#commercial letter of credit

[financesevaloan]

Secured Loan

Secured loans are a type of debt where a borrower mortgages their immovable property or hypothecates their movable assets to get the necessary funds. It is one of the easiest loans for people to avail themselves. Secured loan applicants get low-interest rates and flexible tenures because the borrower has given their property as collateral and the bank can benefit from the lower risk profile. Failure to repay the loan leads to the loss of the property as the lending institution disposes off the same to recover their money.

The purposes are buying a new car, a house, or starting a new business. This allows applicants to do things that would not have been possible otherwise due to lack of funds.

What Types of Collateral Can be Used to Back a Secured Loan?

Any asset under the umbrella of law can be used to obtain a secured loan, mostly lenders seek liquid collateral easily sold for cash and has a value roughly equal to the secured loan amount being borrowed.

Generally, secured loan collateral examples are in the following forms:

Real estate, including any financial equity earned since purchasing the residence

Bank accounts, including checking accounts, savings accounts, certificates of deposit accounts, and money market accounts

Cars, trucks, SUVs, motorcycles, boats, or other vehicles

Stocks, mutual funds, or bond investments

Insurance policies, including life insurance

Precious metals, high-end collectibles, and other valuables

#loan against property #working capital loan #dropline overdraft #bank guarantee #letter of credit #industrial property loan #commercial property loan #builder inventory funding #loan against rent receivable #bank overdraft #lc discounting #loan against bank gusrantee #business loan #financeseva

[physalian]

You don’t have to pay for that fancy worldbuilding program

As mentioned in this post about writing with executive dysfunction, if one of your reasons to keep procrastinating on starting your book is not being able to afford something like World Anvil or Campfire, I’m here to tell you those programs are a luxury, not a necessity: Enter Google Suite (not sponsored but gosh I wish).

MS Office offers more processing power and more fine-tuning, but Office is expensive and only autosaves to OneDrive, and I have a perfectly healthy grudge against OneDrive for failing to sync and losing 19k words of a WIP that I never got back.

Google’s sync has never failed me, and the Google apps (at least for iPhone) aren’t nearly as buggy and clunky as Microsoft’s. So today I’m outlining the system I used for my upcoming fantasy novel with all the helpful pictures and diagrams. Maybe this won’t work for you, maybe you have something else, and that’s okay! I refuse to pay for what I can get legally for free and sometimes Google’s simplicity is to its benefit.

The biggest downside is that you have to manually input and update your data, but as someone who loves organizing and made all these willingly and for fun, I don’t mind.

So. Let’s start with Google Sheets.

The Character Cheat Sheet:

I organized it this way for several reasons:

I can easily see which characters belong to which factions and how many I have named and have to keep up with for each faction

All names are in alphabetical order so when I have to come up with a new name, I can look at my list and pick a letter or a string of sounds I haven’t used as often (and then ignore it and start 8 names with A).

The strikethrough feature lets me keep track of which characters I kill off (yes, I changed it, so this remains spoiler-free)

It’s an easy place to go instead of scrolling up and down an entire manuscript for names I’ve forgotten, with every named character, however minor their role, all in one spot

Also on this page are spare names I’ll see randomly in other media (commercials, movie end credits, etc) and can add easily from my phone before I forget

Also on this page are my summary, my elevator pitch, and important character beats I could otherwise easily mess up, it helps stay consistent

*I also have on here not pictured an age timeline for all my vampires so I keep track of who’s older than who and how well I’ve staggered their ages relative to important events, but it’s made in Photoshop and too much of a pain to censor and add here

On other tabs, I keep track of location names, deities, made-up vocabulary and definitions, and my chapter word count.

The Word Count Guide:

*3/30 Edit to update this chart to its full glory. Column 3 is a cumulative count. Most of what I write breaks 100k and it's fun watching the word count rise until it boils over.

This is the most frustrating to update manually, especially if you don’t have separate docs for each chapter, but it really helps me stay consistent with chapter lengths and the formula for calculating the average and rising totals is super basic.

Not that all your chapters have to be uniform, but if you care about that, this little chart is a fantastic visualizer.

If you have multiple narrators, and this book does, you can also keep track of how many POVs each narrator has, and how spread out they are. I didn’t do that for this book since it’s not an ensemble team and matters less, but I did for my sci-fi WIP, pictured below.

As I was writing that one, I had “scripted” the chapters before going back and writing out all the glorious narrative, and updated the symbols from “scripted” to “finished” accordingly.

I also have a pie chart that I had to make manually on a convoluted iPhone app to color coordinate specifically the way I wanted to easily tell who narrates the most out of the cast, and who needs more representation.

—

Google Docs

Can’t show you much here unfortunately but I’d like to take an aside to talk about my “scene bits” docs.

It’s what it says on the tin, an entire doc all labeled with different heading styles with blurbs for each scene I want to include at some point in the book so I can hop around easily. Whether they make it into the manuscript or not, all practice is good practice and I like to keep old ideas because they might be useful in unsuspecting ways later.

Separate from that, I keep most of my deleted scenes and scene chunks for, again, possible use later in a “deleted scenes” doc, all labeled accordingly.

When I designed my alien language for the sci-fi series, I created a Word doc dictionary and my own "translation" matrix, for easy look-up or word generation whenever I needed it (do y'all want a breakdown for creating foreign languages? It's so fun).

Normally, as with my sci-fi series, I have an entire doc filled with character sheets and important details, I just… didn’t do that for this book. But the point is—you can still make those for free on any word processing software, you don’t need fancy gadgets.

—

I hope this helps anyone struggling! It doesn’t have to be fancy. It doesn’t have to be expensive. Everything I made here, minus the aforementioned timeline and pie chart, was done with basic excel skills and the paint bucket tool. I imagine this can be applicable to games, comics, what have you, it knows no bounds!

Now you have one less excuse to sit down and start writing.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #organizing your book #outlining #shut up and write the book #google sheets #google docs

[nianeyna]

Ever wanted to print and bind your own customized bullet journal, but then inevitably discovered that finding or making a suitable dot grid pdf file is weirdly hard? Like, maybe you find one, but it's never the right scale, it looks crappy, you can't edit it, it includes some junk you don't want... and then you go to try and make your own and it's like, ok get a png of one page of dots and copy-paste it into a document 200 times - what! nightmare! I'm not doing that! ...uhhhhh, not that I have any personal bullet journal typesetting related trauma or anything. haha.

But I mean, it's just dots, right? you should be able to go, ok I want 200 pages of dots 5mm apart on half-letter sized pages, make it so. Why is that so hard?

Well, now it's easy!

Click the link, follow the instructions, get your journal, print that sucker out and bind it using your preferred method. I promise it's that easy. Please don't be daunted by the command-line stuff - you do NOT need any coding experience to use this template (although if you can figure out a bit of html and css, you'll be able to do even more customization than what I've already built in).

Also, I've dedicated this code to the public domain, so you are free to do just about anything with it including modify, redistribute with or without credit, use for commercial purposes, etc etc. But, if you like it, feel free to tell me how cool and pretty I am in the notes. ⤵

#bookbinding #bullet journal #bujo #resource #free #my work #programming #actually you know what fuck it we blaze #I'm high on SUCCESS

[feminismisstillahatemovement]

Over the past few months, we’ve watched as major corporations such as Disney , Anheuser-Busch, and Target have hopped on the LGBT train and alienated their traditional client bases as a result. Regardless of the often swift and brutal backlash they know will follow, others, including North Face, Nike, and Kohl’s, are always waiting in the wings to become the next sacrificial lamb.

It turns out there’s a reason for this counterintuitive behavior that goes far beyond virtue signaling: Companies are trying to raise their Corporate Equality Index. The more woke issues a company supports, the higher their score.

A CEI is essentially a “woke” credit score that is determined by the Human Rights Campaign , a 501(c)(4) organization that describes itself as “the largest LGBTQ political lobbying organization within the United States.” No one will be surprised to hear that George Soros’s Open Society Foundations is HRC’s largest donor. Other donors include the Planned Parenthood Federation of America and the labor unions for the National Education Association and the United Food and Commercial Workers, according to Influence Watch .

Influence Watch reports HRC’s public charity arm, the Human Rights Campaign Foundation, plays an influential role in Democratic Party politics by pressuring companies to comply with its social agenda.

A company’s CEI is derived from its performance in five areas :

Workforce Protections (5 points possible).

Inclusive Benefits (50 points possible).

Supporting an Inclusive Culture (25 points possible).

Corporate Social Responsibility (20 points possible).

Responsible Citizenship (-25).

The New York Post reports that “HRC sends representatives to corporations every year telling them what kind of stuff they have to make visible at the company. They give them a list of demands and if they don’t follow through there’s a threat that you won’t keep your CEI score.”

James Lindsay, editor of the website New Discourses, told the New York Post, “HRC administers the CEI ranking ‘like an extortion racket, like the Mafia.’”

In a 2018 letter to CEOs from BlackRock CEO Larry Fink, whom Fortune magazine has dubbed the “ face of ESG ,” he emphasizes a “new model of governance” in harmony with ESG values.

Fink wrote , “Society is demanding that companies, both public and private, serve a social purpose. To prosper over time, every company must not only deliver financial performance, but also show how it makes a positive contribution to society. … [I]f a company doesn’t engage with the community and have a sense of purpose, it will ultimately lose the license to operate from key stakeholders.”

Fink is mistaken. Society is not demanding that companies serve a social purpose. Rather, ESG is being forced upon society by the global elites who wield it as a weapon and a control mechanism they can use to consolidate power over the masses.

[homomenhommes]

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … March 23

1653 – In New Haven Colony, six teenage males are sentenced to be flogged for "wickedness in a filthy corrupting way with one another."

1874 – J.C. Leyendecker, German-American commercial artist, born (d.1951); A highly popular American illustrator of Dutch ancestry, Leyendecker was born in Germany and emigrated to the United States at the age of eight in 1882 with his parents, his sister, Augusta, and two brothers, Francis Xavier "Frank" Leyendecker, and Adolph Leyendecker.

Arrow Collar Man

J.C. Leyendecker was one of the most successful and recognizable commercial artists of the 20th century, best known, perhaps as the creator of the sleekly handsome Arrow Collar Man. Almost seven decades after the height of his vogue, the Arrow Collar Man still appeals. Blond, classically handsome, patrician, somewhat aloof, probably a bit of a shit, he is definitely more interested in himself than he is in any of the beautiful women pictured with him. When he first appeared in magazine ads, the Arrow Collar people received carloads of fan letters from adoring women eager to discover the identity of the sexy artist's model. Some proposed marriage. Little did they know that the Arrow Collar Man was the artist's lover, Charles Beach, blond, handsome, patrician, and vain.

1932 Olympic Rowing Champs

Over forty years, Leyendecker illustrated covers for the enormously popular Saturday Evening Post. In total, he produced over 300 illustrations for the magazine. The mainstream image of Santa Claus as a jolly fat man in a red fur- trimmed coat was popularized by Leyendecker, as was the image of the New Year Baby. Also notable is Leyendecker's illustration of the Three Kings, from the Christmas 1900 edition of the Saturday Evening Post and the one above honoring the 1932 Olympic Champions U.S. Rowing Team.

Leyendecker drew propaganda posters during WWI, encouraging people to buy war bonds. But what could be more deliberately homoerotic than his recruiting poster for the U.S. Navy with its semi-naked men and the phallus symbolism of the cannon and the shell, not to mention the line "These men have COME ACROSS."

In 1914 the Leyendecker brothers built an estate in New Rochelle, NY, where they, their sister, and Charles Beach, lived. Leyendecker was the chief influence on, and a friend of Norman Rockwell, who was a pallbearer at Leyendecker's funeral in 1951. Leyendecker was elected to the Society of Illustrators Hall of Fame in 1977.

1903 – Frank Sargeson (d.1982) was the pen name of Norris Frank Davey. He is considered one of New Zealand's foremost short story writers. Like Katherine Mansfield, Sargeson helped to put New Zealand literature on the world map.

Born in Hamilton, Sargeson has been credited with introducing New Zealand English into short stories. His technique was to write the story without mentioning the setting. He also used a semi-articulate style which means that the story was written from a naive point of view. Events are simply told but are not explained.

Although Sargeson became known for his literary depiction of the laconic and unsophisticated New Zealand male, his upbringing had in fact been middle-class comfortable. Upon completing his training as a solicitor, he spent two years in the United Kingdom. Sometime in the 1930s, he began living year-round in his parents' holiday cottage in Takapuna, a northern suburb of Auckland. He eventually inherited the property which became for several decades an important gathering place for Auckland's bohemia and literati.

When author Janet Frame was released in 1955 from eight years of voluntary incarceration in New Zealand psychiatric hospitals, Sargeson invited her to stay in a former army hut on his property. He introduced her to other writers and affirmed her literary vocation and encouraged her to adopt good working habits. She lived in the shed for about a year, during which time she wrote her first novel, Owls Do Cry.

During the 1930s and 40s, Sargeson experienced considerable economic hardship, as his literary output earned him very little money. This experience left him permanently sympathetic to the Left. For example, he quietly advocated closer relations between New Zealand and Maoist China.

He was also gay at a time when sodomy was illegal in New Zealand. In 1929, he was arrested on a morals charge in Wellington, but later acquitted. His biographer believes that this trial explains why Sargeson adopted a pen name and never practised the profession for which he had trained.

Sargeson died in Auckland.

1923 – Georgina Somerset (d.2013) was a British dentist and former Royal Navy officer. She was the first openly intersex person in the United Kingdom.

Somerset was born on 23 March 1923 in Purley and christened George Edwin Turtle. Her birth was registered outside of the usual time limit because of confusion as to her sex. Ultimately, the obstetricians decided to assign her male. She was educated at Purley High School for Boys, a grammar school in Croydon and Reigate Grammar School, an all-boys free school. She went on to study dentistry at King's College Hospital, London, and qualified in 1944.

As a newly qualified dentist, Somerset was called up to the Royal Navy Volunteer Reserve as the Second World War was coming to an end. She was promoted to temporary surgeon-lieutenant on 27 March 1946 with seniority from 21 September 1945. She left the military in 1948.Upon returning to civilian life, she established a dental practice in Croydon, London. In early 1960, she sold this practice and moved to Hove, East Sussex, where she ran another dental practice until retiring in 1985. Somerset wrote two books: Over The Sex Border published in 1963 and her memoir A Girl Called Georgina published in 1992.

Somerset's father was a Freemason and initiated both his sons into the Craft in 1945. She rose to become Worshipful Master of her Lodge but resigned from the craft in 1953. Having felt female from a young age, Somerset underwent gender confirming surgery in January 1957. She had previously been rejected by the eminent plastic surgeon Sir Harold Gillies, as she had turned up to her appointment in male morning dress. In 1960, after sworn testimony from her doctors, she was given a new birth certificate with her chosen name of Georgina Carol Turtle and her sex as female.

In June 1962, her engagement to Christopher Somerset, distantly related to the Duke of Beaufort, was announced in the Court and Social page of The Daily Telegraph. They married in St Margaret's, Westminster, London, in October 1962. This made her the first known woman to marry in a church after officially changing sex.

Georgina Somerset died on 30 November 2013, aged 90.

1956 – Steven Saylor is an American author of historical novels. He is a graduate of the University of Texas at Austin, where he studied history and Classics.

Saylor's best-known work is his Roma Sub Rosa series, set in ancient Rome. The novels' hero is a detective named Gordianus the Finder, active during the time of Sulla, Cicero, Julius Caesar, and Cleopatra. Outside this crime novel series, Saylor has also written two epic-length historical novels about the city of Rome, Roma and Empire. His work has been published in 21 languages.

In the early 1980s, following a move to San Francisco, Saylor became an editor at Drummer magazine, a popular gay S/M publication at the time. He explained in a later interview that the erotic fiction he wrote in his twenties emphasized the seriousness with which he undertook the task, stating, "I probably did more actual rewriting on those stories than anything I've done since, because for me, writing erotic fiction is like writing a piece of music, because if one note is wrong, you lose the audience."

Saylor has also written two novels set in Texas. A Twist at the End, featuring O. Henry, is set in Austin in the 1880s and based on real-life serial murders and trials (the case of the so-called Servant Girl Annihilator). Have You Seen Dawn? is a contemporary thriller set in a fictional Texas town, Amethyst, based on Saylor's hometown, Goldthwaite, Texas.

Saylor contributed autobiographical essays to three anthologies of gay writing edited by John Preston, Hometowns, A Member of the Family, and Friends and Lovers, and prior to his novel-writing career he published gay erotic fiction under the pen name Aaron Travis.

Saylor has lived with Richard Solomon since 1976; they registered as domestic partners in San Francisco in 1991 and later dissolved that partnership in order to legally marry in October 2008. The couple split their time between Berkeley, California, and Austin, Texas.

1960 – Terry Sweeney is an American writer, comedian and actor. He started identifying himself as gay as early as the fourth grade. Sweeney is best known for his appearances as a regular cast member of Saturday Night Live (SNL) during that program's 1985-86 season. He was discovered by Lorne Michaels while Sweeney was performing in a New York play, Banned in France in 1983.

Sweeney was SNL's first openly gay cast member; He was "out" prior to being hired as a cast member. His run on the show came at a time when there were few openly gay characters or actors on television. For roughly 27 years, there were no other openly gay cast members on SNL, until Kate McKinnonwas added to the cast in April 2012. However, as of 2012, no other gay males (out or otherwise) besides Terry Sweeney have been cast members on SNL.

During his season on SNL, he became known for his celebrity impersonations, particularly female impersonations of stars like Diana Ross, Patti LaBelle, Joan Collins, Brooke Shields's mother Teri Shields, and Joan Rivers, as well as Ted Kennedy (the only male celebrity he impersonated). His most notable recurring character was a portrayal of then-First Lady Nancy Reagan.

While at SNL, he faced many hardships from both the writers and cast because of his sexuality, especially from Chevy Chase. Sweeney was told by Ron Reagan, who hosted one of that season's episodes, that he was "more like his [Reagan's] mother than she is."

Terry Sweeney's partner is Lanier Laney, a comedy writer who also wrote for SNL in the 1985-1986 season. According to a 2000 magazine article, they met during a sketch called the "Bess Truman Players". Laney and Sweeney were also writing partners for Saturday Night Live during the 1985-1986 season, the movie Shag, and the Sci-Fi Channel cartoon Tripping The Rift.

1962 – Openly gay Marc Cherry is an American writer and producer. He is best known for being the creator of the show Desperate Housewives.

After graduating from high School, Cherry attended California State University, to study theatre and initially considered a career in performance. He decided to move to Hollywood and pursue writing work. His move came at a bad time; the 1988 writer's strike hit as soon as Cherry arrived.

In 1990, he became a writer and producer for the long-running hit sitcom The Golden Girls. He later created Some of My Best Friends a 2001 sitcom that was based in part on the film Kiss Me, Guido.

In 2002, a conversation with his mother inspired him to develop a show about the fractured lives of four upper middle class suburban women. After HBO, FOX, CBS, NBC, Showtime, and Lifetime Television all passed on the show, Cherry got his big break when his agent was arrested and went to jail for embezzlement. His new agents brought the show to ABC, which decided to pick it up. The series, Desperate Housewives, was an immediate ratings smash and generated enormous national (and subsequently, international) debate. Cherry received several lucrative offers from various parties, but chose to sign a long-term deal with Touchstone, since their network had shown faith in Desperate Housewives when no one else would.

He says he added the gay couple to the script to underline the growing "normality" of having gay neighbors.

Desperate Housewives continued to be popular for seven more seasons and Cherry took more of a back seat during its eight and final season.

Cherry has been described as a 'somewhat conservative gay Republican and was the recipient of the Log Cabin Republicans American Visibility Award in 2006. Cherry was described in an article about him in Newsweek as a "somewhat conservative, gay Republican."

1978 – Mario Armando Lavandeira, Jr., better known as Perez Hilton (a play on "Paris Hilton"), is an American blogger and television personality. His blog, Perezhilton.com (formerly PageSixSixSix.com), is known for posts covering gossip items about celebrities. His blog has garnered negative attention for its attitude, its outing of alleged closeted celebrities, and its role in the increasing coverage of celebrities in all forms of media.

On his blog, Hilton is open about his homosexuality and about his desire to "out" those who he claims are closeted gay celebrities. When former 'N Sync member Lance Bass officially came out as gay on July 26, 2006, Hilton received criticism for having been partially responsible in the outing. "It upsets me that people think what I'm doing is a bad thing," Hilton told Access Hollywood. "I don't think it's a bad thing. If you know something to be a fact, why not report it? Why is that still taboo?" On November 2, 2006, another celebrity often questioned by Hilton for remaining closeted, actor Neil Patrick Harris, revealed that he is gay.

Prominent members of the gay community who have criticized Hilton's outing tactics include Arts & Entertainment Editor of The Advocate Corey Scholibo, AfterElton.com editor Michael Jensen, and Damon Romine, spokesperson for the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation. Kim Ficera, contributing writer for AfterEllen.com, wrote,

"I have to question the character of a man who attacks others on such deeply personal levels, without provocation and for self-benefit, monetary or otherwise...If he's emotionally incapable of exhibiting even the tiniest bit of compassion for closeted people, if he can't be sensitive to the fact that coming out is a very personal decision and that the process can be difficult for some — especially celebrities — I feel sorry for him. If his juvenile behavior is his shtick, I think it makes him a much more pathetic figure, and one the gay and lesbian community should not support....If we support behavior like Hilton's, we applaud shallowness, arrogance, rage and invasion of privacy, and risk becoming what we despise."

Some of Hilton's fellow gossip bloggers have also objected to his approach. Author, screenwriter, and former friend Japhy Grant has also questioned his motives, writing on Salon.com, "Spreading gossip is just your average pedestrian variety of immorality. Claiming that you're doing it to further civil rights is an outright sham."

When questioned on Midweek Politics about whether reporting on celebrities' sexual orientation incites homophobia by making it news, Hilton indicated that he did not believe so. He said that coming out in Hollywood is not necessarily a bad thing, citing Ellen DeGeneres and Rosie O'Donnell as examples:

"I know there is some controversy about outing people, but I also believe the only way we're gonna have change is with visibility. And if I have to drag some people screaming out of the closet, then I will. I think that lots of celebrities have an archaic fear that being gay will hurt their career but look at Rosie. Look at Ellen."

Some prominent gay rights advocates disagree. GLAAD spokesperson Damon Romine told Salon.com,

"Media speculation about a celebrity's orientation is not something we support. This kind of gossip can lead some people to the decision to come out, as we've seen recently, or it may drive others further into the closet. People are going to become more guarded and secretive and not less, because they don't want to create any opportunities [for anyone to out them]."

Actor Bruce Vilanch said, "What purpose does it serve? These [people like Perez] are professional homosexuals. They are gay people for a living. They have to respect the rights of homosexuals who aren't professional." In an article entitled "Just How Dangerous is Perez Hilton?", AfterElton.com suggested that Hilton's actions put people's careers at risk, because anti-gay bias is still a prominent part of American culture. He continued, "Both as a gay man and a journalist, I question whether the gay community should approve of Hilton's actions.... Being associated with someone who publishes photos of panty-less starlets and scribbles dirty notes...makes us look infantile and ridiculous."

2005 – St. Kitts and Nevis:   The Windjammer Barefoot Cruise ship with 110 gay men is not allowed to dock on the island. Officials stated that they don’t want homosexuality to be part of their culture.

[aroworlds]

[image description: six elongated pixel-style text reading "aro" striped in the colours of three pride flags. A brown arrow shaft runs across the centre of the letters, forming the horizontal strokes of the letters "A" and "R". A grey arrowhead sits in front of the text; flag-stripe fletching sits behind it. Each image is available in two versions with black or transparent background.

Stripes are coloured in the following pride flags: allo-aro (green/light green/white/yellow/gold), aromantic (green/light green/white/grey/black) and non-sam aro (cyan/light cyan/white/light green/green).]

Aro (with Arrow) Pixel Art Stickers

Flags: allosexual aromantic, aromantic and non-sam aromantic.

This design is created from the cross-stitch patch variant of my freehand embroidery motif (originally designed for doll T-shirts). Both patterns--cross-stitch and freehand embroidery--are available on the Aro Worlds website and Patreon.

All banners/stickers are available for free personal or non-commercial use with credit to one of my accounts.

#aromantic #alloaro #non sam aro #aro arrows #arrows #stickers #flags and banners #typography #typographic art #pixel art #pixel art banners #green aro pride flag #green and gold alloaro pride flag #artwork and visual #original artwork #pride #aro symbols #aro symbolism #weaponry #weapons and sharp edges #in writing the id I originally typed arohead #sounds about right!

[sophietv]

Kaylor : The Eras Tour

First thread I'll import here is this one: Every Kaylor references on The Eras Tour

On Twitter I update this thread from time to time when I find new things, not too sure how it works on Tumblr 😅 But I'll figure it out!

So here's all the Kaylor references I could find while watching the concert, TikTok and by my beautiful moots on Twitter.

Let's start with a Kaylor classic! Daisies:

There is daisies on the necklace she wears during Lover Era.

Daisies on the ceiling during Love Story (Karlie's favourite song)

Daisies on the piano during the surprise songs.

My personal favourite: Karlie's birthday:

During Bad Blood - wich is Track 8 of 1989, there's a 3 light up on the ceiling.

8/3 = Karlie's birthday

The letter K now:

During Invisible String, you can see the letters KK light up in the audience.

This person found out that if you mirror two Ks, it gives a diamond. Just like the stage.

Sadly I screenrecorded it when I saw it and forgot to take note of who did this, so I can't credit...

Now the 2014 VSFS :

In Bad Blood Taylor on the screen wears something odly similar to what Karlie wore during the 2014 VSFS

Notice the floor that look like a chess game? Taylor recreated it during the Mastermind set.

And during the 2014 VSFS Taylor sang style and walked hand in hand with Karlie, well she does the same with one dancer.

More than that, with Karlie she walked exactly 16 steps.

With the dancer, she walks exactly 16 steps.

But she also points at the dance in the exact same way that she pointed at Karie.

The Eye Theory :

There's also A LOT of eye theory references during the show.

During Delicate

During My Tears Ricochet (PS I don't remembre where I took this picture, so if it's one of you, tell me and i'll credit you)

Also some pointed that the dilated pupils made them think of the Best Best Friends staring contest and Karlie's eyes.

During Illicit Affairs

During Fearless

During Mastermind. At some point the diamond look like an eye.

Other Kaylor Flagging:

During the reputation intro, the hands are not Taylor's, but looks a lot like Karlie's.

At the end of Delicate, the stage looks like a giraffe neck as pointed out by Gaylolore on Tiktok.

In Style when she sings "take me home" New York city appears on the screen with the sun moving toward something.

And there's a golden path illuminated in the streets.

The sun also appears on the screen during surprise songs.

The new Lover necklace has butterflies on it. (In the Best Best Friends video, Taylor described Karlie as a Fairy Butterfly, and there's also the ME! mural...)

The Folklore cabin is a replica of the Castro cabin where both Taylor and Karlie stayed at Big Sur.

Source: Kaylortruther on Twitter

The Delicate performance has a lot or ressemblance to this Caroline Herrera commercial Karlie did.

The entirerity of The Last Great American Dinasty with the Karlie look alike and their interactions.

Ok that's about it for the Kaylor references I could find in the tour visual.

I'll probably do a part two for all the Kaylor Koicidences that happened during the tour too. because there's A LOT.

#Kaylor #Eras Tour #Gaylor #Karlie #Taylor #gaylor swift #lgbetty #koincidences

[aacbbg]

Tangle!…… >:0

[image ID: a black rectangular box with the words “not for personal/commercial use” in all caps, then under it in lowercase letters “can be used in discord servers with proper credit. Can be used for AAC.” end ID]

#nonverbal emojis #nonverbal emotes #im trusting y’all not to steal this #nonverbal #nonspeaking #semiverbal #semispeaking #emoticon #discord emoji #discord emote #custom emoji #custom emote #aac #aac app #aac users #aac device #aac user #aac emotes #tangle #stim toys #stim tools #fidget toys

[finnieforkys]

FUMO PATTERN

Fumo pattern i ripped from a bootleg. There are too many details to use the letters guide system so i used colors, black mean "sew to mirror piece". Sorry i'm not very good at this, anyone want to fix or edit this pattern, please feel free to do so. Also, please message me if you have any questions.

‼️EDIT!‼️: If you have questions about how to sew this pattern, please DM me because you might not see my answer if you use "ask", preferably with pictures of the parts you don't understand too. Also, check the reblog to see how the finished doll would look.

Seam allowance already included btw. The pattern is intended for the typical fabrics for anime dolls like minky or soft felt etc. AND PLEASE DM ME IF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS.

‼DISCLAIMER‼: This pattern is for personal use only, not commercial. You do not need to credit me if you use it because i don't want to get in trouble with the copyright holders. (Although, please feel free to pm me the result or the link to it because i would love to see it.)

#plush pattern #plushies #plushblr #touhou #touhou project #fumo #touhou fumo #fumo plush #fumo fumo #touhou plushies #anime plush #human plush #fumo pattern

[maggotbxby]

Coup De Grâce - Deadite Ellie x OC/Reader - Chapter One

"and the devil who had deceived them was thrown into the lake of fire and sulfur where the beast and the false prophet were, and they will be tormented day and night forever and ever" Revelation 20:10

Or...

Greta is a God-fearing, wannabe actress with a particularly strange family history, and an impressive talent of stumbling upon disgusting scenes. When tragedy strikes her home in an old LA high-rise, she quickly realizes her fate may be much more twisted than she was brought up to believe.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6,349

TW: Religious Trauma; Gore; Suicidal Thoughts; Violence; Everything in Evil Dead Rise.

---------

This building is dead.

It died a month ago when the landlord dropped letters in our mail slots letting us all know we have to be out by next month. He didn't even give us the courtesy of calling, just a print and copied half-assed apology letter to the tenants who pay out their livelihoods every month in rent so he can buy a new Ferrari and not fix the lights.

It’s not that I want to be here, particularly. There is just no other apartment on this side of LA that I would be able to afford. No others would even consider me, if I could. No stable job and a 480 credit score doesn't bode well with most landlords.

A category 5 earthquake was just a death blow, and exactly what I needed to truly understand it was, in fact, God's will for me to return to Tennessee.

The apartment is nearly pitch dark, even with the couple of candles I lit. A blackout coming with the aftershocks while I was packing explains a lot about how my luck has been the past few weeks. It’s as quiet as the dead, aside from the typical moans and groans of the old building. If my neighbors weren't stomping around, I would consider it eerie. 

I sit on a rickety stool that came with the place as I sort through my papers. Every tiny shift in my body causes the stool to creak and groan, just like the rest of the wretched building, so I try to be perfectly still.

The candlelight picks up my papers just enough for me to sort through them and chuck them into boxes- or the trash. It's nearly 10:00 and on a normal night I wouldn't keep packing, especially during a post-earthquake blackout, but I want out of this place as quickly as possible, and if I have to suffer for a while to do that, I will. 

I pick up a folder on my desk, and even in the dark I recognize it as my portfolio- or my pathetic excuse of one. I open it up to see my year-old headshots and my resume. I’ve never been a bad actress, particularly, I’ve just been bad at landing roles. Sure, maybe I didn't work hard enough to find a manager, but even if I had, my off-screen charisma has always been lacking. I scored one decent role in a film, only for it to be scrapped halfway through production. But I have kept trying, I tried theater, I tried commercials, I even tried volunteering into the musical theater at my local church; I’ve tried lots of things.

Because my father left me on this earth alone, and try is all that I can do.

I need to keep living, for reasons undisclosed to even my own mind.

I tell myself that my father left because God wanted him to come home. He spent years of his life driving out evil spirits, freeing tormented souls from the clutches of the Devil, and maybe God thought his work was done? I like to believe that over the probable truth that his fear overcame him; that what he has been running from his entire life finally caught up to him. There is a devotion to God and, with it, a fear of the Devil that has been passed down for generations throughout my family. My father, and many men before him, suffered because of it. 

But if God called my father home, what does that tell me about our home? Does God not care about our family? Why wouldn't he take both of us? No matter what I have done to myself after he died, the agony I have both endured and inflicted upon myself, I am still here. So maybe I do have a purpose on this earth. Or maybe God doesn't want me in His Kingdom at all. 

I remain faithful that these thoughts are untrue. I pray to God every day and every night. I spread His word to those I meet, and I follow His guidance in everything I do, so maybe that’s why I'm still here. 

Packing my, and the rest of my fathers belongings a second time has my mind cruelly bogged with memories, scents, feelings; just pure sentimentality. I have never been host to it before, being estranged from the rest of my family young never granted me the privilege. I do not have the patience for it. My body aches as I look at my shattered dreams, and I feel something cold and awful prick at the throbbing muscle inside my chest, frigid claws that dig deep into my being and tear away so subtly.

My anger gets the better of me and I throw the folder into the trash, causing it to topple over and spill papers and garbage all over the floor. Tears of exhaustion and frustration well up in my eyes, and I grip the sides of my head in my hands and bite back a scream. I will not let myself cry over this. I created this problem, I have to dig -or well, clean- myself out of it. 

I admit, I am an exposed nerve, and have been for the last year, my father's death having ripped off my epineurium.

I hop up from the stool, making it creak wretchedly, scraping the wooden floor, and I grab a broom from the kitchen to clean up the mess.

It’s because it is so quiet that I hear footsteps outside my door.

In most apartments, this wouldn't come as a surprise but considering I live around a corner, at the end of the hall, on the top floor, it’s a bit odd to have foot traffic this late. I tend to be left alone down here, no one vying to get in aside from the rats and dust bunnies.

I keep cleaning, because if someone has come to rob me, they will surely be disappointed, and if they have come to kidnap or kill me, my weak body and dry-rotten broomstick surely aren't going to stop them.

The steps draw closer, and I can hear their breathing; sharp, heavy, fast. The pattering footsteps stop but the breathing doesn't, however it draws farther away.

My curiosity gets the best of me, and I slowly approach the peephole in the door. I take in a deep breath only to relax when I see it’s one of the neighbor kids, peering around my little back corner out into the long-stretched hallway with the other apartments. I can’t see that hallway from my room, however.

The moment of relaxation is cut short as I realize the kid is crying. His eyes are wide and red, and his breath is quick, like a rabbit being hunted by a fox.

Then I hear a scream coming from the hallway.

Then another.

Then another.

The child is still hiding around the corner and even though I can’t see what he’s hiding from, everything in my nature tells me it is something he needs to get away from, now. I go to open the door and before I can unlock the deadbolt, the kid takes a mad dash down the long hallway.

…

……

...……

Another scream.

A thud.

My eyes well up in tears of panic and fear as I stand frozen, staring out of the peephole. I see nothing, but I hear everything.

Screaming, crying, ripping, squelching, banging, a gunshot.

Laughing.

Across that sequence of events, which lasted all of 3 minutes, I decided to make peace with death. Because it is all that I can do.

Then it goes quiet again. This time the quiet is eerie. No loud neighbors, no footsteps, nothing.

The air at the top of the high rise is thin, always has been, but trying to breathe it in during a panic feels like there is no air left at all. My hands shake, my chest feels as if it is about to explode. I unlock my cell phone and dial 911 only to be met with a repetitive beep. The earthquake took out the cell towers, of course. Self-preservatory panic overstimulates my senses and I drop to my knees at the door in a terrified heap. I cannot stop the sobs that choke out of my throat, and I fear even my body knows that whoever- or whatever is out there is going to come for me soon.

I clasp my hands and bow my head as I sob out the only thing I can “The lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside still waters; He restores my soul. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death; I fear no evil; for you are with me.”

I whisper prayers until my voice is hoarse. Because that is all that I can do. If anyone saw me at this moment I would be mortified. My neighbors are being attacked just outside my door and I have done nothing . But what can I do? Face a mass murderer by myself. Whoever is out there hasn't been stopped by the entire floor of people. They're a predator, and I am just as much a lamb to be slaughtered as anyone.

What I do need, is to get out of this place.

My mind is frequently unreliable, especially with time, however I have been hyperfocused on sounds tonight and I can confidently say the hallway has been pretty silent for at least 10 minutes now.

This can mean one of two things:

Everyone here except me got the hell out of this building, because they didn’t hide in their apartments like cowards, and the authorities are on their way.

Or everyone here except me has been killed, because they didn’t hide in their apartments, and ran out like idiots, and I am just waiting for my turn to face death as well.

Regardless of the right answer, staying in my apartment is going to get me nowhere. The only available exits are the elevator -which is a terrible option post-earthquake- or the stairs, both of which are at the end of the hall.

I get up from my heap on the floor and scour my apartment to grab the rest of my essentials to get out of here. I toss my phone, keys, wallet, and bible all into my purse, and I slowly and quietly unlock the deadbolt.

The moment I put my hand on the door handle to pull it open I feel my stomach sink and my body tense. The narrow hallway feels like a chute, and I feel as soon as I turn the corner my executioner will be waiting with a captive bolt ready to be driven into my skull. 

I take two quiet steps outside my door towards the other hallway and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my heart threatens to crash its way out of my chest, sending a painful wave of thunder to my wrists and my neck. The sheer force of my blood pressure reverberates into my ears. I keep my body to the wall and clutch my bag to satisfy my brain’s need to have leverage and I use every ounce of courage in my body to peer around the corner into the hallway and-

Corpses.

There are corpses.

Horrifying, mutilated corpses of my neighbors. The corpse of the child who, if I was a second faster, could have been brought into my apartment.

Skin sloughed from muscle, muscle from bone and I am sick sick sick sick si-

The putrid, infectious scent of bile, blood, and exposed flesh makes its way to me, and by some miracle I do not vomit but my body doubles over, and my eyes and mouth are pooling while a black haze creeps into the borders of my field of view.

When I glance up, the sensible part of my brain makes my obscured vision focus on the only thing still moving in the hallway.

I, as anyone who knew her would, recognize her from the tattoos on her exposed flesh and the distinct red hair on her head, Ellie Bixler.

But very much not Ellie Bixler.

Her skin is pale and gray with death, and she is caked in blood and bits of everything that are no longer inside my neighbors' bodies. The curve of her arm is made jagged, and My God limbs are not meant to bend that way.

I suddenly believe that every prayer I have ever spoken has come to protect me at this moment, as she somehow does not notice me while she is focused on what I think is the door to her own apartment. I do not let my luck go to waste as I rush back behind the wall, out of sight of anyone in that hallway.

The quiet I got too comfortable with finally comes to an end in what I assume is the sound of her breaking, or trying to break through her door.

I peer around the corner like an idiot in some sick daze of infatuation when I hear the scream of a child.

Ellie is pushed halfway into her apartment, holding onto what I can only imagine is her youngest daughter, Kassie. Someone else inside the room comes to help as the door is slammed onto Ellie’s arm and she recoils back into the hallway.

She then throws herself into the door, furiously banging on it.

  “OPEN THE DOOR LIKE YOU OPEN YOUR LEGS YOU STINKING GROUPIE SLUT!”

 The voice sounds like a twisted, savage, faux version of my neighbor’s and I feel the overwhelming urge to vomit again as I dart back into hiding, and I take the opportunity of the noise to rush back to my apartment.

The contents of my stomach do end up on my floor after I close and lock the apartment behind myself.

I despise vomiting. Tragically, I was cursed with a weak stomach and an impressive ability to stumble upon revolting sights. A deadly combination only I could be so lucky to have. 

I do not think to clean up the vomit on the floor that will soon be covered in my own blood when I am inevitably found.

I quickly realize as my body autopilots into my bedroom, that spilling my guts combined with a severe spike in adrenaline has given me three things; sharp chest pain, energy renewal, and a massive degree of mania.

I now know what I need to do.

I haven't touched these books since I moved out of Tennessee, not that I should have. Every time they have been opened they consume the one who opens them. My father was constantly buried in these writings, wasting his life trying to make something of them. Something that would allow our family to repent from the sins of our ancestors. I have never been so unlucky to read them, until now.

I know exactly where I hid them. I drop to the floor in front of the old, dusty armoire that came with the apartment, that definitely should have been thrown out years before I moved in here.

I flatten myself on the splintery floor and snake an arm under it, finding what I was looking for. I pull out the wooden box and rise to my knees as I pop open the latch. There is a stack of 3 handwritten journals. Journals scrawled by my great-great Grandfather, Marcus Littleton.

My body quivers, and adrenaline and fear flow through my veins as I pull one of the journals out of the box, illuminated by the moonlight.

I take the box and journal to my desk. I re-light the candle upon my desk and I open the treacherous tome up. My heart is frightened; however, my mind is set.

I have heard my father describe demons for the entirety of my life. ‘Twisted, rotting corpses intent on causing chaos, destruction, and pain everywhere they are found.’

I never fully believed his tales. Of course I didn’t, there was never any public recordings of such events. His stories were from the 1920’s, it could have been nothing but hearsay. Hearsay that he lived and died for. Hearsay that, if I do nothing, I will also die for. 

He never let me touch these books when he was alive, he kept them hidden for himself. When I inherited them, I never opened the box. Partially because I respected my fathers wishes, partially because I didn't want to become consumed in them as he was. My father and I always were alike.

The handwriting of my great-great grandfather is sloppy, and every word is abbreviated, shortened, or misspelled. These books were scrawled in a panic. I knew this. I was, however, never told the extent. I skim through the most legible parts of the pages, many words and phrases unreadable.

“The words I uttered have unleashed a demonic entity beyond my darkest nightmares”

“The book, it cannot be destroyed.”

“Their bodies twisted, decaying.”

“Rotted from the inside out.”

“It does not stop.”

“The possession will spread.”

“They will tear you apart, and bathe in your guts.”

“Run.”

“It cannot be stopped until innocence is destroyed.”

“I cannot escape this.”

“It's going to get me soon.”

I slam the book shut. My body trembles so wildly I begin to spasm. My heart is beating as fast as a racehorse’s and my breathing refuses to slow. The fear of being discovered from the thing just outside my apartment is the only thing keeping me from screaming.

The chicken scratch writing described a book. I have heard about this book for years. A book that was hidden away for the good of humanity. My father wanted to keep us as far away from Los Angeles for a reason. He never knew where the book was hidden away, but he knew it had to be here.

And of course, it would make total, logical sense, that by some absolute joke from God, out of all the old buildings in this city, I manage to land an apartment in the one the book was being held at.

Or perhaps I really am cursed, and some sick string of fate brought me here to die and end my family's bloodline.

The only way this could be happening is if someone found the book. My father always said, ‘They have no power without the book, so long as the words aren't spoken.’ I’m hoping he is right. If he is, maybe there is something in the book that can be used to save whoever is left in the building. Something my great-great grandfather missed.

There is only one problem.

I have absolutely no idea where the book is.

This building has 14 floors, and hundreds of tenants. It would be nearly impossible for me to find it without a mass murderer trying to kill everything in its sight. 

The chaos does seem to be contained to this floor, and by the looks of it, Ellie is the only one causing it. That could potentially narrow it down to someone on this floor having it, unless of course Ellie was just the unlucky one, in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have been anyone. 

Ellie Bixler didn't deserve this. The journal said the souls of those taken were corrupted by the demon, damning them to burn in hell while their body and partial consciousness remains to wreak havoc among men. Ellie Bixler does not deserve hell.

------------

Ellie Bixler was one of the first faces I saw when I moved to this treacherous place. Moving alone was a nightmare, especially moving alone into the top floor of a high-rise, into the apartment farthest from the elevator. 

I thought the nightmare was ending when I got to the last boxes in the truck. However, when I picked them up, and almost toppled over with the weight of them, I realized my bad luck streak continued. I glanced at the label on the top box and sighed—of course it would be my dishes. I hear the ding of the elevator and feel a sudden whoosh of thankfulness.

“Hold the elevator!” I called, hoping that whoever was inside of it heard me. But seeing as I didn’t run into the doors, they must have. “Thank you," I said breathlessly, in passing, and then slumped against the wall of the elevator, balancing the bottom box on my thighs.

“Do you need some help?”

I peered around my stack of boxes to see the woman who had been kind enough to hold the elevator door for me; she was still standing there, dressed in a Guns N’ Roses t-shirt, dark blue ripped jeans, and leather boots. She wasn't dressed like the women I grew up around in the Bible Belt, that's for sure. And judging by her dyed red hair and tattoos, I would guess she didn't act like them either. She was staring at me hesitantly with blue eyes that looked as exhausted as I felt.

“Oh, no, I’ve got it,” I said quickly, disappearing back behind the boxes once I realized I had been staring a few moments too long at the gorgeous, courteous stranger while looking like I had been hit by a bus. “Thank you, though.”

There was a soft hum of contemplation, and then, a few moments later, a swish of the elevator doors sliding closed. I slumped against the elevator wall, thankful that I wouldn't have to converse with my new neighbor while coated with dirt and sweat.

“I think I have to insist, then.”

I jolted up so quickly that the box on the top wobbled precariously, only for it to be slipped off the stack and into the arms of the tall stranger. I stared at her, eyes wide, as the woman slouched under the weight of the box and flushed, before straightening up and smiling at me. 

“Um.” I cringed at myself. What a way to be eloquent. “Thank you, but you really didn’t—”

“I know,” the woman smiled back. “What’s your number?”

I blinked in surprise.

“Excuse me?” There was no way this lady just asked for my number. Who did she think she was?

The woman’s mouth fell open and she was immediately blushing. Her brow furrowed and she chuckled awkwardly, shaking her head. “Your floor… Number. Is what I meant. For the elevator?”

Oh . I looked over at the rows of glowing white buttons; I hadn’t pressed the floor number when I rushed in.

“Oh, yeah! Right!” I replied awkwardly, still not looking at the woman. I shouldn’t have felt bad—after all, this stranger is the one who said it—but I couldn’t help feeling like I was the one who made everything uncomfortable.

“Fourteen,” I finally replied, sighing, after clearing my throat. The woman grinned, a big beautiful smile, and pressed the button.

“Well hello neighbor! I’m on 14 as well, apartment 85.” I looked back over at her sheepishly. “Expect to climb a lot of stairs. This elevator is out of order more often than it’s working.”

“Of course it is,” I commented dryly. Well, at least it appeared to be working on the day I needed it to be. Hopefully that luck holds true for grocery days, too. I thought. “Stairs aren’t a problem. Besides, it gives me an excuse to drink a third cup of coffee in the mornings.”

The woman laughed. “Sometimes I need at least five. Don’t have kids.” the stranger joked.

“You have kids?” I asked.

“Three.” She started, “Two sweet girls, Bridget and Kassie. And my boy, Danny, who is always the culprit if you hear loud music coming from my place.”

“Wow you've got a handful then.” I replied. “I’ve always wanted kids… but it doesn’t seem in my cards anymore.” I winced, and wanted to kick myself so bad for accidentally sounding super melancholic. 

The woman nodded kindly, smart enough not to pry. Or maybe she just didn't want to entertain depressing, deep conversation with someone she met less than 3 minutes ago. 

“I’d shake your hand…” the woman said, her voice hesitant as if she could sense the awkward tension in the elevator, “but…” she glanced pointedly at the box, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“I appreciate the concern for my dishes.”

“Dishes,” she said, staring at the box. “Well, that explains things.”

Like the fact that it’s a lot heavier than you thought it would be , I thought, and couldn't hold in my chuckle.

“My name’s Ellie.” The stranger—or Ellie, apparently—looked over at me. “By the way. Since we’re… Going to be neighbors.” This time, Ellie was the one who cringed.

“Well then, neighbor.” I stressed the word around my smile. “I’m Greta.”

“Greta.” Ellie said. My name sounded so pleasant coming from her lips compared to my own. I quickly eliminated that thought from my mind. 

“Ellie.” I intoned in the same manner, and Ellie laughed. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open; Ellie inclined her head, as if to say you first , and I nod as I step through the doors. 

“I probably should have warned you that I live all the way at the end of the hall.” I shifted the box in my arms and glanced over at Ellie. “Before you decided to be a good samaritan.”

“I’m always a good samaritan,” Ellie responded, her tone of voice slightly defensive.

“Careful. You told me where you live. I might abuse that.” That sounded a lot creepier than I meant it, but Ellie just laughed, which slightly lifted my embarrassment.

I stepped through the doors of my apartment. I didn’t expect Ellie to be impressed—chances are we had the same exact apartment, hers just… properly decorated—so rather than trying to play the role of host, I simply led Ellie straight to where I put the box containing my disassembled Ikea kitchen table.

Ellie did, however, let out a low whistle as she looked around.

“Wow, you’ve been at this all day, haven't you?” She slipped the box on top of the Ikea box while I laid mine on the floor. 

“Yes, tragically. I slept on the floor and left the truck full of my non-essential stuff last night. Looking back, I definitely should have gotten robbed.”

“Long drive then?”

“You could say that.. Knoxville.” I sighed.

“You're telling me you drove here… from Tennessee?” She looked at me, eyes wide in shock. “With seemingly no help?”

“Just me and god.” Ellie laughed at that, but then caught herself when she noticed my expression, and the cross on my necklace, and realized I was serious.

“Well, then… I’d be happy to help, if you’d like?”

“That’s really nice of you, Ellie, but I’m afraid you're just too late. Those were my last boxes.”

“I have impeccable timing, huh?”

“Seems like it.” We both laughed, a bit awkwardly.

“What brought you all the way to the City of Angels?” Ellie interjected, cutting the awkward tension once again.

I breathed a heavy sigh, “It’s a long story…”

“Well, you could tell it, if you come have dinner with me.”

I recoiled, “I couldn’t- No. No thank you, I really should start putting all this stuff away.”

Ellie put her hand on my arm, “I insist. My husband, Jay, is making steak tonight and when he cooks, he cooks for a village.” Not that 3 children isn't a village.

I flinched, then relaxed slightly under the hand on my arm, I looked up at Ellie, contemplating, but there was little I would do to argue. I was exhausted, and I shouldn’t decline free food, even from a stranger. “I suppose I can't say no.”

  ------------

That night was the first, and the only time in a long time I felt safe. 

I didn’t spend a lot of time with Ellie outside of that night. She was a very busy woman, and I was constantly trying to find work, or locking myself in my apartment stressing about trying to find work. I often passed her in the hallway, or stopped to chat while doing laundry, but that was the extent. For the most part.

We were also very different, spiritually and morally. She wasn’t religious and I was not going to try and convert an entire family of 5. Our lives were just very different, as much as I felt drawn to her. I often, for some reason, constantly had the gnawing ache to go back to her apartment and spend time with her, and just be in her presence more than I should. It’s a feeling I have felt before, when I was young, and something deep rooted in my consciousness told me I shouldn’t give into that ache.

‘For god cannot be tempted by desire, nor does he tempt anyone; but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed.’

I found out about her divorce when we crossed paths in the hall. It came as a shock, to an extent. Externally they seemed like the perfect couple, but being their neighbor, I had heard a fair number of screaming matches between the two of them. Divorce is something my family has always been against, especially when there are children involved; however, I believe that God would forgive Ellie if her husband abandoned her.

Ellie was a kind person; Ellie does not deserve Hell.

Ellie’s family –by the looks of it– is still alive in her apartment. As long as no one in the apartment has been possessed, it is possible they can be saved.

I just have to, you know, get there, without the demon in the hall ripping me to shreds before I take a step.

I sit at my desk, chewing on my cheek as I think out the most insane, ludicrous plan to save my neighbors, and to free my family from this book that has haunted us for generations. 

There is an estimated 10 percent chance of getting out of this alive, but there are little alternative options.

There was a shotgun in the hallway. 

If I can get ahold of it, and subdue Ellie long enough for her family to let me in, I can get ahold of the book, and with it, and my great-great grandfather's journals, I could find a way to get us all out alive.

That is, if they will even let me in, and if the book is even with Ellie’s family. This is where my odds drop further.

This plan is flawed. It is dangerous. It is stupid.

But I am all of those things, yet God has kept me alive, so perhaps there is hope to be found somewhere.

As I pack the journals into my bag, and I pull my largest and sharpest knife from the kitchen, I feel the full weight of my mortality sit upon my chest. 

I am mad for this.

But what is my life going to be otherwise? What did God keep me alive through so much for? I have to have faith.

I bear the knife in my hand, and wrap a rosary around my arm and wrist. My bible is held in my bag and I stand before the door to my death once again, praying for my father’s forgiveness if I mess this up.

As I carefully unlock the piece of wood separating me and the Devil, I go white-knuckled on my knife, and I feel bile begin to creep up. I am already out of breath due to panic, dissociating out of my mind, and trembling so forcefully that my teeth chatter. I bite my tongue until I taste blood, and I push open the door.

I am not sure how I want to do this, but planning now would only exhaust me further, and I need to think on my feet. 

Grab the gun, shoot the demon, get inside. 

I take a few, quiet, petrified steps into the hallway and look around the corner when I see-

Kassie?

Ellie’s youngest daughter is standing in the hallway, moving to help a young, dark-haired woman off the ground. From what I have heard, this is Ellie’s sister, Beth, whom I have heard referred to as ‘The Groupie’ from various neighbors.

Their attention turns to me, Beth looks shocked, eyes wide, as she moves to grab the shotgun from what I now sickeningly realize is the corpse of Mr. Fonda. 

The smell, Christ. I have sworn off vomiting again, but my body desperately wants to overrun my mind at this moment. I fight bile and slowly approach them. Kassie puts a finger over her lips, assuring I know to stay quiet.

Where are Bridget and Danny? I already know, at least, I should already know. My twisted mind does not choose to process that in the moment, only focusing on the two people merely 20 feet from me.

It is my fear that allows me a keenness to sound -even over my heartbeat in my ears- and I hear the cracking of glass and bone behind me as I begin to pass Ellie’s apartment.

No.

Please, God, don’t let this happen to me now. Not when I’m this close.

I freeze, because I am a prey animal, no matter what anyone says, in this building, right now, I am prey, and as a prey animal, I have developed the intuition of knowing when I am being watched. 

Its gaze is fixed on me, and I am all taut muscle and dilated pupils underneath it. I know it is behind me, and I know with every fiber of my being that I am going to die if I do not move.

But my body will not allow my muscles to relax enough to bend my limbs.

I am gripping the knife in my hand for dear life and my eyes are locked with Beth’s, who is, currently, my only hope in surviving this. The groupie raises the shotgun, and points it behind me. It is then that I decide to turn and look at-

There is a hand on my neck.

There is a hand on my neck. There is a hand on my neck. There is a hand on my neck. 

It is cold and wet and awful and I set my jaw and every muscle in my throat tenses more than they already were. My teeth threaten to break each other under the force caused by my fear. 

I attempt to drive the knife into the flesh behind me, when my arm is caught in the grasp of another hand. The grip is tighter than the sickeningly gentle hold on my neck, and its claws dig deep into the tendons of my wrist, making me scream out in pain, my eyes screwing shut as my hand involuntarily releases the knife.

There is a wet, breathy, crackling chuckle behind me, and the grip on my neck releases, and I open my tear-filled eyes, only to be thrown into the door across from Ellie's apartment. 

It is on me swiftly after that. It grabs my wrist again and pins it against the door, like it’s body alone wasn’t doing that enough. 

Its stare is predatory and piercing, nothing like Ellie’s once was. It is feral, and it's burning into me. Wide, consuming and unblinking as it stares down at me, I am drowning in it. Pupils like a pinpoint amongst a pale blue, scleras dark and bloodshot. 

It leans down for an awful moment, a pit forms in my stomach and I want to vomit as it licks the blood dripping down my forearm from its claws.

I look over its shoulder at Beth, who Kassie is hiding behind and gripping for dear life.

“Please.” It is my voice that pleads, but I have never heard myself so breathless nor shrill.

“Pl…ease.” The demon's voice mocks me, eyes still burning into mine. It's voice hoarse and deep and repulsive, but the thing that makes me want to upchuck more than anything, is that I can still hear Ellie's voice underneath it. Sweet, funny, no-bullshit Ellie Bixler, consumed by the Devil. 

Beth is looking at me now, fear in her wide eyes, as she aims the gun down sight for a moment, aiming directly at the demon. 

Pull the trigger.

PULL THE GODDAMN TRIGGER.

This is my apex of disaster. This is all that my mind has been made to handle. I have hit the limit of my unluckiness and hit it so damn hard I might as well have heard a comedically timed ‘bang’ and seen stars dancing around my head. 

Beth is unmoving, and my breath catches in my throat as I choke out a strangled sob when I see the woman mouth ‘I’m sorry’ before the shotgun it aimed at the door to apartment 82, and it is blasted open.

The demon before me jolts upright, but doesn't take its smothering gaze off of me, even when Beth grabs Kassie and runs through the door. 

My fate is sealed as the door slams behind her, and all that is heard is the clanking of the security chain lock, as Beth well and truly escapes.

Then there is a deafening silence…

…A pattering of footsteps…

…Heavy, excited, wheezy, panting.

An excited panting that is coming from the creature before me.

This is where my faith in God has led me. Like my father, and his father, and the father before him. All of my life, and all of their lives, have led to this very moment. My death will be the fated coup de grâce of our cursed bloodline.

I am crucified to my place, paralyzed from the neck down as it looks upon me. I am fated to be consumed by this monster. This is my destiny.

#ellie bixler #ellie x reader #evil dead rise ellie #ellie evil dead #expect this to be gross in future chapters #this is my corruption kink fic and will be VERY graphic #do not expect ellie to be nice #i love deadites sm #and i want her to be as nasty as possible #evil dead rise #evil dead oc #yes greta is related to the priest who made the records #and her family is tormented bc of it

[financesevaloan]

Msme Loan For Cold Storage

MSME (Micro, Small, and Medium Enterprises) loans can be available for startups and businesses. There are many schemes have been launched by the government of India to support the MSME. On the other hand, the loan for cold storage comes under a different type of loan. msme loan for cold storage is a kind of business loan, but cold storage is a kind of agriculture loan.  

There are many subsidies available for cold storage loans. In which the scheme of MIDH cold chain is described below:  

The objective of the Scheme of MIDH Cold Chain, Value Addition and Preservation Infrastructure is to provide integrated cold chain and preservation infrastructure facilities, without any break, from the farm gate to the consumer. It covers creation of infrastructure facility along the entire supply chain such as pre-cooling, weighing, sorting, grading, waxing facilities at farm level, multi-product/ multi-temperature cold storage, CA storage, packing facility, IQF, blast freezing in the distribution hub and reefer vans, mobile cooling units for facilitating distribution of horticulture, organic produce, marine, dairy, meat, and poultry, etc. The msme loan allows flexibility in project planning with special emphasis on the creation of cold chain infrastructure at farm level.

The integrated post-harvest cold chain project is set up by Partnership or Proprietorship Firms, Companies, Corporations, Cooperatives, Self Help Groups (SHGs), Farmer Producer Organizations (FPOs), NGOs (Non-Government Organizations), Central / State PSUs (Public Sector Undertaking), etc. must meet the criteria of eligibility conditions according to scheme guidelines.

#msme loan for cold storage #msme loan #mudra loan #letter of credit #lc discounting #industrial property loan #commercial property loan #business loan #financeseva

[a-silent-symphony]

We got Nightwish's Tuomas Holopainen to rank every single album by the band from worst to best

We asked Nightwish founder Tuomas Holopainen to rank the band's albums from worst to best - and some of his choices surprised us

From fantastical realms to elaborate filmic sagas and love-letters to Darwinism, the Nightwish discography is rich in intrigue – and low on dullmoments. As its central creator, Tuomas Holopainen is inextricably bound to the sounds, feelings and memories that saturate each of these nine albums.

His life is in this music. But if it came to it, in a castaway situation, which albums would he most (and least) want to be stuck with? It’s a tough call. “They are my children,” he pleads, “how would they feel if they saw the ranking? Wishmaster would be so sad!” Still, he did manage to settle on an order, and here it is...

9. Wishmaster (Spinefarm, 2000)

“It went to No.1 in Finland, but to me Wishmaster is one of those albums that was kind of ‘in-between’. It doesn’t stand out to me on a personal level. There was nothing revolutionary about it after [1998’s] Oceanborn.

It was made in a really good spirit – everybody in the band was happy after the success of Oceanborn – so this was just a natural continuation of that. But it didn’t really introduce anything spectacularly new for me personally. I think that’s my problem with it. If Ihad to pick a favourite song, I think I’d pick Dead Boy’s Poem; lyrically, it’s very much in the essence of Nightwish.”

8. Angels Fall First (Spinefarm, 1997)

“Our debut sounds so innocent because it was done as a demo. It was never supposed to be released, but we sent it to the record label and they said, ‘Let’s put this out!’ It still has my parents’ home address on the booklet.

“When I founded Nightwish in July 1996, I just wanted to do moody acoustic music. Since me and Emppu [Vuorinen, guitars] had a strong metal background, it was a natural transition to do something heavier, but that original acoustic band idea can be heard strongly. We couldn’t find anybody to sing, so I kind of dug a hole and fell into it myself.

"We played Elvenpath years later on the Decades tour, and I can’t understand how Floor was able to keep a straight face singing those lyrics – to her credit, she did! I just remember the kid that I was back then, writing those songs, and I kind of miss that kid, because it was all about Donald Duck and fantasy books and snowmen and things fantastical.

"Nymphomaniac Fantasia? Not my proudest moment. But it was done because there was a young kid who had some, I don’t know… issues, ha ha ha! Love-life gone wrong or something. It was a different time.”

7. Century Child (Spinefarm, 2002)

“After Wishmaster, I seriously considered quitting the band, especially thanks to the departure of the [original] bass player [Sami Vänskä] and my slight burnout. Then I went on a hiking trip in Lapland with Tony Kakko from Sonata Arctica, and he talked me over that.

"We needed a new bass player, and we needed management because until then it was me and Jukka [Nevalainen] the drummer taking care of the business side. So we got management, and we got Marko [Hietala, bassist/ singer until 2021], who was already a big name in Finnish metal – we were all big fans.

"There was a lot of bad stuff happening in the band as well – that’s reflected on the album. Slaying The Dreamer was a way to get rid of all that frustration. Artistically I found film music, Hans Zimmer above all, and that really can be heard on Century Child. But the album didn’t take us much on the next level. Artistically it did, but not commercially.”

6. Dark Passion Play (Nuclear Blast, 2007)

“It was a really easy album to write because all the emotions were there so strongly, after what happened with Tarja [Turunen, original vocalist who was dismissed from the band in 2005], and everything in my personal life. I was about to lose my mental health, and then doing the songs for this album saved it.

"I’m a very private person, but I write about some really personal things, and these people – Anette [Olzon], for this record – are singing it out for the whole world to hear. Ineeded to do a song like The Poet And The Pendulum, where I killed myself in the lyrics; I had to do it for my mental health, and it ended up being a wonderful piece of music.”

5. Imaginaerum (Nuclear Blast, 2011)

“Again, this was a pretty easy album to write – we all had a good time with it. When it comes to songwriting, I’m a morning person. I’ll wake up about six when I’m at home, then a litre of coffee and I’m off. Usually I’m done by two or three o’clock. I write songs upstairs in my little home studio – just a keyboard and a lakeside view. In the studio with the band, the other members and the engineers are more night owls. Also in the tour bus it’s always me up first, making coffee downstairs.

“It was clear from the start that this would end up being a film. We thought, ‘What haven’t we done yet? Let’s do a music video for every song on the album, and then somehow combine them to become this really weird film.’ It’s a very optimistic album. It just puts a big smile on your face.”

4. Once (Nuclear Blast, 2004)

“One of the best times that this band has ever had was 2003- 2004, making the Once album, and the first part of the tour after that. In late 2003 we flew to London to record the orchestras. I rang the studio doorbell and Rick Wakeman opened the door. I think I said, ‘Errr… [makes incoherent starstruck noise] Thanks!’

"We went to the studio, started playing Ghost Love Score and my face melted. Like, ‘I’m next to Wembley, listening to the orchestra playing a song that I wrote, this is really life at its best.’

"Something happened with that album – all the stars were aligned. I remember looking at the album charts and seeing ‘Nightwish, Michael Jackson, Anastasia’ and going ‘Really?!’ I don’t think any of us were quite prepared. You get sucked into this massive world of big tours and worship from the fans, then the money starts to flow in, and it’s easy to lose your perspective. Impulse purchases? I did a round the-world trip on my own, it was wonderful. But money has very little meaning to me."

3. Oceanborn (Spinefarm, 1998)

“Our ambition went through the roof after Angels Fall First, because we all realised that this is actually really fun. I was studying biology, Tarja was studying singing, I think in Germany, Jukka was studying to be a computer engineer, Emppu was working in a carpet factory.

"Music was just a hobby. And then we realised, ‘There’s something going on here, so let’s put all the focus in Nightwish for maybe a few years, and see what happens.’ It was eight hours every day in the rehearsal room, playing the songs and just really feeling it. It was the watershed album for us, it took us to the next level.

"All the guys, we had just gotten out of the army so we all had short hair, we had no idea about the metal scene at all. We were complete countryside hickeys who just happened to like metal music, and we were given this chance to show what we could do with a three-album deal. It shouldn’t have worked on paper, but somehow it did.”

2. Endless Forms Most Beautiful (Nuclear Blast, 2015)

“If Floor hadn’t come along, I think that would have been the end of the band. We got over an ugly divorce once [with Tarja], then again with Anette, then Floor comes along and everything shines bright again. She learned the setlist in 48 hours – when I called her, she was at her sister’s wedding. Even from the first show the fans embraced her. So we took a lot of that good feeling for Endless Forms Most Beautiful [named after a line from Charles Darwin’s On The Origin Of Species].

"We went to Röskö campsite in Finland to record. It’s a four-hectare area by a lake in the middle of nowhere, belonging to the Boy Scouts. We stayed for three months. Every morning we’d rehearse for a few hours, have lunch, go back, rehearse and then spend the evening with each other by a campfire, barbecuing, playing acoustic guitar, singing, going to the sauna and talking about the songs all the time. The Greatest Show On Earth, that’s the Nightwish desert island song. I’m sure we’ll play that at the end of the setlist until forever.

"We recorded Richard Dawkins’ part in Oxford. He’s quite the character. I’m a huge fan, so I was really starstruck. He did his parts beautifully, it was over in about 30 minutes and then he gave us a ride back to central Oxford in his Tesla. And halfway back he asks us, ‘So are you musicians or something?’ Ha ha! So his head’s somewhere… all the time! But he’s a wonderful guy.”

1. Human. :II: Nature. (Nuclear Blast, 2020)

“I immediately knew after Endless Forms Most Beautiful that ‘OK, we have to do more songs about this.’ And so the idea of Human. :II: Nature. was first to have songs about humankind, and then you play the other CD and relax and go into nature. My memories of making the album are of happy times, no conflicts. We returned to Röskö to make it.

"When the pandemic hit, it was like, ‘Should we postpone the release?’ But it was all printed and the advertisements had gone out to the papers. So the record label said, ‘Let’s go with it. Maybe people will have more time to concentrate on it…’

"Noise was a big single, but there’s also something about Shoemaker [named after famed geologist/astronomer Eugene Shoemaker]. It’s on the artsy side, but not in a pretentious way.

"Realising what evolution is… it’s about realising our mortality, at least for me. And it’s made all the difference. When I kind of realised that this is very likely the only life we’re gonna have – it’s only after that that I started hugging my dad. I never hugged my dad before that. I’ve just felt much more liberated and in the light ever since.”

#Nightwish #Tuomas Holopainen #2023 interviews

[goetiae]

𝐓he 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐓 is a rather peculiar occult invention of the late 19th century.

Prior to the invention of this tool, mediums had to use nonverbal means of spirit communication, be it spirit boards or other similar objects. However, the spirit trumpet suggested, for the first time, that a spirit can physically reach the listener through audial means as well.

As Victorian Women and the Theatre of Trance: Mediums, Spiritualists and Mesmerists in Performance (2009) by Amy Lehman states, it was a part of the greater "manifestation" category of mystical experiences. During manifestation, the spirits made objects levitate or appear, such as flower petals or letters, as well as played instruments - guitars, tambourines, or trumpets.

A spirit trumpet is shaped like a usual trumpet from two and a half to three feet in length, traditionally made of brass, tin, or aluminum; fibre and papier mache are acceptable materials as well. Four to five inches in diameter at the larger end, they narrow down to just about three-quarters of an inch at the other end. Every medium seemingly had their own design and variations of shape for their spirit trumpet.

The first spirit trumpets were homemade, usually shaped out of cardboard or metal. While it is unclear who came up with the idea of a spirit trumpet, sometimes Jonathan Koons (1811-1893) and his son Nahum Koons (1837-1921), influential spiritualists of the 19th century, are credited with it. The first commercial manufacturer of this tool was Everett Atwood Eckel (1831-1914) who opened his shop in Indiana.

In practical use, it was often recommended that a trumpet be wet on the inside prior to the seance as the moisture supposedly helped spirits speak easier. Some sceptics suggested that the practice had a more down-to-earth reasoning behind it as it helped hide the moisture from the medium speaking into the trumpet: such an opinion was voiced in The Life and Mysteries of the Celebrated Dr. Q (1921) by Alexander the Crystal Seer, an all-revealing manual on spiritual performances.

In the aforementioned book, Mr. Alexander, who himself was a stage magician, is rather critical of this method of spirit communication. He speaks, for one, on how suspicious the seances involving the spirit trumpet seem to be: set in dark or semi-dark rooms with light conveniently placed so that the podium for the trumpet is cast in darkness.

From the same author we learn of the general setting of the seance and its approximate contents. Such as, a prayer being said, the medium inviting over the spirit and putting the trumpet on their knees, after which everyone present holds hands with those sitting on their left and right. Once the spirit arrives, the trumpet is expected to lift in the air, slowly turning around, and either emit glowing light, ooze ectoplasm, or simply echo voices. From his skeptical viewpoint, Mr. Alexander suggests an element of deception being involved: either the medium using a hose to talk, feigning different voices, or using a special system of strings in the complete darkness to make the trumpet move.

However, Mr. Alexander wasn't the pioneer of criticism of the method. One of the first research pieces that regarded the problem of trumpet seances was Experiments in psychical science, levitation, contact, and the direct voice (1919) by a psychic researcher William Jackson Crowford. He was the one to point out that sometimes mediums used glow-in-the-dark rings on the ends of the trumpets and set them in complete darkness with the visitors singing hymns or praying before the start of the seance. During one of the seances he witnessed, Mr. Crowford claims, the trumpets flew in the air and requested a lamp to be turned away from the medium while those present "sing something". Some mediums used bells or boards to announce the spirit's presence.

Out of other critical articles about the method, Mysteries of the Seance and Tricks and Traps of Bogus Mediums: A Plea for Honest Mediums and Clean Work (1903) by an unknown herbalist can be noted. In this work, the author, following Mr. Alexander, states that the spirit trumpet seance is overall a fraud. He marks that by usage of little to no light and layered clothing, a medium could either conceal a hose or hide a second trumpet. Overall, he recommends that the stories of those who went through the trumpet seance should be taken with a grain of salt.

There were, indeed, such stories. In The Physical Theory of the Soul (1915) by Harry La Verne Twining, one can read about such an experience. Within this book, the eyewitness of a seance presents their point of view. The trumpet is said to have lifted into the air and bumped them on their head, announcing a name that was familiar to them, as well as their name.

After a short interaction, the trumpet fell down and lifted yet again, giving out another name, this time a relative of both the first presumed spirit and the person listening. What the eyewitness here notes to be a unique occassion is the voice mentioning something that only the eyewitness knew: an event from around twenty-seven years ago. To futher dissipate the suspicion, the person notes that both of the mediums must have been but toddlers at the time of the event, and it's "impossible" they knew about it.

Other observations by the witnesses and visitors of such seances are plenty as well. One of them is told in the book A Record of Psychic Experience (1922) by George F. Goerner. The trumpet seance described in the text suggests multiple spirits, all somehow connected to the listener, speaking to him through either his or the medium's trumpet. He hears, for example, many of his deceased relatives and his friend. Out of the curious details regarding this experience is that the medium suggests one is to keep friendly, positive attitude during the seance as this "clears the way" for the dead. Another detail described in the account is that the medium is accompanied by a person under the role of a spirit control assistant.

Overall, there's a lot of interesting and various information about the spirit trumpet. Some seemed highly cautious about it, sometimes for a good reason, and for some it was a rather relieving way of soothing the loneliness after their beloved ones had passed. Regardless, it is a tool worth discussing.

#༺☆༻ 𝕮𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔰 𝕸𝔞𝔧𝔬𝔯 ༺☆༻ #occult #occulltism #witchcraft #spirit communication #spirits #victorian history #victorian #spirit trumpet #19th century

[batmansymbol]

I hope this isn't a weird or too random question (and if it is, feel free to ignore ofc!) but I was wondering if you had any advice for someone thinking of writing full-time? The obvious question is, of course, can one make a living from it even if they're not like Stephen King or GRR Martin or something? Do you have any tips from your experience that you would have found helpful when first starting out? <3

Hi, sweet anon! Not weird at all. I'm happy to chime in with some (long) thoughts.

Firstly, yes! Authors can make a full-time living from writing even if they're not GRRM &c. I know a number of full-timers, and some of them aren't even NYT bestsellers.

As a caveat, I know very little about the indie/self-publishing space, so the following is based on my experience in traditional publishing.

I spent around 2-3 years writing books full-time. I no longer do that, and don't plan to return to it unless I have a big commercial breakout. It was just a never-ending parade of financial stress. It's hard even to give "tips" because so much is out of your control -- but if you're considering trying to write full time, you should definitely know what you're signing up for.

Here's an average situation for a non-bestseller trying to full-time it:

Let's say you've published two books, and your third is on the way (awesome!). For your first two novels, you got advances of $40,000, but maybe they've only sold 15k copies apiece -- not enough to "earn out" your advance and start making new money. So, you're not making a cent off your older books. Probably won't for years.

Let's say your book 3 is supposed to publish in June 2025, and it sold for more than your last books: $75,000. Pretty good! Advances are usually divided into thirds these days: 1/3 on contract signing, 1/3 on delivery of the fully edited manuscript (D&A), and 1/3 on publication. So that makes a $50,000 salary this year, yes?

Kind of. Right off the bat, your agent gets 15%, so that would make a $42,500 salary. A little tighter, but still seems doable. Also, you need to make estimated tax payments to the IRS. So, let's ballpark your taxes at $7,000, state and federal, which you'll pay in installments throughout the year.

Contract negotiations take a few months as usual, and let's say in April, you get the first payment: your first $21,250. Nice.

Unfortunately, your editor's swamped, and 2 months go by before they send you edits. When you get the letter in June, you're like -- shit, this is a more extensive revision than I thought. You start rehauling the novel, but after your month-long deadline passes, it's still not right. You take another six weeks before you're happy. It's now September.

Suddenly money is very tight. You got $21,250 in April, but since then you've paid $5,250 in estimated taxes, and every month you pay $2,250 in rent, health insurance, and food. You were supposed to have your second payment already, because the contract's estimated D&A date said September. But you still need to do line edits. You now have $2,500 in the bank. You are very aware that this will last a little over a month.

Your editor gets back after a few weeks, having loved your revision, and has sent you line edits. Thank God she didn't want a second round of bigger edits. But it's now October. You rush through the line edits, turn them in after a single jam-packed week. You have $250 in the bank. Your D&A payment is now due.

A week goes by. Where is the payment? You email your agent. She badgers the publisher. They say the payment will be sent through in a pay run next week, so after agency processing, it'll be with you in early November.

You have $75 in the bank. You start putting everything on your credit cards. Then your utility company makes a direct withdrawal from your checking account. You wake up to an overdraft notice and zero dollars in your account. Holy shit, you think, why did I choose this career. November hits. You are late on rent. Maybe you should start drawing from your retirement account, which you put $5,000 into, one time, three years ago?

When your payment arrives, you're not happy so much as ready to cry with relief. You start paying off your cards and sending late, embarrassed Venmos to your friends. You can finally stop declining invites to hang out because you have no money.

And by then it's November, and you're realizing that you really need to be thinking about your next book. If you were working smart, you got a jump on it earlier in the year, when your editor was late with your edit letter. Let's say you wrote an entire first draft back then, between January and June. (Which, to be clear, IS fast for a novel, do not believe the ridiculous standards of writing speed you see online.) If you now take six months to mold that first draft into actual art, then send it to your agent next May, and she wants changes, and you submit in July, and it sells after an average couple months on submission, you won't get your next contract payment until January, 2026.

ARE YOU ANXIOUS YET?

The above scenario is ordinary. An editor having a delay on an edit letter for a month or two, or an author getting stuck and running over deadline for a month -- that stuff is barely worth commenting on.

And there are all sorts of other bumps in the road. Let's say the publisher has turnover in the contracts department. Immediately, that'll be a delay on your signing payment. I've waited 6 months for a contract payment before. I've waited months for a simple email reply from an editor because the company was going through layoffs.

Add more people into the process, and it gets slower. Are you working on IP, let's say a novelization of a TV property? That team might take months to get back to you even on your proposed outline. Working with a freelancer or cowriter? Add weeks or months to every step. In publishing, you spend half your life waiting. You know what doesn't wait? Rent, taxes, and health insurance.

Anon, this is the shoestring, desperate kind of full-time author existence. If you're doing a little better -- still midlist, but better -- you might have earned out one or more of your backlist titles. That means you'll get additional royalties twice a year, usually April and October. That will help.

Or maybe you're a super-fast writer who's always, always juggling multiple contracts and shooting drafts in and out of your door. That's a decent way to make a healthy living as a full-time author, but you'll need to complete multiple books a year, for sure.

This is why I have a survival job half the week that pays my rent. The stress is still there, but it's less frequent and less intense. Honestly, given my sales figures, which are (checks notes) bad, I'm lucky to get to keep doing this after five novels. Because the biggest looming threat is that if you don't break out, editors will start shutting the door immediately because of your lack of established audience.

The only really reliable way to pay your bills is to break out. Then if your editor leaves your publishing house, and you get reassigned, and that pads 3 months onto the editing process, or whatever, it doesn't matter. You'll have actual, substantial royalty payments twice a year. Your advances will always be over six figures. You can live a normal life where you're not staring into the murky distance, wondering when some payment is going to soar out of the night and into your terrible bank account.

Or ... you can just get a day job. And you will get paid biweekly, reliably, on SPECIFIC DATES!!!, forever. When I tell you this shit was life-changing for me. Good God.

Obviously the biggest problem in this whole post is the bit where I wrote "every month you pay $2,250 in rent, insurance, and food," and worried if I was, in fact, lowballing that amount. What a broken world!

Anyway. Best of luck with the writing, anon -- no matter what your experiences in or around the industry, I hope the work itself continues to feed your soul.

RR

#reply #publishing #advice

[aroworlds]

[image description: six elongated pixel-style text reading "aroace" striped in the colours of three pride flags. A brown arrow shaft runs across the centre of the letters, forming the horizontal strokes of the letters "A", "R" and "E". A grey arrowhead sits in front of the text; flag-stripe fletching sits behind it. Each image is available in two versions with black or transparent background.

Stripes are coloured in the following aro-ace pride flags: angled aro-ace (gold/yellow/lemon/beige/brown), aro-ace (orange/yellow/white/light blue/dark blue) and electio aro-ace (purple/pink/yellow-green/white/black).

Aro-Ace (with Arrow) Pixel Art Stickers

Flags: angled aro-ace, aro-ace, electio aro-ace.

This design is created from the cross-stitch patch variant of my freehand embroidery motif (originally designed for doll T-shirts). Both patterns--cross-stitch and freehand embroidery--are available on the Aro Worlds website and Patreon.

All banners/stickers are available for free personal or non-commercial use with credit to one of my accounts.

#aroace #angled aroace #electio aroace #artwork and visual #original artwork #pride #pixel art #pixel art banners #aro symbols #aro symbolism #aro arrows #arrows #typography #typographic art #flags and banners #weaponry #weapons and sharp edges

[gsminerva]

I DO/I DON'T

Yes:

Fanart

Anime

Cartoons

Furry/Anthro

Your OC (visual refference required)

Shippings

NSFW/Gore (check the extra cost)

"Semi" mecha (not too detailed)

Lettering

No:

Scat

Shota/Lolicon

High detailed mecha

Realism

NSFW of my OCs

High detailed backgrounds

TERMS OF SERVICE

Payment in U$D only via Paypal or Deviantart points.

This commissions are for personal use only, but I do commissions for commercial purposes, contact me about them.

Price may change depending on complexity or even simplicity. This also applies to use of licensed fonts.

I will only allow up to 3 modifications free for each stage (3 per sketch, 3 per lineart and 3 per color), from the fourth modification onwards a cost of U$D5 or 400:points: will be added.

For your own designs or OCs to design from the beginning, please send all possible visual references so that the design of this one is accurate for you.

I will start with the sketch of your commission once the payment is made, you can pay the half even before the start of the lineart process. Once the sketch is finished, full price must be paid.

The extra costs can vary by complexity, for example, if you pay for a half-body commission, but want to add a full-body extra character in the background, the extra cost will be modified as a full-body commission plus 50% of a character commission in half body.

I will not accept the use of fonts like Helvetica, Futura, Caslon or other fonts with expensive licenses, ask me about what family font I accept. I also have family fonts with japanese, chinese and other oriental languages.

All commissions will be signed under the name of GSMinerva or Ground Spirit Minerva without exception.

You can repost your commission as long as you give me the credits for the work.

No refunds will be given once the work is started.

Once you order your commission you will be automatically agree with these terms of service.

Send me a note or write me an email to [email protected] with this info: -Type of commission and size -Image refferences of pose, expression, character. -Family font (if you order it or for refferences for lettering/calligraphy). -Additional info.

If you asked for a commission you can check the process entering here

Any comment or doubts you can comment or note me!

~Ground Spirit Minerva

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