him or, perhaps even worse, what if she doesn't? what if, after all this time, all of this effort of working things out on his own, what if she doesn't hate him for it, what if she takes his hand and says "it's okay. it's okay, you're okay. i understand, and im with you all the way". what if she makes it better, like she has in the past and does in the future? what if he's the idiot for not telling her? so he says nothing- he lets the question hang in the air, and he lets her give up on it. because he needs to be the one to have all the answers- he needs to solve the problems. if she doesn't hate him, then he hates himself all the more for not realizing the answer was in front of him the whole time. so she gives up, and he lets her. it's more comfortable that way, anyways.

#this scene makes me so feral #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #locklye #time to project onto fictional characters baby!!

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