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treybriggsthewriter · 4 years

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This makes me nervous, but I’m going to post it. I’m going to try my best to achieve my goals. I’ve put in a ton of work already, so I’m looking for additional help.

From the campaign:

My name is Trey Briggs, and I'm a black woman who writes paranormal horror, speculative fiction, and other types of fiction. You can find my stories at MaybeTrey , Astrid the Devil , and on Instagram , Medium , and Wattpad .

My stories are aimed at black people who want to read dark stories that focus on original black characters that are complex and interesting. I genuinely believe Black audiences deserve a variety of genres to delve into, and I want to introduce them to paranormal horror, dark romance, and fantasy that they haven't gotten enough of in the past. I also believe that this can be done across multiple mediums, and I spend my money with black creative professionals to make these experiences extend beyond my words. For the last two years, I've run my stories on sites and Instagram to great reception. I like to craft complex experiences that offer looks at character backgrounds, side and backstories, full websites for each title, and more. I also provide encyclopedias, maps, audio journals, and other ways to get into each world. During these last few years, I've run into a lot of walls, jumped a lot of hurdles, and tried my best. I've worked with amazing black artists, voice actors, and actresses, musicians, designers, and more. I trust my ability to run a project, especially when it comes to planning and finding talent. My overall goal is to run a team of black creatives that crafts novels, graphic novels, audio experiences, and animated series for a dedicated audience.

Why I Need Help Long story short: I have the skill, I have the marketing/website building/business experience, and I have the drive. There's a lot I can do on my own, but there's also a lot that gets left behind because I don't have the money I need to proceed at a steady pace. I need help with funding so I can focus, hire the right people, and craft these stories the way they deserve to be crafted. I have thus far spent over $60,000 of my own money on my projects over the past two years - the writing and site-building are easy for me; the rest has to be hired out. I have art, site costs for hosting, domains, templates, specific plugins, and maintenance, audio (and vocal artists to pay), musical, and editing costs. I'm by no means rich or even particularly financially stable. I have taken on tons of extra clients for my digital marketing business, transcribed hundreds of hours of audio for dirt cheap, and taken out personal loans. I even worked a second full-time job along with my full-time business last year to afford to produce the content I love. It's starting to take a toll on my mental health. I plan on continuing to fund these projects out of pocket (and finding ways to do so), but having financial help, however big or small, would allow me to move a lot faster and with less stress. It would let me flesh out ideas and concepts that I have had to scrap because I can only physically handle so much extra work. I run a full-time marketing business from home, homeschool my autistic 10-year-old, and generally have a busy life. Some of the strain is taking a toll on me, and I don't want to give up. Having some financial backing could allow me to drop a client or two after a few months and focus on the work I love to do.

How You Can Help I mainly need a start—a sort of base. I want to emphasize that I plan to continue to provide the main bulk of funding for my projects. I know my goals are ambitious, and I know each step will take time and money. I welcome any help to make the process smoother and to get around the initial hurdles. I'd like to have ebooks and novels offered on my site by the end of the year (along with the free serials and stories). Funding means that I can broaden the projects, include more free aspects to my sites, and secure direct financing through sales of ebooks and audiobooks sooner. It also means that I can offer MORE stories, whether they are online only or fully fleshed out novels and sites. I am swamped with trying to work enough to cover all my bills and creative projects, so I lose a lot of time I could spend plotting and writing. If I have better funding, I can get my stories out quicker (and with fewer mistakes).

The Initial Stories Let's talk about my stories! If you're familiar with my work already, you can skip to the next section. My main story site is Maybe Trey . Currently, I have two big titles and a bunch of smaller ones that I am seeking help with funding: Astrid the Devil

Astrid the Devil is the complicated story of a girl who inherits not only her family's features and DNA, but their fears, struggles, and fights. It's the story of a condition called Devil Syndrome, the women who suffer it, and the monsters that devour them. It's the story of the fight to save the people you love at the expense of innocent lives. At its core, Astrid the Devil is the story of a woman who inherits the chaos of three generations before her. It's a look at what is truly passed down to our children, and how they're left to fight our battles in the aftermath of our failures. It's the tale of an indescribable monster and the women who struggle to defeat it. It's a journey into how their every decision could save or destroy an entire world. Astrid the Devil is the story of Astrid Snow, but her story can't be told without the story of the women before her.

Vicious: On MaybeTrey and The Vicious site (in progress)

Somewhere, a war is brewing. That's the only thing that's for sure to Junnie Gorton, a young horned girl suffering from a debilitating disease called Horn Rot. She typically dealt with her low survival rate and abnormally large horns by escaping the world with her best friend, Lewish. Now she's forced to figure out which side is which, save her entire species, and find out the truth behind the sudden uprising in her home. Horn Rot, a highly contagious and violent disease spreading through horned people, is causing mass amounts of madness and death. Normal horns grow in ways that will pierce, suffocate, and maim their owners, and the only one who can stop it is Junnie's mother, Lyria. As Lyria falls deeper and deeper into an anti-social revolt, the country reels. While Junnie broods, her entire species must prepare for mass extinction. Her brother plots with a group of people with less than good intentions and Lewish is quieter than usual. In a civilization brought up on extreme violence and competition, Junnie and Lewish try their best not to get swallowed by their culture, their lives, or their horns.

Bunni and Bosque :

Bunni lives. Bosque dies. We all know how this story starts. Bunni is obsessed with destruction and death. She comes from the healthiest Horned family in her country. She's from the oldest, purest bloodline in the world. And she's bored with it. Bunni spends most of her time trying to escape her duties as a pureblood. She wants things dirty, messy, foul, inconsistent. Having parents that are willing to kill to keep their bloodline pure is annoying. Knowing that she'll live a long, full life, produce more perfect children, and die unscathed is agonizing. Bunni wants something to mourn. We all know how this story ends. Bosque is destined to die an agonizing death, alone on his family's land. He's watched everyone he loved and grew up with perish. Sometimes it was because of their disease. Sometimes it was because of the malice and hatred of others. While he's absolutely withdrawn and satisfied with his life, Bosque has never had a chance to live it. He spends his days basking in the sun, bathing in wood baths, and contemplating the end. Bosque isn't interested in joining the rest of the world. He'd rather die out, alone, where his family belonged. Bosque wants to go peacefully. But neither expected to meet each other one day in a supermarket. Neither expected to fall in love, lust, and every vicious and dirty thing between. Neither expected to be so right for each other, all while being wrong for everyone else. You know the end of this story. Bunni lives, Bosque dies. But maybe something will change.

My smaller titles, Bunni and Bosque /Aite and Jude, can be found at Maybe Trey .

The Business Plan

The initial phase of my business plan is to get the sites populated with ebooks and audiobooks for sale. I also have prints that can be sold. Right now, I am in the audience-building phase while I save up for editing the full novels.

In terms of an actual business with which to publish the stories, I already have a registered publication company in Illinois: Wolfless Studios LLC. I took this step earlier this year with plans to self-publish Astrid and Vicious. So that is paid for and done.

I have also gotten initial editing done on the first six chapters of Astrid, though it will need to be edited from the beginning again once everything is said and done. I've spent over $1000 on that so far, and it would go a lot faster if I didn't need to save up to edit each chapter.

Astrid the Devil is fully plotted, outlined, and only needs the last three chapters. Bunni and Bosque and Vicious are newer, but plotted and already deep into character development (all being shared across social and Wattpad for audience growth). Aite and Jude and other shorts are plotted, and three other unshared stories are plotted and at the editing phase.

Other costs and ways I would use the funding (I would still put in my own money and do as much on my own as possible):

Initial $30K

$6000 - $7000 Line and Copy edits for Astrid (currently at 250000+ words/expecting over 300000 at $0.02 rate)

$6000 - $7000 Line and Copy Edits for Vicious

$3000 - $4000 Line and Copy Edits for Bunni and Bosque

ISBN Purchases (Separate ISBN for each format for each book) - https://www.myidentifiers.com/identify-protect-your-book/barcode

Covers for Astrid/Vicious/B&B Print Versions

Site Hosting Costs and Maintenance for 2 Years

Site completion for all stories

Initial store and app development

40K - Marketing and Graphic Novels

Social, Print, and Web ads

Email Marketing Campaigns

Booths at Decatur Book Festival (depending on COVID)

Social ads and promos

50 to 60 pages

First two chapters offered as free promo with email sign-ups

Audio journals for each character

Situational audio journals

Encyclopedia for Astrid (finishing up)/Vicious

65K - Hires and Next Phases

Ability to hire a Full-Time Editor

Audio Series for each (professionally done)

Vicious Graphic Novel

Additional Title Added

Short animations for both Vicious and Astrid (with plans to fund more with book sales)

Fleshed out Story Sections (Novellas for each character of each series)

Short comic series with Astrid and Vicious side characters

Possible to plan out monthly subscription service with new stories and 'story package' deliveries

75K -

Astrid the Devil Graphic Novel

Vicious Graphic Novel

Astrid the Devil Animated Short

Ability to hire part-time Web Developer

Additional bigger title

Anything Over - I ascend into pure light. And also, I can add titles, cover more mediums, and eventually expand my publishing to other black creatives.

From there, I should be able to handle the funding via sales of books, comics, audio, and more. Again, I will always offer mostly free content across the sites.

I believe in proof of concept, and I have diehard fans on my social platforms. With no outside funding, I've been able to a lot on my own. I'd love to expand my business into one that does the same for other black authors, artists, voice actors, and animators somewhere down the line.

Thank you so much for your consideration. I appreciate all my readers, present and future, and I appreciate any help!

See incentives and more on the actual campaign: https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-trey-publish-black-paranormal-horror-stories

Thank you so much!

#support black authors #writeblr #support black creators #black creators #original characters #original story #donate #buy black #black businesses #my writing #Astrid the Devil #Vicious #Bunni and Bosque #Aite and Jude #Trey Briggs the Writer #paranormal horror #speculative fiction #gofundme

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bangtanfancamp · 3 years

Text

∴ summary: After spending a gloomy afternoon trying to get out of your own head alone , you finally seek out your boyfriend for help

∴ masterlist

∴ one shot

∴ pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader

∴ word count: 2k

∴ rating: pg-13

∴ genre: soft angst, comfort, established relationship

∴ warnings: oc is struggling with something akin to depression, it’s alluded to but not explicitly stated

∴ author’s note: this is incredibly self indulgent and was written in one go. I’ll edit later. I’d rather have it here to share sooner in case anyone needs it as much as me.

─────────────────────

“Joonie, what are you doing? Are you busy?” Your voice comes out small as you peak around the corner into his office, sweater pawed knuckles sneaking around the edge of the door frame.

He doesn’t look up at first. Perhaps you really were too quiet. Or maybe he’s just that immersed in his book. It’s not a cover you’ve seen before so it very well may be the latter. You know how he is when he has a new thing to get lost in. Ever your astronaut adrift, exploring the moons just beyond whatever new world he’s found.

He looks so at home now. Cozy in his den of words and letters. Perfectly domestic amidst lofty thoughts and paragraphs. His skin is mostly bare today, his coordinated tank top and shorts exposing a golden expanse of toned arms, long legs . They’re folded up and crossed, a little boy lost in wonder as he sits on his futon.

His hair is a warm chestnut this week, fringe too long around the lashes but too short to pull back. The way it refuses to cooperate when he brushes it out of his eyes, trickling silkily, stubbornly back into place, exactly where it wants to be, makes you want to chuckle.

He still hasn’t noticed you’re there. Too far gone in whatever his newest philosophy is to notice the way you study the dip of his furrowed brow, how it juxtaposes against the relief of his shadowed dimples, smiling even as he frowns. He finds so much pleasure in being studious— just for fun. No matter how much concentration it takes. You’ve always admired that about him. Admired everything about him really.

Clearing your throat, though you hate to interrupt him, you try again.

“Joonie?”

Somehow it’s even quieter than before, and as he turns another reverent page, you know you’ll have to physically intervene to interrupt him. You sigh. You hate to break the spell. He loves days like this—with the rain trickling down the window’s glass casting shadows on his focused face— he’s so happy to read when it rains.

He leans forward then without looking up to take a sip of his Earl grey, bumbling when the steam unexpectedly fogs his glasses. He laughs at himself, folding his book so it splays across the seat to mark his place and removing his glasses. It’s the first time he’s looked up. He spots you then, his face splitting into the smoothest “there’s my girl” smile you’ve ever seen.

“Hey… how long have you been standing there?” His voices comes low, warm, soothes something in you that desperately needs rest.

“Long enough to see you blind yourself with tea, it seems.” You try to smile back, but it’s a weak, floppy thing. Your cheeks can’t seem to commit so it falls a bit too flat. His brows pinch when he sees it. Something’s amiss.

“Hey… are you okay?” His inscrutable eyes analyze you, and you let him. Too tired to resist or put up a fight.

“It’s not my day, joonie.” Your voice is pitiful, even to your own ears. You’d normally wince at sounding like this in front of anyone else. But honestly, it’s okay. It’s Namjoon you’re with. You don’t have to play games or hide things. Not here. Not with him.

“Yeah?” His eyes catch yours as his palms rub the tops of his thighs. It’s an invitation. You know the gesture by now.

“Yeah… again. There have been so many of these lately,” you say, crossing the room to him, his arms unfolding to welcome you into them. “They come too often and stay too long. They’re terrible house guests. I’m tired of them, joon. I can’t seem to get rid of them.”

You’re scooped against him now, head on the space between his neck and his chest, fingers twisted into his tank top, bum in his lap, knees tucked up til you’re as small as you can get. There’s a broad palm of his on your back, fingertips on his other hand traveling the length of your arm in tender caresses as his cheek rests atop your head.

“Maybe we should start charging them rent. I bet even they can’t afford to pay that in this economy.” He offers the idea solemnly, fully committed to carrying out the metaphor that your mental health really is just an unfortunate airbnb plagued with hideously mannered squatters.

“You know, I love that about you, Joon.”

“My inability to pay rent?”

You nuzzle a sappy no into the heat of his neck,” dummy, your very real ability to never minimize things that are hard to me.”

The dip of his chest as he exhales is oddly soothing. It makes you feel like you’re being rocked and god if you don’t need to be cradled right now. “Things have been really hard lately, haven’t they?” He wonders aloud.

“It isn’t just my perception?” You look up, eyes entirely too pitiful, too round to belong to a functioning adult. No, Namjoon’s heart goes soft as he realizes he’s looking at the eyes of a very scared four year old you. The haunted gaze of an innocent girl who never got told everything would be alright. Even without knowing any more than that, it makes him want to cry.

“No, my sweet girl, it’s not.” Closing his eyes, he presses somber lips to your forehead, scooping you close to shield you— from the world, from yourself, from all the insidious things that took root in you so long ago you’re not even sure how they got in. His wide hands grip you tighter, a feeble attempt to help hold you altogether.

It’s silent then. A few beats of quiet, only disrupted by the clumsy clatter of irreverent raindrops on glass. His caress stays steady against your soft sleeves, his languid fingers perpetually in motion as he attempts to soothe the wounds that sit just beneath your skin.

You look up at him again, unsure what you’ll find.

You almost cry when you see the gentleness in his eyes. No judgment anywhere within them. Just something kind that stretches into the lines his eyes carve as he smiles. How you itch to gently peel his horn rimmed glasses off the tip of his button nose and kiss it. Bless him.

God, you don’t know why he’s so nice to you, but you’re so glad that he is. The smile you give back to him is wobbly, trembly, poorly constructed— but so so sincere that it makes your sad eyes shine. He bumps your nose with his, burying himself against your forehead as you cocoon into him.

You want to ask him what he’s reading, listen intently to him as he tells you all about it, but you know you can’t. You can’t decipher anything today. It all feels too heavy. You can’t carry the weight of anything new with hands already full. At this point, you’ve lived in this soft hoodie of his , the one you stole after his tour two years back because it smelled like him, for the past 3 days. You don’t even have the energy to change. With that kind of retention rate, seems there’s no point in asking your brilliant professor to explain anything.

Still, it’s always so nice to hear his voice. Especially with your ear to his chest like this.

So you ask anyway.

“Will you read to me, Joonie? Life always feels better when you’re reading.” You press your face deep into the copper of his neck, an open mouthed kiss placed against his pulse.

“It’s all kind of theoretical,” he chuckles. He’s bashful. If holding you weren’t occupying his hands, you know they’d be nervously fiddling with the back of his neck. A nerdy boy with a too big brain hesitant to share his discoveries.

“Is it good though? You’ve already read Jung to me, and I stayed awake through that. I think I deserve more credit.” You poke his throat with your nose. You’re not genuinely affronted, it’s just nice to remind him you're competent too. Sometimes.

His sweet chuckle then is earthy and rich, all dark molasses. “True. You actually gave pretty good feedback for that too. Fine. Didn’t mean to underestimate you. Just… bear with me if it feels odd? I haven't read it before. I can’t vouch for it all yet.”

“Fine by me. I’m just here for the cuddles and my Kim Namjoon audiobook.”

He can feel your smile against his skin. It makes him press you just that extra little bit tighter against him, exhaling soft through his nose when he feels you return the gesture.

Scooping up his paperback, he adjusts his glasses where they’ve slipped down his nose, clearing his throat to project like the narrator he claims he’s not but loves to be. He’s quiet for a few more beats. You can hear pages rustling as you sink against his skin. You imagine he must be trying to find where he was when you interrupted, or perhaps searching for a passage that seems apropos. Which he chooses, you don’t know, but you can feel when he settles, just before his caramel voice sweetens the thin air of the room.

“It's the same with the wound in our hearts,” he begins. “ We need to give them our attention so that they can heal. Otherwise the wounds continue to cause us pain. Sometimes for a very long time. We're all going to get hurt. But here's the trick - they also serve an amazing purpose.

When our hearts are wounded that's when they open. We grow through pain. We grow through difficult situations. That's why you have to embrace each and every difficult thing in your life.”

You aren’t sure when your eyes opened, not sure when they began to glaze over or when you started to cry. But you did. And you are. The salty things dripping down against Namjoon’s silken skin. Your sweatered knuckles try to knock them away, but to no avail. Your cheeks are still a wet mess and now his collarbone is too.

“Joon, what is this? What are you reading?”

“Oh… um, it’s— terribly long title but— Into the Magic Shop: A Neurosurgeon's Quest to Discover the Mysteries of the Brain and the Secrets of the Heart. Isn't that a mouthful?” his laugh is self deprecating, small, but still the most beautiful sound.

God, you hate how sensitive and soft you are right now. You don’t want to be sitting here at 4pm in your boyfriend’s lap crying over a paragraph in a book you've never even heard of before, but here you are.

“ is that… what the whole book is about ?”

“You know, I don’t know. I haven’t read it all yet. Jackson recommended it, I’m just now getting to it. Why - do you not like it? I can put this down. Read you something else if this is too heavy. You always like the poetry. I can grab that one anthology you like.”

You can feel as he starts to shuffle beneath you, eager to track down new reading material for you, afraid he’s scared you off, when the fluttering weight of your palm tethers him to his spot.

“No, stay. Keep reading. I want to hear the rest.”

You can practically hear him smile. Relieved. Can feel his dimples manifest without even trying. He kisses your hair, tilts your chin up to kiss you too. The complexity of bergamot and black tea making his supple lips even more bewitching than normal. The window in the corner is cracked open, the humidity it leaks in making your skin sticky as you lean against him.

He’s lovely like this. The rain soaked air mixing with his natural scent, a broad hand on your chin, warm thumb beneath your lip as you mold pliant into his kiss. He ends it with a peck to your lips, a tap of his nose to your nose, before hoisting you so close against him you just may fuse together.

And he reads. He reads until he’s exhausted. Til the rain has stopped, and you’ve drifted to rest pressed against the skin of his chest.

He folds the book shut once your breathing has stilled, his thumb marking the page as he tips you both to lay down sideways. As he extends his pinprick tingling legs for the first time in ages, you hoist yourself around him in your sleep like a koala, and he chuckles. That’s usually his move.

He kisses your hair then, traipsing fingers tenderly through the escaped bits of it that brush across your cheeks. He wonders if you know how madly in love with you he is. How often he’s wondered what he’d do without you. Today, like most days lately, your light was dim, but still kelvins brighter than anyone else’s.

He sends a silent thank you to whatever deity arranged things in such a way that he can hold you to his chest like this as the daylight saving’s darkness floods his studio office. You seemed so sad today, but he knows it won’t last forever. It’ll pass. It always does. He’ll just hold you until it does. And then some.

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nat-20s · 3 years

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#10?

prompt 10- recognizing the other's voice in a crowded room

so uhh u didn't specify this being a pairing, and it ended up jonmartin lol

this is like? an au where one of the domains of the lonely (and also maybe stranger) plays off the specific loneliness that comes with parties. u kno the one, where you have fun for about an hour and then realize that you're fundamentally isolated and you need a breather?

anyway

~*~

Upon opening his eyes, he is not where he last remembers being. He is not sure how long his disorientation will last, but considering he's standing up right, at the edge of a crowded ballroom, he suspects it may be the entire time that he's here.

He had fallen asleep on the couch, the TV blaring away on a program he didn't know any of the details of. It hadn't mattered what was playing, as long as it had some of the natural rise and fall of other people speaking. He had been severely mising that lately, those gentle rhythms of conversation, and trying to listen to an audiobook while staring at his bedroom's popcorn ceiling just wasn't cutting it. So, TV dreaming it was.

Oh, that could be what was going on. An elaborate dream, constructed from the sound of a scenario he hadn't paid any attention to. He didn't think he'd fallen asleep watching anything to spark this kind of dreamscape, but that didn't mean much. It'd be oddly lucid, for a dream. And oddly sharp. His dreams, much like his memories, were always somewhat clouded over, and never as colorful as reality. Even his grayest waking days, of which there were many, had colors more distinct than what appeared in his mind's eye.

Simple test: he could never read or write in dreams. The words always swirled and distorted, and he somehow lost all manual dexterity. He needed a book, or a pencil, or both. He began to wander the ballroom, and abruptly realized that this was a masquerade, everyone wearing elaborate costumes with animal shaped masks. Did he fit in? Did he belong? He hoped he wasn't in what he fell asleep in, the worn hoodie and sweatpants barely worth making a grocery run in. The outside world wasn't supposed to see him looking comfortable, but presentable. He liked to think that if he left the apartment appearing at least somewhat put together, maybe people would believe that extended to other areas of his life. That it would be easier to ignore the increasingly dark circles under his eyes, that his nice sweater had been getting gradually looser as the tool of everything literally wore him down.

Small mercy, he wasn't like that now. A glance down showed that he was, like the rest of the guests? Captors? dressed to the nines. He has a suspicion that his own elaborate outfit, dark blues with gold and pearl embroidery, was a part of it. It was not a mercy to blend in here, it was a design element. Standing out would result in being noticed, being noticed meant being seen as an individual, and they can't have that.

It is with that line of thinking that he suddenly becomes aware of the weight of the mask on his face, the restriction of his sight through eyeholes. Looking into a teapot that's been polished to a mirrored shine, he see that he bears the incredibly crafted face of a field mouse. It would almost be plain, if it didn't have matching embroidery to his coat.

Fitting, he thought. It made him look smaller than he was, and he had so often wished to go unnoticed. A fly would've also worked, but he imagines it would be rather hard to make that into a suitably beautiful mask. Either way, he was level with the rest of the crowd. Even believing it to be part of the trick, even knowing that the masquerade was meant to make you false, there was some level of comfort to it. He was not going to be seen here. Instead someone more handsome, more charming, more even with his peers was allowed to take his place, as false as they were. Best of all, that's what all of them would be doing here, the whole appeal of a masquerade in leaving behind the person you loathe most and can never be free from.

Seems lonesome, for a party. So structured around the theater of it all. You can connect with countless people, and you don't get to actually connect with any of them at all.

Oh.

Oh, now this made all made sense. Crave interaction, and get a warped version of it.

He could see the napkins, emblazoned with a name that he didn't recognize, presumably the host, and, in much smaller font, the company name. Every one of them was consistent.

Easy enough to receive the message. This wasn't a dream. This was a punishment.

Hmm. Well, no, punishment might be the wrong term. Punishment implied that it was a consequence, a direct cause and effect of doing something wrong, by someone's definitions of "wrong". No this was. Torture is too strong of a word, and again, has the problem of making this seem willful. Deliberate. And maybe it was, but more likely, whatever this was had just sort of happened. A cruelty that comes with being in the universe they all happen to occupy.

This wasn't a dream. This was a consequence.

He doesn't know how to get out of here. He can't see any doors, and exits. The only approximation of one is some giant frosted glass that seem like they might lead to a balcony. They're only on the other end of the ballroom, but that lengths feels impenetrable, like it spans for miles and miles of harsh terrain.

There's a few options available to him.

One: Try to fall asleep, and see if he can get back to where he started. Lowest effort option, but he's pretty sure he hasn't been this fully awake in months. Maybe years. Something about the environment makes it feel as though electricity sparks throughout his entire body. It's an interesting sensation, certainly, akin to anxiety taken to an extreme degree, yet it's not particularly conducive to sleeping.

Two: Make a break for it. He doesn't know if there's anywhere to make a break for, but he also isn't sure how high up this place is. Maybe the balcony is a viable option for escape. Or maybe he'll find a door that had previously been hidden from him. Hell, maybe he won't fully escape, but he'll find somewhere quieter at the very least. Somewhere that he doesn't leave him so thoroughly dazed. This is probably the best option, even account for the wall of people surrounding him. But.

Option Three: Join the Dance.

Inadvisable. Foolish, really. The best outcome is..what? Is there a best outcome? Worst outcome is he's dancing forever, until his feet wear down to stubs of bone, until he dies, until he cant remember anything but the dance. Never a connection with any dancer, all of them, eventually, a blur of activity and nothing more.

Yet, it's what he's going to do. He's not the most curious person he knows, that honor goes to a man that he's been in love with for years, but can't grasp any of the details of while he's here. That can't be good. What was his name?

Anyway. He's not the most curious, but he's hardly immune to a detrimental sense of interest. He wants to know what the dance is like. He wants to see the intricate costumes of the others stuck here, and see if there's anything behind the masks. He knows it will, inevitably, leave him lonelier. He knows, inevitably, that he does not care. At least this version of loneliness is more interesting than sitting in his flat, wondering whether having thin enough walls to hear the echo of his neighbors' voices would make things better or worse. So, when someone approaches, adorned in a shrew mask, hand outstretched to pull him into the fervor, he accepts.

The dancer is competent. Neither of them steps on the others foot, and he lets himself be led. Even better, the dancer is willing to talk. A man named Tom, his voice cheerful even as he confirms that he doesn't know how he came here either. Tom shrugs when he asks if this bothers him, saying if you're going to end up somewhere mysteriously, gliding across a ballroom with a handsome stranger is hardly the worst place to be.

It takes a second for him to register the fact that Tom's flirting. It makes him laugh, and it feels wrong in his throat. The sound is unfamiliar, almost belonging to someone else, but it's brief enough not to hurt. He'll grieve all the time he's lost later, for now, he says, "How would you know if I'm handsome with this mask? Or are you just making a flattering guess?"

Tom opens his mouth to answer, a grin on his features that suggest something playful and wry is about to come out, but then the song ends. They both know, somehow, that the brief rapport they've gotten to enjoy has come to an end. They swap partners, and as much has he would like a second dance, when Tom gets swept into the throng, he knows he won't be seeing him again.

The next dancer is at a higher skill level at him, which results in nerves encroaching on what limited ability he has. Perhaps the peacock mask should've been a tip off. He doesn't speak to them, more focused on trying to keep up. He doesn't regret that they'll only have one dance, but he is slightly remiss that his own costume doesn't have feathers after watching the way they move.

The dancer after that catches him for a slow dance. Her name is Shelia, and he's never seen such a dazzling smile. He tells her as such, and she tells him that she would tell him the same, but she hasn't actually seen his own, yet. He makes an attempt, and she tells him, "Oh honey, you're waiting for someone here, aren't you?"

When he states his confusion, that nobody comes to mind, or at least, that nobody is going to come, she shakes her head. Apparently, she can always tell when her dance partners have somewhere else to be, and she doesn't resent it, but it does mean she's not going to give him her number for after the night ends. He's amazed she believes this night will end, but it's a sentiment that seems far too rude to voice out loud.

He also knows that he doesn't have somewhere else to be. If he did, he would've never joined in.

The music continues, and so does he. He tries to get names, tries to get connections. He flirts with Mark, and Nadia, and Jamie. Those people are his favorite during the dances, but losing the also feels the most acute. Robert is his least favorite, even more so than the peacock, for how incredibly small the fox makes him feel. Nothing is even said, it's just the entirety of body language screams that Robert doesn't think he belongs here, that he's not worthy of the clothes he's wearing or the hall he's haunting. Ironically, he's right. He doesn't belong here. These clothes, these people, are not his. Only Robert is quite so skilled at making that seem like a bad thing.

About ten dances in, long past the point he should be winded, he realizes two things. One, there's no pain in his feet, no heaviness to his breathing, confirming once again that no aspect of this environment is natural. Two, is that he's actually had a path. Sometime in the spins and leads and follows, he had been making his way towards the center of the floor. He denies the next partner, likely the worst of a faux paus in this environment, but he needs a moment to stop. Taking in the scene, he has yet to find the source of the music, but he has found the host of this party.

There's nothing to physically show that he's the host. His costume isn't particularly ostentatious, at least not compared to the rest of them. He's not surrounded by a horde of people clamoring for his attention. He doesn't glow or sparkle or have a spotlight on him. The only reveal of his status is the fact that the second he looks at the man in the owl mask, fear floods through him.

Now he needs to run. He needs to leave, he needs to get out, he can't let the man in the owl mask see him, let alone approach him. Pushing his way through the crowd is a bad idea, will bring too much attention to himself. However, he's not in a state to think about that sort of thing, panic gripping his actions. As he shoves his way past one person, he swears ten more people tke their place, and he, oh so close to despair, is unable to tell if there's any actual distance being put between him and the owl masked man.

As he's about to start biting, clawing, screaming his way out any way he can, he hears something that makes him stop.

"Let him go, or I will make you let him go."

The statement is cold, filled with vitrol and determination. It should only make him more afraid. But as he turns around, he sees someone he never expected to be here, someone who has come here anyway. In an all black outfit, the man's face is covered with that of a cat's, but he has not a single ounce of doubt as to who it is. And he's facing off against the owl man, the absolute fool. He's facing off against the owl man, and Martin knows that it's on his own account. What the hell? He can't...he doesn't know what's going to happen to him, what exactly the owl man is going to do, but he can't let Jon get hurt. Begging his voice to pierce through the pandemonium of people and noise, he calls out, "JON!"

Jon finds him in an instant, eyes locking. They only have a second before the crowd pushes in, before the owl man reaches out, wing-like cape ready to wrap Jon up and snatch him away. Jon simply calls out, "Balcony!" before he's once again out of sight. Martin wants to go towards him, wants to follow the instinct to try and protect the one he loves, but going forward is impossible.

The tempo and volume of the music has swollen, and he's surrounded by hands reaching out, trying to pull him in. One of those hands, much to his surprise, belongs to Tom. He stares, uncomprehendingly, and Tom shoves his hand out even further in an act of urgency. He has to participate to make progress.

He holds on tight, all the basic skill of their first dance lost. It doesn't matter, as long as Martin participates, he is rewarded. When the next song begins to play, Tom strengthens his grip, and they manage to prevent the switch. In a manner of minutes, or perhaps hours, they make their way to the edge of the crowd. Martin can see those beautiful frosted doors only about 10 meters away, mostly unobstructed, and releases Tom from their dance. "Thank you. I seriously didn't think..just, thank you."

Tom gives him a nod, his expression much more solemn than it had been during their initial meeting. "After our first dance, I remembered my kids. A daughter and son. If they're out there, wherever out there is, I need to get back to them. If you can get yourself out, maybe there's hope for the rest of us, yeah? I think you might be a tipping point."

Martin had no idea if that was true. Sounded a bit too..center of the story for him. The hero, the chosen one, he was never going to fufill those roles. But. But he doesn't know what a denial would serve, and if he can go through those doors, who knows? "Yeah...yeah, maybe. I'll certainly try."

Tom clasps one of Martin's hands between both of his own, and with a quick shake, tells him, "That's all I ask."

In a blink, Tom has once again been swallowed by the fray, and Martin strides to his goal. He catches glimpses of the owl man out of the corner of his eye. Despite the sight making his heart race, the owl man never makes it to him, almost as if the dancers had forcibly blocked his path. Fascinating, isn't it, how a crowd can turn against someone in a matter of moments. Fascinating, isn't it, how a crowd can decide to help someone in the same span of time.

As Martin stands in front of the exit to the balcony, he has to take a breath. This could be a trick. A trap. A cruelty. If it is, he'll deal with it. If not, well.

Well.

The doors are heavy, but he's still able to push them aside. The sight outside is incredible. The stars are dazzling, brilliant, and numerous, resembling themilky way that Martin has only ever seen in pictures.

It's wrong. It's obviously wrong. Martin's never been anywhere remote enough to escape the effects of light pollution, and he's pretty sure a brightly lit manor isn't the exception to that rule. Yet, that's not what's bothering him about it. He can't quite articulate why, but the sky in general should be..different. Worse, maybe. Greener?

Jon is staring up into the night sky with a fascination that confirms Martin's suspicion. After he takes a step towards him, Jon turns towards him, and a smile appears that knocks the breath right out of Martin. When has Jon ever smiled at him like that? It doesn't make sense, feels like another trick of the party, but Martin decides he doesn't care, he'll enjoy it while it lasts. "I have to say, this is definitely one of the nicer looking domains we've wandered through. Always a plus when we end up somewhere without any bloodstains."

That's not... "Huh?"

With an aftertaste of a laugh and a shrug of his shoulders, Jon tells him, "Just that, for as much as I despise the loneliness, it does at least have cleanliness going for it."

He knows of the fears, at least, but the way that Jon is talking about them doesn't make sense. He's going to ask about it, try to get some clarification, but then Jon takes off his mask. There's more grey at the temples than he remembers, more eyes than the average person, and he's stunningly beautiful. Martin's always found Jon rather good looking, even when he didn't particularly like Jon himself (god, what a fool he was. Maybe what a fool they both were). Combined with the softness in the line of his mouth, the adoration in his eyes, it leaves Martin breathless, speechless, thoughtless. Feet moving of their own accord, he drifts closer to Jon. Once he's standing in front of him, Jon reaches up, then pauses, as if asking for permission. Half in a daze, Martin nods, then leans down. Ever so gently, Jon lifts Martin's mask off. The pinpoints of contact between his face and Jon's fingers almost burn, and he realizes that despite the electrified sensation under his skin, he's been cold this entire time. Mask fully off, Jon beams at him, and lets out a quiet, "There you are."

It's too much. It's the tipping point for him to go from enamoured back to properly baffled. "Jon, I don't..what are you doing here?"

Jon smile drops, and Martin almost wants to take it back. Almost, because he needs answers, because if this is a dream, if this is a nightmare, it's more wicked than he could've ever expected. Being stuck forever in a dance with only partners whose greatest talents were being alone in a crowd is one thing, but having a..a false Jon, one that regarded him with...that acted like...that felt anything close to the same as Martin was so..exacting. When it got taken away, when the illusion shattered, it would hurt. It's already hurting, anticipation of the wound causing a phantom pain. Jon's brows are furrowed, and at least that is familiar, expected. "I..thought you would want to leave. I came to get you out."

"I do," did he?, "but that still..that's not the why? Why would you come for me?"

"Because I love you? I know I'm not much for the swashbuckling hero role, bit I figured that would make me rather uniquely qualified."

Martin sucks in a breath through his nose and his eyes go wide. Ability to read be damned, this is a dream, and mean one at that. He's going to wake up, and he's going to remember, and he's going to be as alone as he's always been. "Since when? You're not..I think we've just started being friends, and it's not even, fuck, we're not even that close! And even if..if things were in development, which they aren't, you're supposed to be in America right now. Or, no, wait you're in a coma, or maybe..no, that's not-"

Martin's spiralling is abruptly cut off by Jon taking his hands. Looking at his face, he finds Jon staring back, his eyes, his two eyes, are searching him, and Martin realizes he might not be the only one that's lost right now. "Martin...what's the last thing you remember?"

A mostly empty flat, the delightful mix of insomnia and exhaustion, and the TV with the volume turned down low enough to not bother anyone but himself. The context around that scene is a bit fuzzier. "I..was at my place. It was..I dunno, it was boring."

"Anything else. Do you remember Jane Prentiss?"

"Of course I remember Jane Prentiss. Not likely to ever forget the worst two weeks of my life."

"What about Scotland?"

Scotland? "I'm mean, I've never been, but I, uh, am aware of the concept."

Except that wasn't quite true, was it? He had been to Scotland, and Jon had been there, but when? Why? What had they..

Jon's frown deepens. "Martin, do you trust me?"

He did. Despite everything, or maybe because of an everything he couldn't quite access, he really, really did. His response of "Yes" is more of a breath than a word, but Jon understands nonetheless. Jon reaches up, places his hands on the sides of Martin's face, and tells him, "Close your eyes."

Martin does as told, and Jon brings their foreheads together, an approximation of a kiss. There's a buzzing at the base of his skull, not painful, but not particularly pleasant, either. As Jon leans back and he opens his eyes, the sky is wrong, but it is the wrong that he has become increasingly accustomed to.

He remembers.

Jon hasn't fully released him yet, asking still ever so gently, "Back with me?"

Martin nods, and Jon drops his hands. Immediately, Martin grabs one of them with his own, because while it may be the apocalypse, at least he can do that as freely as he likes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good, " he looks down, and sighs, "Eugh. Do miss the clean clothes though."

Jon gives a hint of a smile, and as he begins to move forward. "Now you understand my point about the lonely having a tidiness to it."

"If it's all the same to you, I think I'll take grime over memory loss any day."

"Next domain is a corruption one, so we'll see how much that holds true."

"Of course it is."

They walk in silence for a few moments until Martin gives Jon's hand a quick squeeze. "Hey Jon?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for getting me out."

Jon replies, "Of course," as an easy statement of fact, and Martin believes it. He has to add, "And I love you too."

The responding smile he gets from Jon makes him think he might be one of the few people in existence to feel lucky after the end of the world.

#replies #fluff prompts #tma #jonmartin #martin blackwood #jon sims #anon

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lucky-dreamfisher · 3 years

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The Illusion of Living Notes and Spoilers

I feel like enough time has passed for everyone who wanted to get the audiobook to get it, so here are all the notes I made while reading the book.

Please do NOT show these spoilers to anyone who didn’t give their explicit permission to be spoiled! And do not try to sneaky-spoil while being vague and pretending you’re not spoiling either!

TIOL was written in 1941 and published in 1942

Joey’s biggest dream is to become a God

Joey is explicitly not straight (reaffirms his distaste for dating women multiple times in the book, purposely avoids intimate gestures when meeting female friends, and reacts negatively to a straight couple kissing in his presence) but can be interpreted as either gay or asexual, and there’s evidence supporting both of these interpretations

Joey doesn’t think of people as real. He thinks of them as fictional characters in a show (well, he isn’t wrong)

He witnessed a murder at 10, but isn’t bothered by it, because everyone’s fictional anyway (watsonian perspective: little sociopath, doylist perspective: smartest character in the franchise). It was on that day that he started thinking of people as characters in a play, including his own parents.

He likes to throw peanuts in the faces of vaudeville performers he doesn’t like. Very proud of his aim

Joey’s dad sends him a pair of boots every year as a gift. Joey throws them out and buys himself better ones

Though it’s implied that the stories he tells about his parents aren’t true

While in the army, he was bullied for liking girl stuff, like reading romance novels and genre fiction

Nathan and Joey are very close. Nathan often gives him business advice and knows some of his secrets. Nathan looks down on artistic-type people. Joey is the only artistic-type person he admires, mostly for being business-oriented. Nathan is all about money.

Nathan wears a suit, has perfectly slicked back hair, and an elegant mustache. Smokes Cigars. Calls himself Nate

Nathan says that Lottie (the girl from the preview) isn’t real. It’s implied that there are more made-up people in the book. The epilogue implies that Joey intends to bring the made-up people to life one day, just like the cartoons

After leaving the army, and before starting an animation studio, he worked at a bookstore together with Henry for a few years

He took late-night art classes together with Miss Lambert

Bendy was named after Joey’s friend, who murdered a man to take a photo of his dying face for an award show. Joey finds it inspiring. In his words: "Thank god for dark paths, they lead all great artists to their greatest creations". Joey also likes the name Bendy, because it means someone who bends the rules

Nathan says that Joey had a genuine change of heart in his old age, and had “too much guilt and worry”. Nathan is not pleased with that

Abby Lambert is one of Joey’s oldest friends, and the one who introduced him to Henry. She and Joey used to perform vaudeville acts together. Joey played a Devil and Abby played an Angel

It’s implied that Henry created the Butcher Gang, and they were some of his oldest characters, even older than Bendy, Boris, and Alice

Henry left a year after the studio’s creation because he wanted “something that isn’t Bendy” (it’s either that he felt like his creativity was being stifled by being forced to work on the same project all the time, or that he wanted a real family, as opposed to the “studio family” that Joey was satisfied with)

Joey disses Henry a lot in the book. He paints him as untalented, unimaginative, boring, and a poor dresser on top of that. Nathan thinks that pretending to not care about Henry is Joey’s “greatest illusion”

Nathan hates Henry and thinks that Joey’s going too easy on him (if BATDR is Nathan’s world, Henry’s gonna be screwed)

Sammy used to play music at a movie theatre when he was a teen and Joey came to watch his performance every day

They met again a few years later and Sammy recognized him. Joey hired him and Jack on the same day

Sammy smokes

Sammy and Jack performed jazz songs at vaudeville together for some time before working at JDS

Jack gets upset when people ignore him and only pay attention to Sammy. He loves being the center of attention, and has a knack for showmanship. Very optimistic and good natured

Sammy was hired a year after Henry’s departure and has never met him (curious, given that he recognizes Henry in the game) Not true - turns out Sammy was hired in October 1930, so he still could’ve met Henry

As part of his deal with Joey, Sammy has full creative control over his department and people he’s working with (did Sammy replace Susie?)

Sammy hates being at the center of attention and is always very serious. Making jokes comes hard for him, but he plays along sometimes. His expression is very hard to read and he always seems suspicious of people he’s talking with. He’s dressed very neatly and appropriately (unlike Jack, who wears bright and flashy clothes), his hair is long and not slicked back. He’s a few years younger than Joey, but acts much older

Joey thinks that Sammy is his best decision and the man who comes closest to fully understanding him. He takes pride in the fact that Sammy sticks by him for all these years out of his own will, and not because Joey makes him. He thinks Sammy is a genius and deserves to be worshipped like a god (he doesn’t hesitate to tell him that). Asked him once whether there’s anyone Sammy worships, and it’s painfully obvious that he wanted to hear that it’s him (Sammy replied that a god of this magnitude hasn’t been invented yet, which is a nice foreshadowing)

Allison is already working at the studio at the time of TIOL. Before that, she was a Broadway actress. Joey likes to watch her recording sessions. It’s not confirmed which character she’s voicing, but Susie wasn’t mentioned anywhere in the book, so there’s a possibility that Allison was already voicing Alice Angel in 1941

Joey’s meetings with Jack Fain and Grant are just an excuse to have a coffee and chat with them

On his first meeting with Bertrum Joey got drunk and flirty with him. Bertrum told him he’s “not that kind of date” and Joey played dumb (the scene is played for laughs though, so idk if it’s supposed to be seriosuly indicative of Joey’s sexuality)

Bertrum returned from retirement to work on Bendyland

Disney exists in this universe, Joey wishes he could be able to achieve the same with Bendy

Nathan wants to prove “very soon” that he is limitless

The moving ink was developed as part of the Sillyvision film process at some point around 1941. The purpose of Sillyvision was to make corrections to images that have already been created, without having to redraw them from scratch. The ink is activated through contact with a special paper

Joey describes Bendyland’s conception, and the Dark Land sounds eerily similar to the studio world in BATIM & BATDR

Light Land is Alice’s Domain, and as the name suggests it will have many lights. It’s designed to create an illusion of being lifted up

Tiny Land is Boris’ Domain and it gives an illusion of getting shrunk

Big Land is Butcher Gang’s Domain and has giant airplanes and battleships

Joey hates the real world and wants to escape to a make-believe one. He was hoping Bendyland would be that for him. His greatest fear is being unable to create that perfect world, and creating only its dark reflection (ironic)

Joey feels like he won’t be able to truly die and rest his soul until his dream fully comes to life. He calls art his “doorway into immortality” (is Dapper Joey?)

Joey believes a soul is needed to make a lifeless artistic imitation of the world into a real breathing world. He says that he’s been looking for a soul for a long time (he means it metaphorically, but it feels like a foreshadowing)

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #batim #bendy and the dark revival #batdr #bendy: the illusion of living #dreamfisher certified

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disquietiswhatitis · 3 years

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You’re my favorite reason to lose sleep (Sam/Andrea)

Of all the many things Sam has experienced that she did not expect since her relationship with Andrea began, the most surprising by far might be this:

Andrea Rojas snores.

Not always, but she does. It’s a quiet snore, nothing compared to the logs Sam’s father would saw when he fell asleep in front of the tv. Sam’s been with Andrea long enough to know that her lover only starts snoring if either she consistently hasn’t been getting enough sleep or if she’s gotten extremely drunk because she refuses to accept that Sam can outdrink her when it comes to tequila. As fun as drunk Andy can be, they’ve been good about their wine intake and they haven’t had any tequila in the apartment for a little over a month, so Sam figures it must be the lack of sleep. Reaching out, Sam takes a strand of her sleeping fiance’s hair, tucks it behind her ear, whispers “why haven’t you been sleeping baby?” and places a quick, tender kiss to Andrea’s shoulder. It’s a rhetorical question. Andrea snores again. Now, Sam loves Andrea. Truly, passionately loves her as does Andrea with Sam. While past heartbreaks have taught her to tread more cautiously, Sam still loves so easily and has so much to give. Andrea, conversely, hadn’t felt worthy of love in so long, she built walls that made it hard for her to receive or convey it. Somehow, much to the surprise of them both, Sam shattered those walls. They’ve been through their fair share in the time they’ve been together. While communication hasn’t always been their strongest suit, they’ve put in the time and effort to get better at it because they both enthusiastically agree that the other is so worth it. Knowing this, Sam is aware that she could ask Andrea what’s wrong, that Andrea would tell her and that they could go from there. However, Andrea is also asleep at the moment and Sam can’t think of anything else. She can’t put on her airpods and distract herself with her audiobook. The sultry voice of the narrator combined with the scene she was last narrating, well, it would make her want to wake Andrea up and... do things. Sam doesn’t know what she’d watch on any of the way-too-many-streaming-services-they-rarely-use without Andrea cuddled up with her on the couch. She’s not particularly hungry and she already went to the gym this morning. Reaching over to her nightstand, Sam puts on her reading glasses, grabs her phone and starts scrolling through social media she doesn’t really use. She likes a few photos of Alex and Kelly with their daughter. She glances through some articles about current events. After about five minutes, Sam sets her glasses and phone down and lets out a small huff. She can’t help but still think about it. Why hasn’t Andrea been sleeping? Sam gets up and walks to her dresser. She pulls out a pair of underwear and a slightly too large tee shirt, puts them on and goes to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Grabbing a mug out of the cabinet that had a picture of two avocados on the top row, three on the middle row and four on the bottom that said “avocados, avocatres, avoquatro,” Sam ponders her lover’s possible sleep-depriving woes. “It’s not Obsidian, right?” Sam thinks as she pours water from their filter into a mug, a gift she had gotten Andrea during their vacation to Miami. Sam knows how much it hurt Andrea when her company fell, but Sam stood by her side through it all and figured Andrea’s sleepless nights over that were over. “Could it be CatCo?” the brunette contemplates as she finishes her water and goes to refill it. Maybe. The print media conglomerate’s business model transition in an increasingly print-less world had been a bit of mixed bag even before Lena purchased it all those years ago. She knows Andrea likes the work she does at CatCo well enough, but she’d definitely noticed that her mood get a little more sour for a bit when it was the only thing she had left after Obsidian. Not that CatCo was a consolation prize but Andrea loved being on the cutting edge of the tech world and short of some major restructuring, CatCo just wouldn’t provide the same opportunity. Still, the business wasn’t struggling. They had a few layoffs some months ago, which led to some incredibly passive aggressive back and forth jabs between Kara and Andrea at game night shortly thereafter, but otherwise everything was fine. “Ok, lightning round” Sam states to herself, setting down her mug so she can count off with her fingers all the possibilities it could be. It’s definitely not the bills and nothing broke or needed repair around their home. Sam’s truck is functioning like a dream. They bought their outfits for the Lena Luthor Foundation gala two days ago. Andrea bought a dashing suit and Sam an incredibly curve-hugging dress, respectively; Sam thought it was a refreshing change of pace but she was more looking forward to the suit and tie look she had planned when she married Andrea...

Marry Andrea. The wedding. Sam forgot to mail out the invitations. Shit. Sam runs over to the table by the door and sure enough, there they were. A whole stack of save the dates that Sam had set down on Sunday evening, promising to mail them out first thing on Monday. It was Friday night. Fuck.

Quickly but quietly running to their home office, Sam pulls out a sticky note and a sharpie out of the desk drawer and in all caps writes “DO NOT FORGET.” Careful to put the sticky note and pen away quietly, Sam returns to the table by the entrance. She grabs the invitations, goes back to the kitchen and places them on the counter with the note and her purse next to them. There was no reason to try to hide her snafu from Andrea. They have a good relationship and Sam is confident Andrea will forgive her so long as she’s honest and apologizes (and credit to her Catholic boarding school education, Andrea sometimes really enjoys making Sam beg for forgiveness.) Refilling her water, Sam heads back to their bedroom, discarding her clothes and thinking of how she’s going to make it up to Andrea tomorrow. As soon as she climbs into bed, her partner, still in her sleeping position, states “you’re thinking too loud” in a voice that lets Sam know she’s awake but not fully conscious. Sam still smiles at the sound of her voice and happily says “Hey, you’re up.” Andrea turns, changes from laying on her left side to her right in order to face her significant other. “I am. What were you thinking about?” Sam just smiles “You. Always.” Andrea smiles back. “Oh? Do tell.” Sam tells her “You were snoring.” Andrea deflates. “You sure know how to woo a woman, Sammy.” Sam picks up Andrea’s left hand and points to the rock on Andrea’s ring finger “Damn straight. Exhibit A.” Andrea smiles again “You’ve got me there.” “So why the snoring? Is everything okay?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, everything’s fine honey. I just stayed up way too late...reading.” The way Andrea says “reading” catches Sam’s attention. Whatever Andrea was reading, Sam can tell she’s not not embarrassed by it and it almost certainly wasn’t a sales report. “Oh. What were you reading?” Sam teases playfully. Andrea couldn’t refuse the dimples facing her even if she wanted to. She just hopes the teasing won’t be too severe. “Buffy and Faith fanfic” Andrea states rather bluntly. Sam laughs. Andrea loves that laugh; it’s one of the many ways Sam broke down her barriers and made Andrea fall in love. “That’s great babe. Did you enjoy it?” Sam asks, no longer laughing but still smiling and still completely sincere. Sam is not mocking in any way, just delighted at the fact a successful CEO of a multimillion dollar company stayed up too late reading about a twenty year old ship. Andrea knows this and while she knows it’s not an interest Sam shares, Sam actively listens and encourages Andrea when she talks about it because Sam knows it matters to her. Andrea loves Sam so freaking much. Andrea delicately runs her hand up Sam’s arm and says “I enjoy us” in an overtly suggestive tone. Sam doesn’t need to be told twice. She goes for Andrea’s neck first; slow, steady kisses, savoring every pulse beat she can feel as Andrea’s breathing starts to shallow. She works her way up to Andrea’s earlobe and bites it just enough to get a moan out of Andrea without leaving (much of) a mark as her lover’s hands grasp at Sam’s shoulders. Sam kisses her way across Andrea’s wonderful jawline, pulling back just before Andrea’s luscious lips can connect with hers. Andrea’s lips instinctively chase after Sam’s but Sam pulls her head back just a bit farther to stay out of reach and tease the shorter woman, if only for a moment. She goes back in and Eskimo kisses her nose with Andrea’s. The buildup is excruciating for Andrea but damn if not’s always worth it. A breath away from Andrea’s lips, Sam looks into her eyes and asks “Yeah?” Andrea rolls onto her back. Sam follows, her arms on either side of Andrea’s head, to stay positioned above her lover. Andrea tosses aside the blanket and with it, the sight of her exquisite body is completely bare for Sam to drink in. Sam’s eye dilate and the only way Andrea can describe her look is carnal. Taking in the site of the sculpted woman above her, she knows she can reciprocate that desire. Andrea huskily replies “Yeah” and as she hungrily grabs Sam’s face to bring her in for a searing kiss, their bodies suddenly writhing against one another, Sam figured it’d probably be okay to wait to tell her about the invitations.

Author’s note: I actually felt inspired to write a short Reignjas ficlet yesterday and I went with it. As the idea kept expanding, it wound up heading in a direction I’ve never tried to write before. I ended up putting more thought and hours into it than I had expected, staying up to the point where I maybe had to call out of work this morning (my life’s a mess but that’s not important right now.) Anyway, this isn’t that final ficlet. I’ll probably be working on that (more responsibly) for a little bit but I felt confident enough that I wanted to post this (mostly) smut free version. Hope y’all enjoy it.

#reignjas #rojarias #sam arias #andrea rojas #writing #ficlet #fanfic #supergirl #sam x andrea

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bookaddict24-7 · 3 years

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I said at the beginning of the year that I would share my reviews more on my blog instead of just on Instagram and Goodreads. I’ve been reading a lot so far this year, so my reviews will be delayed on here.

Friend me on Goodreads here to read my reviews in real-time!

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96. A Court of Silver Flames by Sarah J. Maas--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Listened to the audiobook for this one (from the library) because the size of the physical book was promising to put me in a slump. Wow, when people told me this was SPICY, they weren’t lying. I’m used to spice—I LOVE having spice in my books. It was only weird for me because of two things: 1) knowing that this was previously a YA series even though we all knew it wasn’t really, but teens and kids are still going to pick this spice-fest up; 2) The audiobook voice actress was...very passionate and aggressive about these scenes. There’s a certain level of aggression I need behind the word “stroking” and this narrator just overdid it a bit. Other than the female MC reminding me of her sister from the first book (she was very woe is me—which I get because of her trauma), this was an entertaining romance with fantastical elements. I will most definitely be picking up the next book—especially if this level of spice keeps going. I did like the character growth and how the female MC handled herself AFTER she learned how to better control her anger and after she started to help herself heal from her trauma. It’s true what they’ve been saying: this is Faerie Porn. Prepare yourself.

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97. Blue Flag Vol. 4 by Kaito--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Again, beautiful volume and that storyline is amazing! My only sad realization is that my ship is probably never going to happen 😭 But please pick up this series if you can—the artwork alone makes it worth it! The covers are GORGEOUS. Definitely one of my faves. ___

98. Rent A Boyfriend by Gloria Chao--⭐️⭐️

** spoiler alert ** I wanted to love this book because the concept was right up my alley. I love the fake boyfriend trope! I also loved AMERICAN PANDA by this author, so I had high hopes... We all know that's my downfall. While I didn't hate the book, I was disappointed. The romance was very insta-love (why THIS particular girl when he's encountered so many others with similar home lives?) and even the actions that happen later on made me wonder if their blossoming romance was strong enough for them to make such life-altering decisions. I mean, all the power to them if it gave them the push they needed. My biggest disappointment with this book, however, was how the female MC was treated and how she would react to said treatment. Books like this one with parents that are extremely controlling/verbally abusive make me so angry because I'm watching it from an outsider's perspective, which I know gives it a whole other tone. I can't say how I would react if I was the teenager in the situation, but being an adult on the outside, I wish I could throttle these parents. The kids are so used to the abuse that they end up making excuses, "empathizing" with their abusers, and even apologizing for making their parents feel a certain way. Here's what really and truly bugged me here, and this might be a **SPOILER**: there is no alluding to the fact that these parents are abusive. The words aren't used, but it's clearly abuse. The dad suddenly changes his thinking and the mother is still a stubborn bitch who continues to belittle her daughter despite everything. And the daughter is like "I get that this is your love for me, but I need you to do it less". That is powerful in itself, but that's pretty much as aggressive as the MC got with her parents. I imagine that these kinds of relationships are tough to navigate, but I'm frustrated. Not because this isn't fully a happy ending (in my books) but because whenever I read these books, I'm supposed to see this as character development. I'm supposed to think, "Oh wow, look at this teenager empathizing with their parents when they feel bad about what they've said in their own defence." This book made me realize how often this happens in the YA books that frustrate me. I love YA books that have great communication if a parent is verbally abusive. The apology (from the parent to the child, NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND) is the moment where I'm like, alright, awesome. Communication! I'm ranting now. I apologize. I just get so frustrated with how powerless I feel when I read these books and I hope to never be an example of these parents who actively tell their daughter that "they agreed to this horrible match because she was too simple looking and not pretty enough to do any better." (I'm paraphrasing.) Anyway, I didn't know this would become a rant review because I didn't hate this book, it just made me angry at the inaction of the characters (except for one time where someone did try to intervene but the MC had a reaction that was like "why would you do this?" I highly recommend AMERICAN PANDA by this author, but this one was super disappointing.

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99. Come Tumbling Down by Seanan McGuire--⭐️⭐️

Today was not the greatest day for my reading. I listened to the audiobook for this one and was immediately lost, aha! I just found that I didn't care about this story. This series is seriously so hit or miss with me. Maybe it could also be that I didn't really care for Jack and Jill's story, so this one was just...eh? I borrowed the next one in the series from the library though, so I'm not giving up!

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100. A Taste for Love by Jennifer Yen--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I almost DNF'ed this book at first because I wasn't sure if I liked the tone, but I'm so happy I didn't! I'll admit that I went looking through reviews to see if I should keep going and the moment I saw that it was an adaptation of PRIDE & PREJUDICE I knew I was a goner. This was a lot of fun and very light. I think this would be the perfect read for summer. It's a great story about an Asian American girl who meets this handsome Asian American teen boy during a moment where he inadvertently becomes her saviour. Despite this meet-cute style meeting, he leaves her with a horrible first impression. Unlike a different book I recently read about tough Asian parents, I found this one had a great character arc between the MC and her parents. They were still tough on her and though I'm not part of that community, I always find it interesting how the parental and child relationships are portrayed (mainly because of societal stereotypes in media). I loved this relationship between the parents and the MC because both groups learned something from each other without being verbally abusive. I really enjoyed this adaptation. It was fresh enough to not feel repetitive, and the surprise bi-rep was awesome. I wasn't expecting that and I love being surprised (for the better). If you want a light contemporary read with Asian rep, this is definitely the read for you!

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Have you read any of these? Would you recommend them?

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Happy reading!

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sugar-petals · 4 years

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BTS Scenario: Taking Care of Them When They Have a Cold

↳ ♡ NOTE ⇁ time for fluff. autumn season is coming, let me set the mood right here, we’re going cozy 🍂

warnings ⚠️ hurt/comfort, brief mention of sexual tension

⌈jimin⌋ ⇢ Jimin’s cold is unusually subtle. In terms of visible signs, it’d take some time to notice it for someone who doesn’t know him or doesn’t check just how heavy another person’s breath is going. But feedback? You will definitely get. Compared to how he’s pouting about it, which will melt your heart is what I’m saying, the symptoms are understated in comparison to the other members. Taehyung’s cough can shatter an entire neighborhood, Jimin sneezing is as graceful as a gazelle. Mind you, his nose is runny, and the slight fatigue of the first two days isn’t negligible, but the major thing to actively mend is more psychological than physical. In other words, his body does its thing, you don’t have to overextend yourself.

That’s what you have to figure out first to really take care of him properly. After laying him down and bringing both snacks and liquids, talking is what he needs rather than ten thousand types of medications and cool towels all over him. Jimin doesn’t want to see you become sick as well so you don’t sit up close, but at talking range, and you text a lot during the day while you work. He’s worried about not being able to practice and hopes the cold doesn’t show in his appearance. You assure him it takes five days at best and he is okay again and promise a lot of kisses. With that prospect, healing is even sweeter. And, you know the guy, Jimin misses seducing you, so.

⌈taehyung⌋ ⇢ Absolutely enjoys being babied ten times out of ten. Nothing better than you preparing a hot herbal bath. Rosemary, thyme, camomile. The steam spiraling off the water surface looks so relaxing in the candlelight, the classical music you put on sways him into a trance, he lays there for half an hour just motionless. He gets a little tray of coconut cookies on the bed stand, you play the guitar to him, you massage his feet before he sleeps… Which, and he hates admitting it, makes it nice to be sick. By all means not because of the fever, but the extra attentions, the hot chocolate for bed. Taehyung thinks about that twice and concludes something. He doesn’t want to get a cold just to receive this treatment. Not for his own health nor to worry or overwhelm you, he’s not gonna guilt-trip you into being a servant.

So, you agree for later: It’s good to treat him sporadically just because, whenever and wherever, cue Shakira. That Taehyung so enjoys a good healing and mending time and it just explodes when you both have a reason to, that’s rather something to expand to the whole relationship. Taehyung will do the exact spoiling for you, with a romantic twist the way you know him. It doesn’t need a sickness to resort to doing nice things for your partner. At the end of the day, the body will remember it and get sick again because it sees what it gets through being ill. That’s something to squarely avoid doing, a random gesture is good for its own sake, amen.

⌈yoongi⌋ ⇢ Grumpy, murmuring, disgruntled he can’t work without getting a headache, needs a lot of silence to recover so he curls up on his own with earphones in and fifty playlists on repeat. He’s like tch, only thing I need is tiger balm to whip me back into shape. Or… wait. Wait a second. A cup of steaming hot coffee with extra foam he will not reject. Or a plate of fried rice. Anything fried and super crispy, really. Yoongi likes those things, especially when prepared by you. Nothing is more honoring. Actually? I’ll change the initial statement. Yoongi does accept some help. You simply gotta find out his catnip I mean favorite dishes and either know the place to order it from or have some kitchen basics down. Nothing super fancy though, it doesn’t need a God’s Menu. The right seasoning does the trick already.

He wants it mega spicy, sweating out the cold is the way to go said Yoongi’s mom back in the day so he goes by that motto. Love starts in the stomach for felines. If another BTS member drops take-out at the door, even better, that uplifts him greatly. When he munches, that’s the most gratifying thing in the world. Yoongi wants you to eat with him by the bed so that means chili in the bedroom but screw it. All that food and you cranking up the heater distracts Yoongi from his cold and some head pats have him on his way to recovery. And, by the way. He’s kinda turned on by you cooking for him so… the frustration is real, you’re gonna fuck like rabbits once he’s okay again.

★ ⌈namjoon⌋ ⇢ The friendly giant will stay in denial about his cough for at least three days and walk around with way too much medicine in his system. He begs for someone to relieve him, mostly himself, but all those sky-high standards are in the way. Responsibility! Hard work and endurance! Solve it in your head! What is the spiritual reason for colds? How many pills keep you awake for an all-nighter to write an album in one go? What’s next on the schedule? So it goes on, you know the deal with Joonie. You have to kick that leader butt so he finally enters the healing cave under the sheets. Don’t kick too hard though, he doesn’t have Jimin-level cushions. He topples over into his sheets fast anyway, he’s that level of exhausted from his own suppression.

The story goes on, Namjoon feels extremely guilty for getting pampered and still ponders the reasons why he is ill rather than slowing down a minute and closing his laptop for a hot second. It gets a little awkward unless you figure out your secret weapon. What he feels better with is you reading him stories while he rests on the sofa. I’m not kidding. Or if you’re busy or he wants to be alone, audiobooks. That input is like a lullaby to Namjoon who gets knocked out by the soft whispering only to descend into 12 hours of sleep. Ah, he’s namjooning. Yep. His cold will force him into resting, but by the time he recovers, he is six books wiser and has had the pleasure of listening to your voice which he finds soothing. Thankful he is, anticipate an expensive present and flowers.

★ ⌈jungkook⌋ ⇢ Meal and fluid intake: Quantity explosion! Wow, wow, and wow again, the sheer amount that he can snack and turn into what seems even more muscle and more sweetness. Guinness World Record. He knows his system is currently resetting, he wants to hand it the building blocks, he knows the math. Yes, even sick Jungkook is the cutest foodie in the world. Yes, he will eat his veggies. He worries about not being able to work out so you at least help him stretch his legs ever so slightly in bed. He’s missing his boxing gloves like crazy, he wants to see the members in the practice room, he wants his milk. The latter is easy to get for him, and FaceTime comes in handy.

Namjoon does a little motivational speech, and Jungkook feels better almost instantly. Later on, you have to scold him — well, just a little bit — for getting up in all that enthusiasm to do some of his routine on the second day, but he already knows it’s not good for him to get his heart rate up like that. He patiently snuggles in a cocoon of duvets with only his eyes being visible. Until, finally, his red lil’ nose goes back to normal and his lungs feel a lot lighter. Jungkook really hates being dizzy, so it’s a weight off his hunky shoulders all right. Then, he can join you at the dinner table for a double portion of extra Parmesan Spaghetti, and you settle on the couch to bingewatch romantic animes and any Studio Ghibli movie in history.

★ ⌈jin⌋ ⇢ It simply can’t be helped, he even wants to make this funny. Humor really is a never-ending well, Jin is Spongebob’s long lost cousin if you go by his amount of meme talk. He calls himself Rudolph the Red-Nosed Jindeer, stuffs handkerchiefs into his nostrils, draws smileys on his knees with the cream usually meant for a dry philtrum (he now has very hydrated knees, how about that), does impossible contortions to find the right sleeping or reading position. Honestly, you don’t really have to take much care of him nor worry, Jin will cure himself through laughter. The power of positive emotion. Entertainment is nothing to provide for, he’s a one-man show after all. Jin is the least bored when he’s sick among the group, however! It needs someone else to exchange with, you know. No punchline without an audience. Listening is the best thing.

Sit, lean back, see what he has to say. The only thing you gotta actively do is stop him from choking on his own spit after a particularly dead-on joke. Maybe it’s introducing some room for serious time that helps Jin enter a different track. I can imagine that. Some talk about memories, talk about sorrows and issues. Jin is a complete man, but he still has plenty of ’em, demons don’t evade handsome people. And those need to be talked through in a silent minute. Jin also enjoys movie nights with a cup of tea in one hand and syrup in the other, that’s the go-to way to unwind. You can finally go all out and pour him his tea, bake for him, serve some self-made popcorn, extra sticky and sweet, oh yum.

★ ⌈hoseok⌋ ⇢ If Jimin and Hobi ever get colds at the same time, this will be the poutiest contest. They’re the most vocal about it in the group. Hoseok, and that will come to surprise you a little, becomes needy. Not at the beginning where he’s confused and emotional about what’s going on with him (someone who works this hard and needs a fully functioning body is thrown out of their lane even by the slightest symptom), but shortly after. You’ll come to understand how sensitive his body is, almost as perceptive as Jungkook’s actually. His body blows up with a strong fever, a hot man heating up even more is just an explosion of physics.

He needs handkerchiefs, he needs tons of water, he needs music to distract him a little, he needs a heating blanket for his feet once the fever is gone. Granted, every sick person depends on those things, but Hoseok is someone who calls out of the bedroom often because he ran out. He’s not afraid to ask for things unlike Namjoon who would refuse out of overt politeness. You certainly have a lot to do because his cold comes in strong so it’s important you enjoy taking care of him and don’t do it out of obligation. Quality time is what we’re talking about here. It’s not about you doing the things, it’s about the presence. That’s why Hoseok will use his money well and always order proper take-out that’s not just classic fast food, you don’t have to cook or anything.

related: putting bts to sleep after a hard day

#bts headcanons #bts scenarios #bts scenario #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts #bangtan #bts imagine #bts domestic au #bts hurt and comfort

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livesincerely · 3 years

Text

Here’s a concept:

Javid office/co-workers au. Davey is a Very Tired HR associate and Jack is the artist in the Graphic Design and Marketing department that keeps calling him through the inter-office phone line because he’s bored.

Jack gets in trouble for being on his personal cellphone during office hours—after so many of the same infraction, he gets a call from HR to emphasize the importance of following company policy. The HR person that makes the call is Davey.

Somehow, in this short conversation, Jack becomes a little obsessed with the guy from HR who’s voice makes Jack’s brain feel like it’s actually tuned in to the right frequency. So he calls Davey again, and they somehow end up chatting for, like, an hour right in the middle of the work day.

And then this happens several days in a row. Davey isn’t sure what to make of Mr. Kelly, who apparently is not at all upset about the verbal warning Davey had to give him and likes to just???? Call??? And talk??? And he’s so funny and charming and a little stupid in such an earnest and endearing way that talking to him quickly becomes one of the best parts of Davey’s day, but Davey just can’t figure out why Jack keeps wanting to him, of all people

It eventually comes out that the reason Jack keeps making personal calls on the clock is because he does his best artwork when he’s talking to someone while working. (Not sure how much this will be made explicit in-fic, but Jack’s got ADHD and he needs just enough of the right kind of background stimulus to focus on other tasks.) Unfortunately, the other artists in his department are the listen to music/podcasts/audiobooks or the ‘total silence to Focus’ types and don’t like to be bothered when they’re in The Zone, so whenever Jack gets frustrated and hits a block—which has been more and more often lately—he’s been calling up his friends/brother for as much conversation/distraction as they can stand.

“Kloppman wouldn’t have even filed the complaint if Weasel hadn’t’a insisted on it,” Jack says. “The fucking brown noser.”

“Well, have you considered informing Kloppman about your reasons?” Davey asks. “I mean, explicitly phrasing it as a accommodation that you need in order to do your best work? There’s a form you can fill out and file with us that would keep you from getting any more citations, no matter how often you’re on the phone. Well, as long as you can get a work request from your doctor.”

“Can I really do that?” Jack asks.

“Sure you can,” Davey says. “Here, I’m sending you a copy of the relevant section of the employee handbook and the paperwork you need. Just drop it off at HR whenever.”

“You’re an absolute godsend, aren’t you Jacobs?” Jack says. “Fuck, that would make things so much easier.”

“Just hand in those forms and you’ll have the company’s full permission to call your brother as much as you want,” Davey assures him.

“Spot’s gonna fucking hate me,” Jack says with what sounds like a delighted laugh. The sound of it sends a shiver down Davey’s spine, even as his heart pangs at the thought of not getting to hear it anymore.

“Happy to help,” Davey says. He takes a breath, then forces his usual levity into his voice. “Will that be all, Mr. Kelly?”

“That’ll be all, Mr. Jacobs,” Jack says. “And hey, David? Thanks.”

And Davey thinks that’ll be that. He regrets that he won’t get to spend an hour talking with Jack every day, then feels stupid for getting so hung up on someone he’s never even met—all he knows of Jack is his voice and that they work for the same company. But the next Monday, Jack calls right when he usually does.

“Spot told me he’d murder me dead if I called for anything less than a fully-fledged emergency,” Jack says cheerfully. “So it looks like you’re stuck with me.”

“You could call one of those friends I’ve heard so much about,” Davey volleys back, feeling lighter than he has all morning. “Unless this is your way of trying to tell me that you don’t have any friends.”

It’s nothing different than their usual banter, but when Jack speaks again, his voice sounds a little weird.

“If you don’t want me callin’ so much, I can dial it back,” Jack says. “I mean, even my own brother gets tired of the sound of my voice sometimes, so I can’t imagine how you feel after spending so much time humorin’ me these last few weeks—“

“No!” Davey blurts out. “No, that’s not what I— I don’t mind talking with you. I like talking to you,” he corrects.

“Yeah?” Jack asks, strangely hopeful.

“Yeah,” Davey answers with a smile Jack can’t see. “And besides, I wouldn’t want to be the reason your brother ‘murders you dead’,” he jokes.

A bark of laughter. “Yeah, how would you live with yourself,” Jack teases.

Lots of office shenanigans. I love the idea of Katherine being one of the workers in Davey’s office and just constantly teasing him about the mysterious artist upstairs that’s always calling him. Similarly, I’d have Charlie as one of the workers in Jack’s office, and every now and then Davey can hear his voice in the background of Jack’s side of the line—he can’t always make out the words, but it always makes Jack sputter and yell at him to go away.

And maybe cameos from the other newsies if I can think of places to sneak them in? Not sure yet, I’ll have to think about it some more.

I’d love for them to not actually meet until the absolute end of the fic, and by complete accident. Like, maybe there’s like an internet safety/email and interpersonal etiquette seminar that the HR department requires everyone to attend, and when Davey goes up to the podium and introduces himself as Mr. Jacobs from HR, he happens to notice a very handsome man sitting in the back straighten up in his seat, suddenly avidly attentive.

But most importantly, a Javid office romance/mutual pining/strangers to lovers where the whole fic takes place almost entirely over the phone. And also they call each other Mr. Kelly/Mr. Jacobs bc ever since I saw that text post I can’t stop thinking about it.

#javid #*editor's note #*the writing desk #bits & bobs #ideas for later #oh look Ciarra has More Ideas #hahahahahahaha #😭😅😭😅#well then #I’m sorry but also I’m not sorry #the office romance fic

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 years

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Broad Band

One of the most Monkey's Paw things about my life is my relationship to books. When I was a teenager, I read all the way through the school and public libraries, spent everything I had on books, and still couldn't get enough and dreamt of more.

Today, as a reviewer, I have more books than I can possibly read, huge, teetering mountains of books that I'm desperate to read, far beyond my ability to ever get through them. Periodically, I declare "book bankruptcy," sweep away the backlog and start over.

Even then, my eyes are bigger than my stomach: I keep back a few books that I can't bear to part with and promise myself I'll read them someday. Usually I don't, but I just did, and boy did I ever make the right call with Claire L Evans's BROAD BAND.

https://clairelevans.com/

I have read a *lot* of histories of computing, and I had a front row seat for a lot of the events depicted in this book - people I worked with, people I worked against - and yet I was surprised over and over again with details and perspectives I'd never encountered.

For example, for some reason, my ninth grade computer science course included lengthy readings on ENIAC, Univac, the Mark I and the Mark II, but none of those mentioned that they were all programmed exclusively or primarily by women.

And Evans doesn't just explain this fact, but - because she is a brilliant and lyrical writer - she brings these women to life, turns them into fully formed characters, makes you see and feel their life stories, frustrations and triumphs.

Even the most celebrated women of tech history - Ada Lovelace, Grace Hopper - leap off the page as people, not merely historical personages or pioneers. Again, these are stories I thought I knew, and realized I didn't.

Some of this can be chalked up to the haze of history - I don't know much about the lives of Lovelace's contemporaries regardless of gender or class - but the main culprit here is erasure, obviously.

These women were written out of the record from the beginning, and the process only accelerated over time. The professionalization of programming - the coining of "software engineer" - coded a female trade as a male profession and precipitated a mass exodus of women.

But despite this, women continued as tech pioneers, excelling in the marginalized, disfavored parts of the field: UX, community, "girl games," hypertext, multimedia and so on.

The specialities that men turned up their noses at, until women proved out their significance (and/or profitability) whereupon men rushed in to dominate them, shouldering women aside.

Reading this outstanding, important book, I found my views on erasure and exclusion evolving, first being brought into focus by Evans's skilful weaving of biographies, interviews and historical source documents, which made the abstract idea of erasure concrete.

From there, Evans demonstrated how marginalized people move into marginalized subfields, defying odds and overcoming hurdles that their mainstream - white, male, affluent - contemporaries don't face, and then elevate these subfields to centrality.

This dynamic is present in many fields of endeavor - think of how Black music (blues, jazz, rock, hiphop) went from the margins to the center when it was co-opted by white musicians who often did a worse job for more money and fame.

It's another example of what John Scalzi calls "living life on the lowest difficulty setting," and it's the basis for affirmative action.

https://whatever.scalzi.com/2012/05/15/straight-white-male-the-lowest-difficulty-setting-there-is/

Consider two candidates: one who attains the top of their field after being trained and supported by the best of the best, and the other who trails them by a step or two - but never had their advantages. Which one has the most potential?

Broad Band isn't just a tale of the women whose stories were erased - it's also the implied story of all the people (not just women) whose stories never got to happen.

Telling the erased stories of people who excelled against all odds through luck and brilliance exposes a void: the people who didn't have that luck, that brilliant, who never got to make a contribution.

After all, the women pioneers in computing trend whiter and wealthier than the median person in America. The notable exceptions - like the Black women who made the space program possible - demonstrate this disparity arises from exclusion, not a lack of aptitude or desire.

Broad Band isn't merely a celebration of the hidden heroes of the computing revolution - it's also an epitaph for all the people whose talent, aptitude, dreams and contributions were squandered by a system based on mass exclusion.

What's more, it's a tale that shows that the differences between fields are socially - not biologically -determined. The women who break through to male-dominated roles as CEOs and VCs are just as prone to selling out workers and users as their male counterparts.

I'm so glad that I saved my copy of Broad Band from my repeated book bankruptcies since 2018, but I confess that I didn't read that print copy - rather, I listened to the audiobook, which Evans herself reads.

Evans isn't just a superb writer, interviewer and researcher - she's also a brilliant voice actor, whose reading is gripping, exuberant, sorrowful and enraging by turns. I love hearing a book read by its author...when the author is a good reader. Evans is the whole package.

#pluralistic

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rllymilerlly · 4 years

Text

Taang One Shot

Now I’m not much of a writer so this is pretty much my first fic ever. So please tell me things to fix if something isn’t right lmao. Also this is set in mine and @toph-beifcng WEFA AU. So check their stuff out 😎

———

Aang stared blankly at the computer screen in front of him. A minute passed by and the update progress bar still hadn’t moved. Aang was about to scream. He was pretty sure it was mocking him. His computer had to know that he had a deadline coming up. It knew that he had no inspiration. So it was going to make him sit there and wait, mocking him. Make him stare at a progress bar for an hour because what else was he going to do? It wasn’t like he had any actual ideas for a song anyways. He tried looking at his hundreds of songwriting notebooks, but none of those gave him the inspiration he desperately needed. He even went as far back as to his high school ones-where most of the songs consisted of teenage angst and his old unrequited crush on Katara.

At the thought of Katara, Aang had half a mind to call up her up and give her a piece of his mind. Why did she feel the need to put a deadline on his creative process? The GAang wasn’t even signed to anybody at the moment and nobody else had strict deadlines like he did. Sure they all had at least one solo piece done, while Aang had none, but Aang chose to ignore that. He was now convinced that Katara had it out for him, just like his computer.

He looked at his phone and the time read 2:35. Great, another 5 minutes passed by and the progress bar only moved one percent. Aang thought of himself as a gentle soul, but at this moment he wanted to chuck his PC out of his apartment window. But since he knew he couldn’t afford another one, he settled with pulling his beanie over his face and groaned in frustration.

“Sounds productive in here, Twinkle Toes,” a chill voice said behind him. Aang lifted up his beanie and turned around. His girlfriend was leaning against the doorframe across the room. She was wearing his iconic bright orange hoodie that was so big on her tiny frame that he could barely see her shorts poking through the bottom. Her hair was in her typical messy bun and looked like it was begging to be let down. Any other time Aang would be all over her but right now he wanted to suffer alone.

“Toph, can’t you see I’m busy? I don’t need your snarky commentary right now.” Aang sighed, annoyed, as he turned back to his unchanged computer screen.

“Well I mean I can’t see anything,” Aang groaned at the comment. “But I can practically feel your mopiness throughout the entire apartment. It’s practically oozing out of-”

“What do you want, T?” He interrupted. He really wasn’t in the mood. He could hear her approaching behind him and the next thing he knew a book was in his hand “What do you want me to do with this?”

“Now, and I could totally be wrong, but I’m pretty sure people typically read books” Toph stated with her arms crossed. Aang glared at her.

“Yes. I know that,” he was rubbing his temples struggling to hold back his temper, “but there is no reason for me to read right now. You know I have a deadline coming up. I cannot afford to-“

“I want you to read it to me. I can’t sleep.” Toph interrupted. Now that caused Aang to freeze up, he hadn’t expected that.

“Oh,” was all that Aang could manage out. His frustrations seemed to melt away momentarily. He looked at the book she handed him. It was The Princess Bride one of his favorites, “Hey, wait a minute, I got you the audiobook of this for your birthday.”

“So?” She huffed

“Soooo, can’t you listen to that?” he said looking back at her. Her face turned red as she looked down and mumbled. “What was that, T?”

“I said the guys voice is annoying” she said a little more confidently, but still looking down.

“Okay and? You say my voice is annoying all the time.” Aang said with a smirk. It wasn’t often he got to see his girlfriend so flustered.

“Yeah well he doesn’t do voices. How am I supposed to know who’s, who when his voice is just so monotone,” Toph pouted as she carefully sat down in the chair next to him. Aang was full on grinning at this point.

“I knew you secretly liked my voices” he started to laugh as she playfully elbowed him.

“Yeah, yeah, but don’t tell anyone that. I gotta reputation to keep.” She was still blushing like crazy, but couldn’t hold back her smile anymore. She grabbed his hand, “Now are you coming or what?” Aang looked at her suspiciously.

“Wait a minute is this all a ruse to get me to go to bed?”

“That depends, is it working?” Toph asked as she leaned her head against his shoulder. Aang leaned into her touch unconsciously. She was starting to make him think that going to bed might not be a bad idea. Then he made the mistake at looking at the computer screen. He almost screamed. It was done updating. He pulled away from Toph.

“I’m so sorry, Toph. You know I would love to, but I have to keep working or Katara will kill me. And honestly by extension she’d probably kill you too.” Aang couldn’t bare to look at her as he spoke. He knew if he saw the disappointment in her eyes he would immediately throw away all of his responsibilities and only do whatever she asked the rest of his life. Toph sighed and got up. Aang closed his eyes as she went behind him and wrapped her arms around him.

“I know. I understand you gotta focus. I’ll leave you to it,” she kissed the top of his head, “Goodnight, Aang.” And then just like that she was gone.

Aang sighed at the realization he was alone again. He tried to get to work by researching some of his previous inspirations, hoping that anything would catch his interest. But to no prevail. He was in the same exact position he was when his computer screen was nothing but an update bar. Except now he felt a little colder, a little emptier. He looked at the clock 3:42. He was getting nowhere and felt tears of exhaustion starting to form at his eyes.

Then all the sudden he felt something heavy rest on his lap. Aang looked down and saw two big brown eyes staring back at him.

“Oh hey, buddy” Aang said with a small smile as he started petting Appa’s head, “What are you doing up? Did Toph send you in after me?” Appa’s head lifted up at the mention of Toph and Aang laughed, “I’ll take that as a yes” Appa smiled at Aang’s laughter and apparently thought it was a great opportunity to jump up on the chair and start licking his face.

“Appa, please, get down.” Aang couldn’t stop laughing now as he tried to control Appa. He could barely breath. “You’re too big to be a lap dog. You’re going to make us fall.”

Finally, Aang gently pushed Appa off him. But Appa paid no mind he was wagging his big tail, excitedly.

”C’mon, buddy, you know you’re not allowed to do that while I’m in the desk chair,” he said still smiling while he wiped the slobber off his face. Appa nudged Aangs leg and Aang sighed knowingly, “I’m sorry buddy I’m busy. I got to get this done.”

Appa grunted in response and put a paw on his arm.

“Appa, please” Aang looked down at his fluffy buddy, hoping he’d understand. But he just got a whimper in response. Aang looked back at his blank screen. He was convinced the world truly had something against him. The Music Gods must have cursed him. Maybe he had to defeat all these tempting obstacles in order to achieve the creative inspiration he desired. But then out of the corner of his eye he saw it. Toph must have forgotten to take it back with her. On his desk was The Princess Bride. And in that moment Aang knew he had lost. Aang sighed in defeat as he closed his laptop, his tormentor. “Alright, buddy, you win,” he yawned, exhaustion suddenly catching up to him, “It’s time for bed.”

Appa happily lead the way to their room across the apartment. Aang couldn’t help but realize how messy his home was. He had been practically locked up in the make shift “office” for the past 2 days. So hadn’t been able to upkeep anything, he barely took care of himself. ‘Oh God did I even eat anything today?’ He thought to himself. ‘Oh wait I had Chinese, but I don’t remember leaving,’ he sighed regretfully ‘Toph must have gotten it for me.’

He could see a dim light coming from the cracked door of their room. Appa trotted in before him, pushing the door fully open. Aang leaned on the door frame and took in the sight. He couldn’t stop the smile on his face even if he tried. Toph was sitting up in bed with her headphones in. Her eyes were droopy but she had a small smile on her face as she was petting Momo, who was curled up on her lap, purring. They seemed so peaceful... and so tired. A small twinge of guilt formed in his stomach because he knew the only reason why they were up was because they were waiting for him. Appa jumped onto the bed and Toph’s eyes lit up and she took out one of her headphones. When Appa came over to curl up next to Toph, Aang could see the twinkle in her eyes die out when she realized it wasn’t him.

“You know, I can practically feel your mopiness throughout the entire apartment.” He teased with a small sad smile.

“Oh really?” Toph smirked and her eyes twinkled again

“Yeah it’s really distracting.” He started making his way to their bed. “I couldn’t get anything done because of it.” He sighed over dramatically as he sat on the bed, “But I guess I can’t blame you. I mean I am the best storyteller of all time. I would be upset too if I had to settle for less”

Toph rolled her eyes and snorted, “I don’t think I would consider you the ‘best of all time’, I’d say you’re more tolerable than anything.’

Aang gasped dramatically and put his hand to his chest. “My love, you offend me. Maybe I should go elsewhere, where my services are more appreciated.” Toph quickly grabbed his hand before he could even pretend to walk away.

“No.”

“Admit it, then” Aang teased her as he interlocked their fingers.

“Wasn’t what I said earlier enough,” she rolled her eyes, but scooted closer to him. Aang smiled and couldn’t help himself.

“I’m sorry. You see I suffer from short term memory loss and I don’t recall-“

“Twinkle Toes!” Toph interrupted, but Aang wasn’t going to back down. There was a beat of silence.

“I’m waiting~” He said in a sing song voice. There was another beat.

“Fine” Toph groaned putting her free hand on her face, “you’re the best storyteller”

“Of all time?” He questioned nudging her.

“That I know of,” she smiled squeezing his hand.

“I’ll take it,” he leaned in and kissed her forehead. After he kept his forehead against hers and looked into her pale green eyes and breathed her in. He truly believed in that moment that they were staring at each other’s souls. She was the only one that could ever see through him and he was the only one she ever let see her. He felt tears starting to well up in eyes again as his guilt from earlier overtook him because she looked as tired as he felt. He then wrapped his arms around her tightly as he continued, “I’m sorry about earlier. I’ve been so stressed out and I don’t even know what I’d do without you looking out for me.” Toph laughed into his shoulder.

“You’d probably get lost in that mind of yours,” she teased as she pushed away from him. “Now enough of this,” she gently wiped the tears from his eyes, “You got a story to read me, oh great story teller.” Aang laughed and picked up the book.

“Okay, Okay, gather ‘round folks,” Aang said in a terrible cockney accent. Toph laughed as they both got under the covers, “This tale sure is a doozy.”

“Are you going to use that voice the whole time?”

“You said ya liked my voices. So you better prepare yourself, sweetheart.”

“Oh God, I already regret this.” Toph groaned, but cuddled closer to him. Aang shushed her and began his favorite tale.

“The year that Buttercup was born, the most beautiful woman in the world was a French scullery maid named Annette...”

They did not get passed the second page before they were all passed out.

Aang sprung awake suddenly the next morning. It was like a lightning bolt, the moment he had been waiting for finally happened. He was struck with inspiration. He was about to dart out of bed before he forgot it, but then he realized all of his cuddle buddies around him. Toph laid on his chest with her arms wrapped around him, while Aang had one arm around her while the the other still barely grasping the book he was reading the night before. Momo was curled up right between them while Appa rested on their laps. Suddenly he couldn’t even bring himself thinking about getting out of bed. Katara could kill him right now and this moment would say that this was worth it. His cursed computer could wait a few more hours. He took a second to commit the image of all of them together to his memory before wrapping both of his arms around Toph, cuddling closer to her. Letting sleep once again overtake him.

#taang #avatar band au #wefa au #toph beifong #aang #atla #lmao this took forever to write i understand writers now #ppl who write crazy as things in a day #kudos to u

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