#my dream is to have it published alongside those

[britishchick09]

Where is rewrite?! I’m desperate for rewrite!!😊😊😊

i'm writing it! tomorrow i'll share some of the current chapter, but here's a little bonus for you ;)

 Christine yawned as she trudged down the steps to the water cellar. Why did Erik want me to get up at six in the morning? she wondered. I understand why we’d rise with the sun for lessons, but no one can hear us in the water cellar no matter what time it is.

Christine’s eyelids drooped with fatigue. The darkness made her want to fall asleep right them and there!

She suddenly gave a squeak as she slipped on the incline at the end of the passage. She leaned against the wall beside her, blinking and rubbing her eyes to get rid of the tiredness.

Falling in here would be horrible. I could trip over one of the cobblestones and twist my ankle, she thought. I’m too far away for Erik to hear any cries for help and Ayesha doesn’t wander around all the time, so she might not hear either. I’d be helpless! This place is eerie and beautiful… She shivered. And dangerous.

Christine stretched as she moved away from the wall. She made sure she was wide awake before continuing on.

Once Christine reached Erik's house, she knocked on the door. Erik often answered it after a few moments, but there was nothing. Not even a note from the piano could be heard past the door. Christine waited for a minute, becoming worried when the silence continued on.

Maybe he went to the music museum. Christine surmised before noticing that his boat was parked in front of the house.

"Erik?" she asked, giving the door another knock. "Are you in there?"

When he didn't answer, she finally gathered the courage to intrude. She opened the door, noticing that the bathroom door was open. She looked forward with a gasp. Her friend was lying on the floor! "Erik!" Christine exclaimed in alarm.

Erik rolled over to see Christine rushing towards him. He propped himself up on his elbow and nonchalantly said, "Hello."

Christine crouched beside him. "Are you okay?" "Yes, I'm fine." "Then why are you on the floor?"

A mew answered and Erik said, "I know! She's ruining our fun."

Christine leaned over, seeing Ayesha just past the wall.

"She likes having little moments like this," Erik explained. "I pet her, she’s as happy as could be, we have staring contests… and I lose within a second."

Ayesha meowed with a hint of pride and stretched out her paw.

"We'll go after the princess is done with me," Erik told Christine. "I may secretly rule the opera house, but she rules me. …And Nadir since he’s my guardian, but Ayesha’s so bossy about it,” He paused at Ayesha’s annoyed meow. “Yes, you are! Especially when you wake me up early in the morning to go out,” He looked at Christine with a playfully serious expression. “Our moments end under her command."

"I’m fine with waiting for a bit. Where are we going?" Christine asked.

Erik smiled, a twinkle in his eye. "You'll see."

Christine watched as Erik lay back down, giving Ayesha's paw a stroke. The little kitty purred while Erik petted her behind the ear.

"I finished the sampler last night. It's on the table," Erik told Christine as she stepped over his long legs. "My pesky name took me until one in the morning! So much pulling out thread and pricking my finger... I should probably invest in a thimble, but it would be loose around any of my fingers. They're so skeletally thin…” Erik sighed. “But it was fun to do. Well... mostly," He stopped at Ayesha's meow and told her, "Yes, you remember that, don't you? You had just settled down to sleep in my bed and I said that very naughty word and kicked you because of the needle. Don't ever say that word or I'll banish you to the Kingdom of Music. And- again- I’m very sorry for kicking you."

Christine giggled as she picked up the sampler. “Maybe she can go with us to make up for what you did.”

"No, she’d probably cause mischief like that one time..."

Christine picked up the sampler at the table. "What happened?"

"She jumped on the organ while I was composing. As I was trying to get her down, she batted at a piece of sheet music and tore it clean through! The music was easy to rewrite, but I forgot the rest of the melody in my head and it took ages to remember it again. She hasn’t been allowed in the Museum of Music since."

“Oh no!” Christine exclaimed through a chuckle. “I hope she didn’t do anything like that to your sewing.”

“Thankfully, that was all me.”

Christine looked down at the sampler. A wrapped chocolate and a book had been added alongside Erik and Christine’s names. Christine had stitched the three eights of the year and her name the day before, leaving Erik with his name and the year’s one.

“The one is perfect! Your name looks a bit lopsided, though.” Christine noted. “I'm not used to sewing words, especially cursive words,” Erik sighed. “I’m sorry if it ruins-”

“I think it looks perfect!”

Erik sat up in surprise, making Ayesha grumble. “Y- You really think so?” “Oui, I know so,” Christine agreed with a firm nod and a smile. “It’s crooked, but that adds a certain charm to it.”

Erik smiled as Christine showed him the sampler. “It does.”

Ayesha meowed in agreement and got up, hiding underneath the bed. “Thank you!” Erik told her as he rose from the floor. “Now we can go.”

Christine crouched down and smiled as she whispered, “See you soon, Princess Ayesha!”

The little kitty mewed from her hiding spot, making Christine chuckle. She stood up to see a caped Erik holding the door for her.

“Thank you.” Christine said, giving Erik a polite smile as she walked by him.

He smiled back. “You’re always welcome.”

A few minutes later, Erik was sitting in the boat with Christine. He gave the paddle a wide stroke, allowing them to glide along. Erik was silently counting the bricks on the wall and didn’t notice Christine smirking at him. She reached out and touched the end of Erik's paddle. She lowered her hand, causing the paddle to flip out of the water! Erik shut his eyes with a wince as droplets of water fell on his head. Christine giggled before noticing something odd.

His eyelids look gray! Maybe it's just the dim lighting down here, Christine surmised. It makes me wonder what else is underneath that mask.

Erik wiped the water droplets from his hair and chuckled as he exclaimed, "Hey! What was that for?"

"For not telling me where we're going." Christine said.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Erik rowed out of a corridor. “Very soon, in fact.”

Christine looked to her right, seeing the ladder come into view. “We’re not going to the music museum?” “No, we’re going to my vacation spot.” Erik responded with a smile.

Once they were out of the short hallway, he parked the boat against the ladder and set the paddle down before slowly standing up with Christine. They went up the wooden ladder, went down the little steps and entered the fifth cellar.

“I figured you might be tired of the same old water cellar shenanigans,” Erik said. “The cellars are new territory. …And the auditorium stage. I- I mean, if you want to go there. I know it’s a lot of walking-”

“I’d like that!” Christine replied before covering her mouth to yawn. “I wish we weren’t exploring so early, though!”

“The workers start repairing the chandelier at about seven-thirty, so we need plenty of time to see the sights.”

“Can’t you make them come later as The Opera Ghost?”

“And delay the masquerade? Of course not!” Erik said before walking on wooden planks with coral-colored pipes on the sides. “I know you’re tired, but try not to trip or lean against anything. We have to be very careful around here.”

Christine preferred to walk around the planks. She followed Erik through a hallway and they came across the world of gears and poles.

“Nadir told me these move the sets.” Christine said as she leaned against a pole.

“Indeed they do! They’re called capstans,” Erik replied, lightly touching one of the wooden gears. “The first stagehands employed at the opera house were former sailors since these resemble capstans used on ships. I sure wish I had the agility to maneuver these things! I can barely lift a petite person like you. But…” He pointed to something against the wall. “Those steel counterweights help ease the heavy burden.”

It’s no wonder Buquet was fearful all the time, Christine thought as she looked at the counterweights and the rest of the cellar. Danger was all around him! Not to mention The Opera Ghost constantly haunted him.

“As the sailors often said at sea, ‘onward ho’!” Erik declared, striding over to the concrete staircase. Christine giggled and followed Erik up the stairs. She could easily imagine Raoul calling that out on his navy ship.

The fourth cellar contained multiple heating furnaces while its hallway had an empty crate.

“I must admit, these other cellars aren’t much to look at,” Erik said as he and Christine went up the stairs. “A crate here, a furnace there… Truly, the only interesting parts below the stage are the fifth cellar and- of course- the water cellar,” Erik reached the top of the stairs. “Well… and this.”

He looked at a towering painting leaning against the left wall of the third cellar. Part of a temple was shown amongst a garden and colorful buildings.

“What is it?” Christine asked.

“A scene from Le Roi de Lahore. It’s an opera about a priestess who falls in love with a mysterious voice who speaks to her at night. She’s abducted by the story’s villain and he forces her to marry him.”

“Hmm…” Christine stroked her chin and gave Erik a knowing look. “Sounds familiar.”

Erik looked over at Christine, his face turning pink once he made the connection. “Wha- Oh, but you’re not a priestess and I’m not a king and I’d never kidnap you and force you to marry me. And we’re not in love.”

Christine shrugged as she said, “Well, it’s mostly familiar, then. You can’t deny the mysterious voice.”

Erik sighed. “You sure can’t,” he agreed, striding away from the scene. “Especially if it belongs to a ghost.”

He led Christine through the second cellar, which had a few crates and carts scattered around. Christine began to hum a little song as they walked before softly singing the words.

Hier matin je m’y levai

Laissez-moi planter le mai

Vers le bois je m’en allay

En riant tout en riant

Laissez-moi planter le mai

Moi qui suis gentil gallant!

“Brava!” Erik exclaimed with applause. “Wasn’t that the song you sang at the bistro?”

“Yes, it’s Laissez-Moi Planter Le Mai. It’s a song I used to sing with Papa.” Christine responded shyly as they walked up yet another staircase. “It’s very nice. I could see you singing it in the countryside with him. He’d be playing his violin, I’m sure.”

Christine nodded, her heart aching slightly as she recalled her father playing the song. “Someone played it on the piano at the bistro. You could play it, too!” Erik chuckled. “Indeed I could! You need to find the sheet music for it. I’m always looking for new tunes to master.”

They soon reached the top of the staircase. Just like most of the previous cellars, the first one didn’t have much.

“I didn’t think these cellars would be so empty!” Christine remarked.

Erik chuckled with a little scoff. “Good thing the horses weren’t around to hear that.”

Christine blinked in surprise. “Horses?”

“Yes, little equines that whinny and eat hay and perform in operas. When horses are needed for shows like Aida or Profeta, they temporarily live in the stables over there,” Erik explained, pointing to a wall with bars on the top. “But they don’t take the stairs like we do. That would be rather impractical.”

Christine laughed as she imagined Caesar walking up the cellar staircases.

“Instead, they take the elevator.” “It would be so nice to take an elevator to your house instead of all those stairs.” Christine said with a sigh.

“Yes, I’m sure it would. But you’d lose all that precious exercise.”

“Is that why you chose to live down here?” Christine asked, following Erik down a corridor.

“I mostly did it so no one would find me, but the immense expedition was a bonus.”

He stopped in the middle of the passageway, much to Christine’s surprise. She was about to tell him to continue walking when he opened a gray door that nearly blended in with the wall.

“Let’s take a more… mysterious way.” Erik said with a wink.

Christine followed him into a brick hallway that reminded her of the water cellar. But while that was lit up by candles, near darkness surrounded them in the secret hallway. She hugged herself with a shiver.

Just then, Christine felt something silky on her shoulders. It was Erik’s cape.

“It’s alright,” Erik said softly. “You’re safe.” Although Christine was shrouded in shadows, she felt very safe indeed.

The walk through the corridor wasn’t very long. Christine felt the cape slip away and heard Erik say, “There’s a ladder right in front of you. I think we’ll both be able to get up there at the same time.”

Christine reached out, tensing up at Erik’s chilling touch.

“Now you know how I feel whenever anyone touches me.” he said, gently grabbing her arm to guide her to the ladder.

“Sorry,” Christine apologized as she felt one of the wooden rungs. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

“It’s alright. I tense up even when expecting it. But it’s not your fault! Just…” Erik sighed. “A bad habit.”

Even though she couldn’t see him, Christine looked at Erik with a frown.

I wish you could touch without fear, she thought. Maybe someday-

She cut her thought short at the sound of Erik going up the ladder and followed him. A beam of light shone above their heads a few moments later. She squinted at the brightness that quickly filled her vision and gasped. They were backstage…

And in the floor!

Christine continued going up the ladder and turned around once she was standing on the floor. Erik was holding onto a square that stood behind his head.

“It’s a trap door!” Christine realized.

“Did you really expect The Opera Ghost to use a regular door?” Erik asked as he climbed out of the hole in the floor. “There are plenty of trap doors around here, like in the managers’ office and the library. Some might say I’m a trap door lover!” he said with a laugh. “They’re such clever little things.”

“They sure are!” Christine agreed, noticing how well the door blended into the floor.

She and Erik went to the stage and stood beside each other. Their eyes were on the same thing- the fallen chandelier. It was extremely hard to miss the immense ceiling fixture, which still stood in the middle of the aisle. Seeing the chandelier made Christine feel a wave of dread that brought her back to that awful night, when everything had gone so terribly wrong.

And yet, as the lights had gone out, a bright spot emerged from-

“So lonely.” Erik muttered through a sigh.

Christine shook off the dreadful feeling as she looked up at her friend. “You are?”

“No. I- I mean, yes, but the painting is lonely,” Erik replied, raising his head to see the angelic painting on the ceiling. “Who knew a bright sky could look so dull?”

“It’ll shine alongside the chandelier again very soon.” Christine said with a smile.

Erik smiled back and they gazed at the vast expanse of red and gold in front of them.

“Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?” Christine asked in a whisper.

Erik nodded. “It’s gorgeous. But I know something that’s prettier.”

For a split second, Christine thought he was talking about her! She noticed that he was going to the right side of the stage and followed him, glad he couldn’t see her light blush.

Erik gave box five a gentle touch. “I think I have the most beautiful box in the world,” he declared before taking his hand away to look around. “But then I see the other boxes and… well… it’s tough to say!” He smiled. “But I know mine is the finest. Much better than box six over there.”

Christine looked to the far left of the stage, seeing an identical box directly across from box five. Erik stepped aside so Christine could go up to the box. She hesitated for a few moments before touching a flower on the side of his box. The tip of her finger barely brushed against the bottom edge of the box when she stood on her tip-toes.

“It’s very nice,” Christine agreed. “I love the flowers.”

“Especially the one you’re touching. I believe it’s a lily.”

“They should’ve made it a rose instead!”

Erik laughed, making Christine’s heart warm. “Did you ever notice that the marble center looks like an upside down tear drop? It fits me very well. And did you know that red was chosen not just to compliment the golden boxes, but to bring out women’s complexions?” He looked at Christine, who smiled. “I- I, uh, I’m not saying that just to impress you, I- I’m serious! There’s an actual theory out there that, uh, that red is flattering to a women’s skin tone. Personally, I think blue is more flattering- not because of you, of course! No, no, not… um…” Erik’s eyes wandered around the auditorium. “Not because of your perfectly pale, uh… um-”

“I think it’s flattering on men’s complexions, too.” Christine said, giving Erik a nudge with her arm as she clasped her hands together.

Erik looked down at his bony hands. “My ashy skin is far from perfect.”

“It doesn’t look ashy at all. It’s a bit pink.” Christine said with a wink.

Erik looked at Christine in surprise, suddenly feeling the blush underneath his mask.

Christine giggled as he looked behind him. “It’s too late to hide it now!” She followed his gaze, seeing Foyer de la Danse in the distance. “Isn’t it funny how there’s such a stunning hallway past such a sea of dingy gray?” she asked once her giggles subsided. “It is,” Erik agreed with a smile. “I, uh, I want to show you something.”

Christine followed Erik through the vast backstage.

“Did you know there’s a pipe organ hiding in plain sight?” Erik asked Christine, to which she shook her head. “It’s not what I wanted to show you, but I might as well since we’re back here.”

He led her to the left side of the stage’s entranceway, pointing to a gated platform on the wall. Wood stood on the platform and a rectangle with metal bars was just above the lumber.

“That doesn’t look much like an organ,” Christine remarked. “It’s certainly not like yours!”

“Like I said, it’s hiding. But they don’t take it out into the light very often. Large temperature differences and dust from the stage settings have caused it to suffer,” Erik sighed. “Poor thing. Well, at least there’s one organ still working around here. Two, actually. But the other organ is the old gas lighting system.”

“And if one of them played loud enough, it can be heard on the stage.” Christine added with a wink.

Erik chuckled and led Christine to Foyer de la Danse. He glanced up at the portraits on the ceiling before spotting the little piano in the corner of the foyer. “This is what I wanted to show you.” Something tells me otherwise, Christine thought, going into the foyer with Erik and taking a look at the portraits. Perhaps he wanted to say something about these-

“I think you’ll enjoy this song I learned recently,” Erik said, snapping her back to the piano. “It’s called Rage Over a Lost Penny.” Christine giggled. “Is that really the name of the song?”

“Yes! I think I know what Beethoven was doing just before he wrote it. Although you’d never guess that from its formal name- Rondo alla ingharese quasi un capriccio,” Erik rolled his ‘r’s while saying the Italian title. “It means ‘Rondo in the Hungarian style, almost a caprice’. It was a favorite with audiences ninety years ago, and it’s certainly one of mine!”

Christine ducked underneath the barre, sitting on the pale sage green loveseat as Erik played the song. It was a lively tune with the quickest notes Christine had ever heard!

Erik finished the song a minute later, smiling as he asked, “Was that fast enough for you?”

“I never knew Beethoven could write something so fun!” Christine remarked. “He seemed so stoic.” “He definitely wasn’t the jolliest of composers. The song is meant to portray harmless frustration, but I’d say it sounds like someone running away from more important things.”

Christine noticed that Erik was giving her a look. “Are you talking about me?”

“Yes, I’m talking about you! The masquerade- you know, the event celebrating our fallen comrade over there- is in two weeks. You haven’t even thought about it. I greatly appreciate all the time we’ve spent together, but I know you’re using me to distract yourself from the party. I’m not just your Angel of Music… I’m your Angel of Diversion.”

“I-”

Erik’s look intensified.

Christine lowered her head with a heavy sigh. “You’re right, I haven’t thought about it as much as I should. I’m so overwhelmed! I don’t know what to wear and the thought of so many people being there makes me terribly anxious and they might want me to sing and what if something goes wrong like the chandelier-”

Erik slammed his hands on the keys. “Christine!” He let the echoed notes linger in the air for a few moments as Christine stared at him in surprise. “You’ll be fine. The only music at a masquerade is a little orchestra, no singing involved. Yes, there will be a lot of people and yes, it’s very horrible for introverts like us, but it’ll be a grand time for you! Everything will go alright. And besides, you have friends to help you with your costume,” He swiftly rose from the piano seat and strode up to Christine, putting his hands on his hips as he said in a playfully stern voice, “Now I want you to march out of this auditorium and work on that masquerade. Understand, little lady?”

Christine giggled as she put her hands on her hips. “Aye, aye, towering gentleman!” she said with a firm nod. “Let’s get this party started once and for all!”

#ask #i wanted to share this for the may 19th history post but it would've made that so long! :o #the whole rewrite is long actually! ;) #it's at 253 pages so far... the longest story i've ever written! :o (the second longest is 202) #it usually takes me years to write a story at this length but it's easier when the plot is already there ;) #idk what i'll do with it after i'm done besides have it sit with all the other stories i've completed #my dream is to have it published alongside those #then the whole story fam will be on shelves! (even the adopted rewrite kiddos) :D #who knows what the future holds! ;) #but for now enjoy these little snippets ;) #and this absolutely adorable part! :D #poto rewritten

[djarins-cyare]

So it’s been a year…

One year since Disney released episode 1 season 3 of The Mandalorian

One year since I published chapter 1 of Be-All And Endor

I don’t really remember much of the first 20 weeks of that year, just that it was a flurry of proofreading and finalising and uploading (the hard parts) and comment reading and new friend making and massively appreciating (the wonderful parts).

Proofing and publishing 2 chapters a week with average lengths of around 10k words was exhausting. But for the first 8 of those weeks I had Din Djarin on the screen (intermittently *ahem* but this isn’t a post about the quality of s3) and for the rest of the year I had my readers leaving comments and sending messages, and it was… overwhelmingly the best year of my life.

I mean that. The best year. Ever. Because of you. Any of you, all of you, if you’ve ever even just clicked on my fic and given it chance, you’ve raised the hits on it. Even seeing that metric tick up has made me so thankful.

Because I didn’t think I could write. I always wanted to be an author but never believed in myself.

I did an English degree with writing in mind, but told myself nobody ever does anything with an English degree. I took creative writing modules, and when the published author who ran the class gave me scathing feedback, my dream fully died. I got an okay grade, hardly anything to be proud of, and I graduated and went to work in another industry.

I suffered from clinical depression.

One day many years later, I found a favourite author online and messaged him to ask when his fourth novel in a series was being published, and (emboldened by the anonymity of being online) cheekily offered to proofread it for him. Except he took me seriously and sent me the prologue to see what I could do. Like, for a real book you can buy on Amazon. After feeling sick for two whole days I went all Autistic Obsession on it and sent him back the most thoroughly proofed bit of writing anyone had ever seen. And I got the job. (I say ‘job’, I’d volunteered for free in exchange for the privilege of reading it in advance, so I can only ever call it semi-professional since I didn’t earn from it).

This, amongst other things, lifted me from my depression. I came off the pills and felt happier, more creative. Once the proofing was completed, the author encouraged me to write my own stuff, but whilst I’d gained some confidence… my brain was empty. I had no clamouring stories to get down on the page, no gems ready to polish.

Then in summer 2021, a friend sat me down and showed me the first 3 episodes of the Mandalorian. And my brain chemistry was instantly altered. I binge-watched the first two seasons, by the end of which I was unequivocally in love with Din Djarin, and then I binge-watched them again.

Around that time, I moved to a different country. Well, Wales is still the UK, but it’s a different country to England, and I was now 170 miles away from my friends. I went because as a single woman on a middling salary, London is too expensive to live in and having rid myself of an overbearing long term relationship, I was NOT keen to get into another one just to pay the bills. The pandemic meant I could work remotely, so I upped sticks and moved to Cardiff, resolving to visit my office in London (and my friends) once a month. It’s 2 hours by train, totally doable.

So what to do with all the spare time I suddenly had?

By Easter 2022 I’d started writing. 9 months later (yes, it’s my actual baby), Be-All And Endor was complete and I began publishing alongside season 3’s release.

Now… it has over 62.k views and 1.2k kudos 🥹🤯

Did I think it would be this popular? No way. I can’t even believe it now. I still see SO much wrong with it, which is why I’m still proofreading and editing it.

A professional proofread/edit takes a long time, and if you’re wondering what I’m doing to it, it involves the following:

Checking for things like clichés, non-inclusive language

Checking all adverbs to see if a better word can be used (e.g. ‘bellows’ instead of ‘shouts loudly’… adverbs usually end in -ly and it’s not good to overuse them)

Rephrasing any passive sentences (simply put: ‘the ship is flown by Din’ is passive; ‘Din flies the ship’ is active)

Reducing average sentence length (shorter sentences are easier to read)

Going through every single damn polysyllabic word (e.g. anything that has more than 3-syllables) and seeing if a shorter synonym can be found (this helps the rhythm, as too many long words slows things down and can make readers stumble… and I use them a lot 😖)

Checking the 50 most frequently used words and seeing if I can find synonyms for those (helps give more variety in the language)

Ensuring Din’s name isn’t overused or underused, and adding epithets (e.g. ‘the hunter’ or ‘your Mandalorian’) where it’s overused but it’s too confusing to just say ‘he’/‘him’

These are the big things, but there’s more too - I’m streamlining decisions I made to use certain phrasings throughout; tweaking Din’s word choice here and there to ensure his voice is captured the best way possible; revamping some of the photos. And with all the tiny tweaks, it’s slowly padding things out too… when publishing was done it was 393k, now it’s 403k, although it’s not extra content as such, just better described.

I’m up to chapter 13 so far, and I’ll probably be doing this for another 2 years to get through all 40, because (a) I want to write other things too so that slows down the proofing, and (b) I so badly want to be proud of this project… everyone’s telling me I should be, and I am in a way… but it’s more gratitude to others than pride in myself… and I feel like if I get this proofing done and finally have a story I’m truly happy with, I can at last let myself be proud of what I achieved here.

I confess, I’m so envious of those who can post something without obsessing over it. I know it’s a facet of my autism, and I’ve long since accepted that my neurodivergent brain will not let me be cool about things other people are cool about. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that I should turn it to my advantage, so okay… I’m gonna make this fic the same quality as a published book on your bookshelf. And meanwhile I’m gonna enjoy and love all the fics that people can write and publish with far greater speed than I can, because the greatest thing about this fandom is that every contribution is worthy of appreciation, no matter the author’s experience or writing method. Quality fic isn’t synonymous with proofreading, and I hope it’s clear that I’m describing my obsession with perfecting my own writing, not other people’s. I’ve read so many amazing authors on here, and I want them all to know how much I love their work (any recs are from the bottom of my heart).

So anyway, this long and rambling post has turned into something unintended… I guess you now have some insight into my mind and the origins of Be-All And Endor and the future of it. Not what I meant to do, but I’ll leave it in for context.

Because the real reason I started writing this diatribe was because I wanted to express my true and undying gratitude to everyone who has ever read, commented, or left kudos on my fic over on AO3, and/or messaged me, followed me, interacted with me, or reblogged my masterlist here on tumblr 🧡💚

I know I am insanely lucky to have received the level of support I have, and I don’t take that for granted at all. I want to give back to this fandom, and I love reading and reccing other people’s fics, meeting new moots, and hopefully soon I’ll be publishing new fics for you all to read too. Fresh material is percolating, so it won’t be too long now.

So thank you to everyone who reads this post, you’re the absolute best and I love you more than I have the vocabulary to describe. Please accept a grateful forehead kiss instead 💋

#well this was longer than intended #but we all know brevity isn’t my strong suit #cannot express how much i love you all #so i rambled and i hope my gratitude comes across in there somewhere #thank you for supporting me #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mando #mandalorian x reader #mando x reader

[plasticfangtastic]

american royalty. ch. 2

A Homelander x F!reader fanfic.

a/n: will post ch. 3 this week but sadly my other fic will be posted next week, enjoy this slow burn dadlander fic, and thx u to all the readers. prev. chapter:

Sypnosis: Homelander never wanted to remember you, but after welcoming Ryan into his life, he thought of you & the lie that tore you two apart. Now... thinking back, thinking of your betrayal-- was he perhaps wrong about who the father of your unborn child was? Did you perhaps told the truth all those years ago?

Tags: mild gore, angst, lots of angst, slow burn, fluff, OC characther, child neglect, dadlander, romance.

Chapter Two

Red

It had been a very long day, business was booming nowadays and since that influencer had made a couple videos on your pizzeria, you had been more than just busy, you began to run out of ingredients.

 In the last four years, the restaurant had grown, it had been there since 2002 ran by your boss’s father and his brother, who had ran their own pizza shop since the 80’s but as the economy and other events hit, they had decided to relocate and re-brand, now managed by their son– a man you owed so much, had his heart not been filled with kindness you would most likely be in the streets. So you made sure his restaurant was the best, you had accolades, you’ve worked in some of the best restaurants, you were once a very prominent fast rising figure of the New York culinary scene– until Homelander came along.

Your talent revamped the restaurant and now your food was once again on the spotlight, for the first time since you left Vought, you were happy with yourself, even if it was pizza. Cooking made you happy, and this job needed you, you didn’t live in fear of sleeping in your car anymore, you didn’t need to worry that your daughter would sleep on somebody’s couch again, you were able to quit your third job and go casual on your second thanks to this place, right now you didn’t live in the best of places but you were saving up and in a couple months you’d have enough money saved up to move, and send your daughter to a better school, somewhere were her talents wouldn’t be wasted.

So here you were ten minutes before closing, another extra couple hours of overtime for your dream two bedroom apartment, where it would be safe for her, where you could finally feel like your life had moved on from him, that the door opened up and your cashier squealed.

It was a quaint looking restaurant, the wood seating was new and the wall decor had been changed trying to look less cluttered, with Art Deco lighting fixtures as the stand out feature. The place had been remodeled recently it seems, the kitchen and its big brick oven looked clean but ancient to Homelander, he stared at the menu board and metal boxes of accouterments by the counters, taking in that this was in fact a pizza place, that you of all people did in fact work at a pizza place. You who could whip up amazing fare, now made greasy cheap slices, but he had seen people come in and leave endlessly these past few days, people taking selfies, and recording themselves with your food, nothing he understood.

He looked back at the teenager on the counter offering his signature smile as she blubbered her script, then as you took a step closer knowing you couldn’t hide in this open kitchen you finally looked at each other for the first time in seven years.

Your throat collapsed and your whole body became prickly and tight, your heart was beating so fast you thought you might be having a heart attack, you looked at the clock cursing that it wasn’t over, you were almost done packing the kitchen and readying for tomorrow, having a customer at this hour was awful but having him here was about to take you to an early grave.

“What’s your best seller?” Homelander muttered looking straight at you with an aloof stare, then back at the cashier– is pizza night at my house, sorry for coming so late hope that’s not a problem?” he said exceedingly politely.

The teenager blushed and looked back at you as if asking you to pinch her.

“That would be our pepperoni queen– is two types of cheese, extra pepperoni, with our signature house made marinara, with a dash of vodka sauce in our sourdough thin crust… chili oil is optional” You had managed to say trying to ignore those piercing blue eyes, you moved back to your place staring at the few remaining trays of dough balls left– our second best seller is our chicken florentine pie.”

Homelander admittedly detested pizza, it was greasy, gooey and heavy, it was fattening and gross, but there was a familiar aroma in the room, something that was making his mouth water lightly. Looking back at the girl, he ordered both in their smallest size offered, he sat by one of the wooden booths for the ten minutes he was told to wait, and not once did he made a comment, maybe that’s why your heart stung so much, why it felt as if you were about to collapse– that after seven years, he had completely forgotten about you, while only now did you began to feel as if you could heal from all the suffering he’d cause you, how insignificant had you been all along, how you love never registered.

You both had talked of moving in together and buying a home, he wanted to buy you a restaurant, and you wanted to give him your life, you had never loved somebody as much as he made you love him, and now you were just some bum wearing a graphic t-shirt making him dinner.

You packed his food, your boss Kaleem had given him extras on the house, practically begging for Homelander to give them a photo for their socials and you simply stare as he did his superhero thing, you took one of the delivery bags knowing he would lose the food if he flew with them in hand.

After the photoshoot, Kaleem and your cashier had run to the back to show the picture to the only other staffer left at this hour.

You both looked at each other as he took the bag off your hands, you wanted to cry, your eyes welling up but you looked down afraid of him, no doubt he could hear your heartbeat tickling his ear.

“It's been a while hasn’t it?” 

You could’ve collapsed into tears right then and there, it was worse to be remembered.

Growing angry at the sound of his soft voice, and that concerned expression in his face.

“Yes…”

“How you been? Didn’t think I'd ever see you again.”

“Should’ve killed me back then… got fucking close to it tho.” You dropped all pleasantries, hearing him talk and not hearing the word sorry 5 seconds in, had infuriated you. His stupid face, those stupid eyes, and that clown suit was too much for you, maybe it was the poor diet and lack of sleep but right now you wanted to ban him from Lucci’s– hope you enjoy the food.”

You pushed the bag jumping from the kitchen to the front as you headed for the door, holding it open for him.

“I’m doing alright. Now leave!” 

“You don’t even want to know why I'm here?” he was taken aback by your brashness, you had always been sweet to him, tender, barely ever angry before, so why now?

“You got a little kid now, I gather like any other kid, he likes pizza… and good for him because mine is the best!”

“Not really… I actually wanted to see you. I… I just wanted to ask you something–

“Mother!!”

Your daughter emerged from the depths of the kitchen, she carried a kindle in one hand and a giftcard in the other.

“Is it okay if I use my present now? They got some books on sale and you said not to buy more books until I finished… oh…”

In the light and in front of him, your daughter truly looked like your mirror image, copy and pasted into a miniature. Her hair just past her chin, and her bangs indeed covered her eyes, peeking behind those curtains were the prettiest blue eyes he’d ever seen, there was no unnatural shine to them– just blue. Her lips so thin and her complexion just a tad paler than your own now that he gave it a proper look, she was so small-- too small for her age.

“Is okay honey, is your birthday you can get any books you want” Your tone shifted entirely lowering yourself to take her face and plant a quick peck on her cheek– now go back with uncle Kaleem and let mommy close shop, okay? We’ll go home in a minute.”

“Is it your birthday young lady? Congratulations.”

Homelander threw his best smile, giving the kid a cautious pet, catching the rage in your eyes as his gloved fingers touched your daughter.

“Thanks. Is not a milestone birthday so it is not worthy of congratulations… seems inane to celebrate it” she looked at her mother with a jaded expression– " I'll go get my bag, have a good night, sir.”

Homelander pressed his lip as the most deadpan voice came out of this little girl. Her oversized black sweater and the black tights made her look oddly unhappy, but the kid just stared at him with boredom, no surprise or interest when she stood next to America's favorite son.

He wondered if that was an adult or a seven year old for a second.

He worried if the kid had told his mother about that other night, but looking back at you he went with 'maybe'.

“What’s your name?” he asked, still forcing a smile– "my… you seem like a smart girl getting books for your birthday.”

“Helena.”

The kid couldn’t muster the energy to give him anything but her dead ass voice, she began to walk away not caring for manners, nor Homelander.

“She’s… cute.” he said watching that tiny figure walk away and surviving after her second nsult– great pronunciation for her age, does she even know what she’s saying?”

“Helena is not like other kids.”

“How so?” 

You looked at him more tired than anything, rubbing your temples as you made yourself waste spit to talk to him.

“She’s a Supe… by the time she was two she could speak in full sentences, by three she could read at a first and second grade level, and by five she was teaching herself calculus and piano… she’s a genius; I thought she was a normal genius until… her other powers manifested– none of this matters! Just go!” You shook your head in frustration.

“You gave her V?” He said while staring at Helena.

“... I didn’t know what V was until the news broke out, I thought Helena was chosen by God! That the world blessed her with those powers, but when that story came out I’ve been wanting to ask you– did you give her V? but… if you didn’t… who… are you lying to me, John?”

Homelander looked past the concrete walls looking back at that little girl, he didn’t know what to say or do, before you could utter another word he left.

Ryan nose picked the meal quickly, glad that it was friday and his dad would let him stay up ‘til late, Homelander just dropped the meal on their new table and the kid was quick on his feet, the food was still warm, only now did Homelander noticed the extras, couple of small containers holding chili oil and freshly made ranch, garlic knots and a lemon meringue pie, it was too much but Ryan hadn’t hesitated to dig in, before Homelander could ask him to wash his hands he had ripped a slice of pepperoni.

“This is so good!” He said so cheerfully– gosh I was starving, dad.”

“I sure hope so, bud… let’s leave the pie for tomorrow…” he looked grossed out, Ryan sat opening up the garlic knot’s containers– not gonna eat?”

Homelander sat down to join him, the thought of touching all those greasy surfaces was making his stomach hurl, but he relented, taking a slice. 

He was young again, and you were there coming back with some drinks as he ate your chicken florentine, this was the same recipe, the chicken was so juicy and the cheese wasn’t greasy. Ryan was shocked to see his father sound so happy as he took another bite.

It was the first time they both ate together where they felt completely comfortable with each other, maybe it was seeing Ryan not pick at his food that made Homelander able to just talk, Ryan told him all about his homework, and the videogame he was playing, he really liked Fifa at the moment even if he himself cared not for the sport.

Helena watched as her mother stood silently hovering above the sink, you hadn’t moved much for a couple of minutes, your daughter more annoyed than anything else regarding this display.

“How do you know Homelander?” she asked with a yawn.

“Huh?” you woke up from your trance– you should be in bed, darling.”

“You too. So… How do you know the clown?”

“Honey, don't say that!”

“He walks around wearing a onesie all day… like a clown… like the rest of those super clowns”

Your daughter always spoke with a creepy maturity, her voice didn’t belong to a kid.

“... He used to be my boss… he was a really bad boss…”

“You used to work for Vought?” She softened her stand.

“Honey… I don’t really want to talk about this… it's late and we are going to the museum tomorrow so you should get some sleep, mommy is just tired… hope you had a good birthday.”

“You should rest too, mother.”

Your daughter's eyes glowed momentarily turning th blinkers off before she made her way to bed, you stared at her door, thinking if she could see you.

No mother should think their child was creepy, Helena was just difficult and abrasive, to be a small kid with her brain must be unbearable. You could recall the moment she asked you about V so vividly, she looked angry, but you had no honest answer to give her, you had to lie, god knows if you got the details right about how these people committed these crimes. Helena simply had no ability to relate to people, and without the funds you couldn’t help her meet her potential, not while you were both stuck living in public housing, not while scraping every penny.

Her few friends forced her to dumb down and even they found her uneasy, only the old people seemed to handle her best, she loved to listen, and her teachers always thought of her as  a delight, yet she knew no other Supe beside herself, those pageants were expensive, and networking meetings were hard to get in, talent agencies were costly– having a super-abled kid and trying to make them into a Supe was locked behind a massive paywall, all you could hope was that her genius would let her enter a university early on scholarships.

There was always Godolkin, but god knows if they would let her enter at a young age.

It would be easy if her father was involved, if John was there in her life, she would have the world but he didn’t want her, he had made that clear years ago.

So why did he lie about the V? 

It had been two weeks since you seen Homelander, but he saw you a lot, he'd come back and forth-- watching you and the child with ardent curiosity, seeing you made him reminisce, of those many nights and afternoons, of the way no matter how tired you were, you always made sure to look happy when he showed up, the way you looked so at peace while cooking, of the feel of your skin against his and the taste of your precious lips as you kissed him good morning. 

He followed you, on your only day off as you took Helena around the city, watching you share a slice of overprice cake while taking notes, and ate cheap chinese for lunch, you waited for two hours as Helena played chess and checkers with some oldies at a chess shop, some russian man gave her lessons-- some of these people dressed nicely perhaps pros. Some won over her and some lost but the games were quick, your daughter seemed happier when she loss than when winning.

Something about that didn’t sit well with Homelander.

Somehow he found himself in your apartment, cracking open the window to sneak in while you headed back home– the tiny apartment felt more like a closet than a habitable space, the ceilign was run down, and the appliances ancient but well kept, your bedroom was simple, cooking books and boxes sat on top of your dressers, a single’s bed with plush comforters and pillows stuck against the wall, with a wardrobe in front of it, and a cheap fan tucked in the corner. He left for your daughter’s room just a few feet away divided by the bathroom were most of the clutter and laundry lived, her bedroom was just as plain, but the books didn’t seem fit for a small child, her desk tidy and organized, he picked up a notebook from the pile, seeing math equations that hurt his eyes within seconds. All her stuff were nice and new, she had a decent computer on top of her bed, an old dresser, but there was an absence of toys– compared to Ryan’s bedroom that was filled with anything he wanted and decorated expertly. A clock adorned her walls but not much else, the few things that looked messy was a tiny plastic chess set, the kind with magnets on the bottom, and some DIY stem kits.

He took to the bathroom, it was old and falling apart, mold was growing in the corner much to Homelander’s disgust, trolley held dozens of beauty stuff and shampoos and detergents, a shelf on the wall held towels and toilet rolls. Homelander looked at a sparkly hairbrush, picking a couple strands of lost hair knowing by their lengths and color that they weren’t yours, and cursing himself for doing this as he place them on small plastic bag he had hid in his glove.

#homelander #homelander fanfiction #homelander x you #homelander x reader #the boys fanfiction #personal #my fic tag #not proofread sorry #american royalty #already got 2 more chapters done for this hope yall like it #I really like slow burn stories #my natural enemy is the short story it seems #homelader x f!reader #dadlander #the boys oc

[karniss-bg3]

Salute, Larian Studios

Heya folks! It’s been a while, I hope everyone is doing well. I’m breaking my hiatus to discuss the recent announcement made by Larian Studios on their steam development blog. I will add the link here for those who wish to read the blog in its entirety but be warned, there are patch seven spoilers within. I wish to focus on a particular section in the final three paragraphs of the document, which reads as follows:

“Being given the chance to develop a game set in the Dungeons & Dragons universe has been a dream come true for all of us. But as Swen recently confirmed, we won't be introducing any major new narrative content to the story of Baldur's Gate 3 or its origin characters and companions, nor will we be making expansions or Baldur’s Gate 4. As an independent studio since 1996, we value the freedom to follow our creativity wherever it leads. In this case, after six years in the Forgotten Realms and much discussion and rumination, we’ve decided to seize this opportunity to develop our own IPs. We’re currently working on two new projects and we couldn’t be more excited about what the future has in store. It’s still early days - we’ll tell you more about those later down the line. But know that even as our focus turns to these new games, the sensibilities that brought you Baldur’s Gate 3 are alive and well here at the Larian castle. We’re fueled by the very same fire in our bellies, one that drives us to create immersive experiences shaped by your choices, and we can’t wait for you to join us on this next adventure.”

I will admit, when I first read this I felt a tinge of disappointment. As someone who had a lot of hope in seeing some stories continued, Kar’niss especially, this feels like the once open door is now sealed shut permanently. To be entirely fair, I always looked at an expanded Kar’niss story with skeptical optimism; hope for the best but expect the worst. After all, Kar’niss was designed as a throw away plot device that had no real bearing on the over-all narrative. Most of what has been derived of the character is entirely fan driven and not based on anything confirmed by Larian as a whole. Furthermore, there were many fan favorites that had a larger base than our dear drider and chances are even if Larian did decide to do an expansion, Kar’niss still wouldn’t make the cut.

With that said, I respect Larian in their choice. To expand on other characters would cost a lot of money and time. To juggle that alongside making new games would be unrealistic, and I understand their point of view completely. We also don’t know what is going on behind the scenes which could’ve influenced their choices all the more. Over all this situation mirrors the old saying, “Don’t cry because it’s over, be happy that it happened.” I am happy, and grateful. Without Baldur’s Gate 3 this blog wouldn’t exist. All of the amazing interactions I’ve had over several months would’ve never occurred, nor would I have found the courage to publicly publish stories to the internet. While I don’t consider myself an awful writer, I never believed my work was good enough for those outside of my personal circle. To say that my confidence has blossomed over the last few months is an understatement, and I owe that to the fantastic support of those in the fandom as well as those close to me. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.

With Larian closing up the BG3 shop after the next few patches the question becomes, what’s next? For me, I don’t know. Sadly I’ve been swamped lately and it’s not destined to slow down until the middle of May. By then I hope to have a sufficient breather so I can return to projects I’ve left on the back burner in the interim. The Kar’niss blog will remain in place along with all of the archived stories, theories, and miscellaneous posts that are present. I still have a few writing requests that have waited a lot longer than I anticipated, so forgive me for the delay. I may also make a new blog that is dedicated solely to writing and other fandoms of interest. When the time comes I’ll post it here and folks can follow it if they wish but I’ll understand if not. Regardless of what the future holds, I am very stoked with the experiences I’ve had within the Baldur’s Gate 3 fandom. I’m a painfully shy individual and I am not a spotlight seeker by any stretch of the imagination. This section of the internet allowed me to expand my horizons a bit proving that you can indeed teach an old writer new tricks.

I look forward to seeing what is in store for Larian Studios. So long as they stick to their passion for making good games and treating their customers like people instead of money cows to be milked, then I will support every game release that comes in the future. While I’m sad that the many questions I had about Kar’niss will go unanswered, at least the drider will live on through the stories, art and other creative works made by his fans. In that way he is eternal, as are all of the other characters we’ve grown to love over this journey.

I hope to return on a more regular basis soon. Until then drider army, take care of yourselves and thank you for your continued support.

#baldur's gate 3 #kar'niss #bg3 #karniss #drider #baldurs gate 3 #larian studios #steam #essay #writing #I've missed posting here #the chaos on my end should be over soon #I hope

[hgejfmw-hgejhsf]

WIP Wednesday!

Look at me, throwing my proverbial hat into the ring in the afternoon rather than like an hour before the day ends! For those of you that saw THAT artwork today, you know why the hat reference is suddenly so important.

Okay, okay, so the time I haven't spent staring at THAT artwork is time I spent writing today, working on one of my fics for the New Traditions advent calendar event put on by @rwrbprompts, @just-sarah--things, and @sparklepocalypse! Sooooo because this fic is going to undoubtedly be the longest I have ever published, I'm going to give y'all the longest WIP Wednesday snippet I've ever made!

Many thanks to @suseagull04, @kiwiana-writes, @leaves-of-laurelin, @littlemisskittentoes, @anincompletelist, @inexplicablymine, and @happiness-of-the-pursuit for the tags this week! I'm super excited to share what I've been working on, and I especially can't wait for the big reveal!

Henry hustles to the door to snag June’s bags from her grasp, disappearing once more down the hallway to deposit them in her room. Alex’s heart squeezes in his chest at the sight of something as simple and entirely uncomplicated as his boyfriend helping his sister with her bags. But for them, it's a simple and entirely uncomplicated act that they fought for with all they both had to give: tears mixing with rainwater outside looming castle walls, two bodies swaying slowly together alongside unmoving statues in the manifestation of what was once an impossible childhood dream, an image broadcast around the world through the lens of a single piece of cold glass and a speech drafted with the utmost care, that told the story of a love that would go down in history. But now, long after the rain and tears have ceased to fall, the childhood dream now fulfilled, and the cameras shut off and the lights extinguished, these are the moments he knows they were fighting for. The chance of a life, as Henry once told him. A life they are now living, unapologetically and truthfully, just as they had dared to hope for. “Earth to Alex,” June says as Alex blinks and suddenly finds himself in his sister’s embrace, one of her hands ruffling his curls. “Sorry,” he offers sheepishly. “Having a thought.” “About what?” Henry asks as he strolls back down the hallway in his red and green striped Christmas socks, having kicked off his shoes at some point in the transit of June’s luggage. Alex holds out his hand for Henry to slip his own into as he toes out of his shoes and kicks them towards the mat next to the door, his green and red polka dot socks now on full display beside Henry’s. “My other family. They’re gonna be pissed I missed Christmas this year to spend it with y’all,” Alex says matter-of-fact, as Henry chuckles softly, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners before he flips a switch, mock solemnity overtaking his expression. “Ah, well. I suppose they’ll simply have to take you for New Year’s then.” Henry starts back into the kitchen, his fingertips sliding slowly out of Alex’s grip until Alex curls his tightly, wrapping them around Henry’s and yanking him back into his chest, leaving them a breath apart. “Not a chance. I owe you a midnight kiss,” Alex says, each syllable a featherlight brush of his lips against Henry’s. The scent of grass and fresh linens overtakes him, even in the dead of winter, and he inhales long and slow and deep, letting it fill him up. “Didn’t we have one last year?” Henry quips, his tongue lingering on the “l” sound as he licks ever so slightly against Alex’s mouth. “And the year before, of course,” he adds, his cheeks warming. “Yeah, well I’m a selfish bastard. I want all of the years we both have left,” Alex says, finally closing the already limited distance to press their lips together. He licks into Henry’s mouth immediately as Henry’s hand snakes its way up and into the curls at the nape of his neck. It’s slow, tongues lingering and teeth tugging at a half-paced rhythm to their typical hurried encounters, as if they both can see all of the years of their lives stretching out before them in an endless path of lazy mornings, blissful nights, and every blessed hour in between.

Gonna throw some tags out there for @sparklepocalypse, @daisymae-12, @ssmtskw, @whimsymanaged, @indestructibleheart, @rockyroadkylers, @heybuddy-drabbles, @vanillahigh00, @ships-to-sail, @oneofthewednesdays, @affectionatelyrs, and @statueinthestonetoo

#wip wednesday #my fics #my wips #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #rwrb fanfiction #firstprince #rwrb #firstprince fic

[em-dash-press]

Questions to Ask Before Signing With a Literary Agent

Getting published might be your dream, but meeting with a literary agent is more like a job interview. You’ll be professional partners. They should prioritize your vision for your manuscript while guiding you on the best path to bookstore shelves.

If you get to meet with a potential agent for your next book, consider asking these questions to ensure that you’ll work well together.

What Did You Like About My Manuscript?

The agent’s answers will reveal what they’re most interested in working on. You’ll also learn what they consider to be your strengths as a writer.

If they’re interested in your story for reasons other than its intended purpose or your vision, you’ll prevent yourself from signing a contract based on a misunderstanding.

Do You Want a One-Time Client or a Long-Term Writer?

Literary agents are very busy.

The average literary agent makes $37,482 per year and given that most of the big publishers headquarter in New York City or L.A. where the average cost of living requires $63,600 annually in NYC and $30,640 for L.A. rent alone each year, it’s understandable that many agents do their agenting work alongside a full-time job.

Some will only have the time and energy for a one-time client who has a stand-alone project ready to go. Others may have more time in their schedule to commit to a long-term working relationship with a writer.

If you’re interested in turning your manuscript into a series, exploring other genres, or have ideas for future projects, the answer to this question is crucial.

Why Did You Become a Literary Agent?

It’s important to get to know someone before working with them. This is a standard question for anyone in a job interview. You deserve an agent who’s passionate about helping authors, especially first-time authors if you’ve never been published before.

How Long Have You Been an Agent?

A new literary agent could have gained the experience to become great in their own agency by working with other agents at a publishing house for years. Others may have a law degree, but little real-world experience yet.

What you do with the answer to this question is up to you. The new lit agent could be the best person for your book because they have the energy, focus, drive and passion to help you succeed. But you might also benefit from having a more experienced agent if your manuscript will be tricky to sell. (More on that below.)

What Did You Love about the Books You Sold Recently?

You should already know the agent’s latest sold books based on the query research that made them a good person to query. However, looking at a list of titles is different than hearing why the agent cared about those manuscripts in the first place. It shows part of their character and their interests, which may or may not fully line up with your hopes for our writing future.

What’s Your Communication Style like throughout the Publishing Process?

Some agents are very hands-on during the publishing process and some prefer to send occasional updates so you don’t get weighed down by details you don’t understand.

Again, how you react to the agent’s answer is up to you. There are tons of reasons why you may or may not want a hands-on agent, just like there are tons of reasons why agents might keep you posted for the most important info. They can explain a bit more after answering your initial question.

How Many Clients Are You Currently Representing?

Agents with a long list of clients might make enough from agenting that they can handle a big client team and still devote enough attention to be by your side through the publishing process. Others may only have a few clients because that’s the best balance for their work life and communication.

Having fewer clients doesn’t mean an agent is bad news. Don’t forget to follow up to this question if you want more information.

Are You Involved in the Editing Process?

Editors often take over when a manuscript needs work before publishers consider it or after a publisher signs on to sell it. Agents sometimes jump into the work with their clients if they have the time to do so.

Editing can take a while since broad developmental editing almost always happens before agents pitch a manuscript. How many people you want to communicate with throughout that process depends on your communication preferences and the agent’s editing expertise.

When Do You Believe My Book Will Go Out on Submission?

If your agent has read your full manuscript, they may have an idea of how much editing you’ll need to do. One agent who wants major changes could indicate that the process might take up to a year, while another could estimate three months of editing work in your future.

This also means they have different visions for your book’s final draft. You can talk more about that in detail after they estimate the editing time prior to submissions.

How Long Did the Submission Process Take for Your Other Clients?

Agents have to pitch manuscripts to publishing houses. It’s like the query process for writers, but for agents. They often know which houses are more likely to pick up specific stories based on their industry connections and previous sale experience too.

That being said, the submission process takes an average of 4–6 weeks. If the agent’s previous clients took longer or shorter than that, it’s important to know why. They may have been up against industry factors out of their control or could have learned better ways to sell books based on past mistakes that took longer than necessary.

Do You Think My Manuscript Will Be Challenging to Sell in Today’s Market?

Consider your history of reading. At different ages and stages of your life, you were likely into different genres and themes. The book industry as a whole also goes through stages. 

Sometimes, a fantasy book about a high schooler and her vampire boyfriend makes everyone preorder the next YA vampire book they can find. Other times, all people want to read are bubblegum romance books with familiar plot formulas because the latest copies from the biggest romance writers have everyone swooning.

Books can also become more likely to sell if they involve a societal topic or challenge that everyone’s talking about. 

It’ll be more challenging to sell books that don’t appeal to anything readers are currently buying en masse. Challenging—but not impossible. The best agent for your book will identify potential challenges and plan ways to navigate around them or spin them into something appealing to publishers.

They might also pitch editing ideas to tweak your story closer to what sells in a similar age group or genre. Whether or not you agree that those ideas align with what you envisioned for your book is up to you.

Do You Manage Subsidiary, Foreign, and Film Rights?

Subsidiary rights are the legal rights to every non-physical form of your book. A literary agent will know how to handle traditional book rights (rights concerning printing, manufacturing, and distribution), but also managing subsidiary rights makes them an even better advocate for you. 

They’ll negotiate for your rights to do things like have a say in which publications gain excerpts from your book for PR purposes, who can make book-club editions, which company makes an audiobook, and how many languages your book gets translated into.

Foreign rights are the rights for a company to publish your book in its original language in countries where it wasn’t initially published. Related, there are translation rights that go with that too.

Film rights cover things like how much you and/or your publisher get paid when a company purchases the rights to turn your book into a movie. It doesn’t include the rights for the author to be involved in casting or screenplays (unless the author is already super big and/or has a hand in the film world).

Agents who can do all of these things reduce how many pieces of your profit pie you have to give to each person helping your book succeed. They also streamline who you trust with such big decisions.

What Happens if My Manuscript Doesn’t Sell?

Agents set their own time limits on trying to sell a manuscript based on factors like their own schedule, the market’s interest, how many publishers they’ve contacted, etc. 

Some agents set a hard time limit and recommend writing another book if your initial one doesn’t sell. Unfortunately, they may not feel like the right representation for the new book if it’s wildly different from what you initially queried.

Others will try selling a manuscript for a few years. They might believe it will be a hit, but they need to wait for changes in the market or publishers to become available for work like yours.

There’s really no wrong answer to this question. It’s just good information to have, especially if you’re interviewing more than one agent before signing with anyone.

How Many Deals Have You Made in the Last Year and What Were the Figures?

You’ll know the publicly announced book deals the agent has made before you speak with them based on your query research. However, there may be other deals you don’t know about. 

It’s also important to get the figures for each deal to estimate your potential book deal number. You should compare your standing to authors of similar standing that the agent recently helped get published.

If you’re a debut author comparing yourself to long-time authors with six-figure deals, you won’t have a similar experience unless you’re the one in a million who has an instant hit with your book sales.

What Are Our Next Steps after I Sign?

You’d typically ask this in a regular job interview to know if you need to go through other interviews or if you’ll get an employment contract.

After signing with your agent, they’ll lead you through the various steps to getting published. They’ll likely have personal revision suggestions, then want to submit your revised work to editors. Then the editing process begins. 

Your agent should know your next general steps before you sign the contract. If you sign, they’ll get more specific with details like which editors they think will be a good fit for your work and when they can schedule meetings with you to go over their revision suggestions.

-----

Getting to this point with an agent at all is a huge success. So many writers never get published or even send a query letter. Congratulate yourself for getting this far and don’t be afraid to ask more questions than the ones I’ve listed here. More information will lead to a more informed decision when you decide to sign or not.

#writeblr #publishing advice #book publishing #getting published #writers of tumblr #writing advice

[buckets-and-trees]

haunting thoughts on Silent Screams

read it here: SILENT SCREAMS IN WILDEST DREAMS

Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Bucky x Reader, side of Steve Word Count: 8k Content Warnings: dark dark DARK tale, smut, main character death, rough sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, talk of wounds, slight dub/con, elements of somnophilia

RECAP: A dark tale with an unhappy ending. Just when you’ve married the man of your dreams, only just closed the chapter of your honeymoon, happily ever after is wrenched away, and you’re met with a nightmare you never could have imagined.

I published this in late November 2022, but I worked on it on and off between other projects for about six weeks from concept to research to writing. I wrote it for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor's Hallo-Cream Extravaganza, which was a cool challenge because there was a collection of numbered images you could choose from, and then when my image was confirmed, there was a prompt to go along with it.

It was also my first time participating in a challenge since getting back into writing fanfic. When I thought I was getting the sun alone, I was thinking vampires, but when I got the phrase along with the image, it halted the vampire idea I thought I would go with, and since I was already going to re-evaluate, it got my mind going even more. At the time I was also redefining a lot of pieces in my life and I had signed up to go solo on this 5-day retreat to a cabin in the woods... I ended up talking about some of the research and concept ideas for this fic on the six-hour drive to and from that cabin with a girl I carpooled with (we talked about so many things as you do with a stranger you just met when you're both going to the same retreat and want to save on gas). But I'll put the rest under a cut so as not to spoil for those who haven't read it.

When I realized it wasn't going to be vampires, I really wanted to then get totally outside of the box of things we see all the time. I decided I wanted to look up Scandinavian folklore as I was also trying to throw off some of the USAmerican culture I'd just been sitting in my whole life and explore some of my ancestral heritage. I figured there had to be a ton of stuff I'd just never learned about or heard of before and of course there was. One of the ideas I have buried for another day is to do kind of a Grimm or Phillip Pullman thing and do an anthology retelling of some of Scandinavian folktales because they were fascinating, and there were elements I was familiar with alongside very new pieces. It was so cool to begin to uncover the stories there...

But I was looking for a story that would also fit my prompt and lend itself to Bucky x Reader application.

I found the Gengångare. The lore is that they're a revenant/walker, and particularly in the Swedish tradition they're a corporeal form of a spirit that comes back after death. The spirit would have been murdered or killed and came back for mixes of revenge or unfinished business. That I could give Bucky - going on a mission, being killed, and having both revenge he could seek (against still living HYDRA folks who tormented and used him) and unfinished business in a promise that he makes to you, his reader newlywed bride, to come back to you.

And so the story begins with what I was hoping to be this blissful newlywed haze - the first morning after your honeymoon. Bucky is leaving for a mission - he'd said they were leaving later than he's actually going to leave because he didn't want you to get up hours before you needed to in order to send him off, but he does wake you up to share some kisses and say goodbye, it gets a little more heated, but there's no time for smut since he has to go, but he promises to pick up where you to left off when he returns, and there we have the tie he makes to come back to you.

I listen to music heavily throughout the day, but I wrote this fic with some very specific music through different sections. And for the opening, I was listening to This Love by Taylor Swift because its very romantically evocative for me, but some of the lyrics I knew could also be ripped into the horrific elements of this story, and so I truly loved it for that even more! - this love is good/this love is bad/this love is alive back from the dead

Then there are some other deep musical cues that when I was writing the rest of the fic, I was literally listening to these songs on repeat - a track from Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, two tracks from Netflix's The Empress series, etc - and so I actually embedded the Spotify players for them at particular parts for the particular songs. That's the only fic where I've so heavily "scored" it.

I put into the narrative that they didn't recover a body from Bucky for what I never specifically defined but figure was an explosion or an accident of some sort where not finding a body would be believable - but it's the Gengångare Bucky escaping. His undead soul seeks some revenge first, then he's pulled back to your door, but I wanted/tried to imply that he moves by these motivations and doesn't really remember much until he encounters something. So he shows up back on your doorstep, and it's as he interacts with you that he remembers more and more pieces of himself that are added back into the primal gengångare motivations.

The sex after he returns is frequently more rough and desperate, but since you're just as desperate for him, you don't question that it's the fact that his nature has changed - no longer human, but a creature that needs to leech the energy of another living thing to survive. He doesn't realize it at first either. But the first night he returns, his body is very cold, and he gets warmer the longer he's with you.

His bruises haven't healed, and you notice that, but he brushes it off. There's an inadvertent pinching on your back that's the beginning of the marks he can't help consuming you. He's truly insatiable, but since you were so consumed with grief and so deeply and desperately in love, you don't question it. When you finally do bring up having Bruce examine him or bringing Steve into things, he doesn't want that and presents good reasons - not wanting to be a body poked and prodded, and not wanting to worry Steve until he has more of his memory cleared up.

There's only a little bit of Alpine in this fic, but Alpine can tell that something is wrong with Bucky and so she is not around when he is at all after he comes back. The sex is exhausting, but it's because it's with this creature form of Bucky taking more and more of your life.

And then the spill of the story/the reveal. And it's all discovered when you're basically doomed by your love. And he literally makes love and fucks you to death, and is still so in love with you while doing it. Very sad. And his goodbye is the same goodbye he said to you in the first scenes of the story.

This was the darkest thing I'd written up to this point, and I really just wanted it to feel gothic and doomed, but twisted up in this all-consuming love. As I knew where the story was headed, I sort of just took deep breaths and steadied myself to dive into letting it have its dark ending. And I loved taking it there even though it was kind of scary for my first time. It was very haunting to write and I really tried to convey that feeling and have it bleed through.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

read more from the Dark Forest Fest

#writer commentary #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut #aspen's dark forest fest

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡Anniversaries and Milestones｡⋆.

Two years ago today, I published the first chapter of the Lost Princess and subsequently began taking writing seriously. I had no plans to ever send my work out into the world or even write fanfiction at all but my cousin (who has always been my greatest supporter) told me seriously that if I enjoy reading it and I have ideas, then there is no harm in putting myself out there. It was because of her that I got the courage to do all of this, and for that, I am so incredibly grateful.

One story tumbled into two and then ten, and then suddenly I had a following I was spending every free moment I had honing my abilities and practicing my writing. I met some of my best friends in the world through this blog and I will never be able to thank them enough for all the love that they have given me over the past two years. I also rediscovered my love for writing and now, I'm doing a minor in creative writing alongside the most incredible people I have ever met.

Writing let me reclaim parts of myself that were stolen from me, it let me get out all those feelings and experiences I had buried and contend with them. I have grown confident over the past couple years, shedding the shame and embarrassment I felt over my size and realising that my value is not defined by the number on the scale or the labels on my clothes. Even my family, who were some of the first to impose those thoughts upon me, have noticed that I'm different- happier, and it's all because of you guys.

It was honestly a shock to me when I woke up this morning to see that over 5000 of you were following me. I could have never dreamed that a fanfiction about Jotun Loki (who I was violently thirsting over at the time) and a plus size reader could have changed my life so much but here we are.

Because of this blog, I finally worked up the courage to pursue a degree that I was really passionate about. Because of this blog, I was able to move on from my abusive ex and rediscover my sexuality and my boundaries. Because of this blog, I was brave enough to put myself out there and make friends at uni and they are now the people I see myself growing older with. Because of this blog, I have found my purpose.

I will never be able to thank you all enough for the way you have changed me and I can only hope that you'll be around next year, and the year after that, and even after that to see me become the person I am meant to be.

Thank you, I owe you everything.

❤️Lou

And an extra thank you and I love you to my lovely mutuals who continue to blow me away with their incredibleness and creativity. I love you

@lokiandbuckysdoll @darkhairedmenrule @holylulusworld @evansrogerskitten @imyourbratzdoll @minervadashwood @nana1000night @onlystarshere @livingdeadblondequeen @123passwort @writing-for-marvel

#2 year tumblrversary #2 year anniversary #2 years ago #5k followers #5000 followers #follower milestone #plus size reader #female reader #reader insert

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🦇 Late Bloomer Book Review 🦇

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐

❓ #QOTD What's your favorite type of flower? ❓ 🦇 After winning the lottery, Opal Devlin puts all her money in a failing flower farm, only to find an angry (albeit gorgeous) Pepper Boden already living there. Though she's unable to find her grandmother's will, Pepper claims she's the rightful owner of Thistle and Bloom Farms. While they agree to cohabitate, Opal and Pepper clash at every turn. Can something softer blossom between these polar opposites, allowing a new dream to take root and grow?

💜 Oh. My. (Sappho.) Goddess. You may think you know Mazey Eddings' writing style, but I assure you, you do not. Many of us read The Plus One and/or Tily in Technicolor last year, but truly, Eddings has far exceeded herself with this one. As a neurodiverse author, Eddings' stories often have some element of neurodiversity / mental health, shining a light on the different ways people's brains work while embracing those differences through beautiful, realistic characters. Opal and Pepper are no different, both on the spectrum yet unique in their behaviors and view of the world. These women are not predictable, pre-programmed components of a story; they are ever-blooming, learning how to plant roots alongside one another, share sunlight, and rise despite being different species. Both plants, growing and adapting to different elements, yet very much the same. While Opal and Pepper have always struggled to fit in with the world around them, they manage to cultivate a safe, healthy garden for one another.

💜 This is one of those overwhelming, layered, awe-inspiring sapphic stories that will tug at your heartstrings long after you read it. Eddings' language leaps off the page, making it a little reminiscent of One Last Stop (be still, my little sapphic heart). I've beyond annotated Late Bloomer, when I'm usually selective about choosing quotes. You don't just see love blossom between these two women; you feel it. It made me smile, laugh, get all messy and misty-eyed. As I said, neither woman is predictable. Opal feels directionless at the story's start, allowing her (fake) best friend and (on/off) ex to step all over her. I expected her to be the wallflower, especially with the BITE we see from Pepper (pun unintended) in her first chapter, but the two balance each other out. When Pepper feels uncertain or anxious, Opal steps forward, bold and unwavering. When Opal begins to crumble, Pepper holds her up. They support each other, never allowing the other to wilt.

💙 Unfortunately, this book relies heavily on miscommunication. Both women are eager to hide their real feelings at the risk of scaring the other. That lack of communication continues until almost the last chapter.

🦇 Recommended for fans of One Last Stop and Imogen, Obviously. Side note: please, please read the author's note. Good goddess.

✨ The Vibes ✨ 🌼 Neurodivergency/Autism Spectrum 🌸 Sapphic Romance 🌷 Grief/Healing 🌹 Forced Proximity ⚡ Spicy/First Time 🪻 Cottage Core Vibes 🪻 One Bed ⚡ Touch Her and You Die 🌹 Dual POV 🌷 Miscommunication 🌸 Flower Competition 🌻 Grumpy/Sunshine

🦇 Major thanks to the author @mazeyeddings and publisher for providing an ARC of this book via Netgalley. 🥰 This does not affect my opinion regarding the book. #LateBloomer

💬 Quotes ❝ I’m constantly trying to define myself, to fit nicely and neatly into the boxes and spaces I attempt to occupy. All I’ve ever really wanted to do was belong. Somewhere. Anywhere. ❞ ❝ Slowly, she leans toward me, and my heart pounds so violently in my chest that my head swims. Is she . . . It almost seems like she’s going to press that smile to my mouth. Teach me how it tastes. ❞ ❝ I gave up perfection in any other aspect of my life long ago. It’s simply not possible with a brain like mine. But my art is different; it’s the better version of me, the one I wish people could know me by. ❞ ❝ Ah. There’s the you I missed. ❞ ❝ I used to stress over finding a label that fit me. Lesbian. Bisexual. Pan. Demi . . . I’ve filtered through them all many times over, none ever feeling quite right. Just say queer and move on with your life, Diksha finally told me late one night after what was probably my sixth sexual identity crisis of my early twenties. But what does that mean? I’d wailed, draining more boxed wine into my plastic cup. My brain loves order and labels and concise frameworks to understand things, and not knowing where I fit feels unbearable. It means you’re you, and only you get to decide who you like and when you like them, Tal had said from their chair in the corner. The name of your feelings isn’t anyone’s business but yours. ❞ ❝ But instead, she reaches out to me— opening her hand like a flower unfurling its petals to the sun. I stare at it. The ink stains and calluses and chipped nails and bitten cuticles. For a moment, that hand looks like a second chance. ❞ ❝ Fuck anything and anyone that made you have to survive instead of live. You deserve a life so peaceful it feels deliciously boring. A life filled with flowers and sunny days and people that show you all the time that you’re valued and worthy. You deserve it all.” ❞ ❝ “Her poems spoke softly— as intimately as confessions between lovers—about the terrible, wonderful ache of being in love.” ❞ ❝ Messy and radiant and ours. ❞

#books #book reviews #sapphic books #sapphic romance #queer romance #queer books #queer fiction #queer community #queer #wlw romance #wlw fiction #book: late bloomer #author: mazey eddings #book review #batty about books #battyaboutbooks #neurodivergent #neurodiversity #forced proximity #dual pov #grumpy vs sunshine

[demonslayedher]

How do you think Obanai (and my favorite little dude, Kaburamaru) interacted/got along with all the other hashira realistically on a daily basis? Like did he actually enjoy being around any of the other hashira and talking with them? Did he consider himself to be close with any of them besides Mitsuri? We've never really gotten a look at the daily life of Obanai (or any other Hashira for that matter) and how he feels about any of them, besides the tiny bit in the fan book, so I think this would be an interesting topic. He has such a complex personality due to his backstory, which really changes how he interacts as well. This question is kind of just asking what you personally think, feel free to answer it however you would like. I really love how you realistically analyze the characters so I would love to get your opinion on this :) Thank you for all the awesome content!

Thank you for reading and enjoying the analysis! Let's dive into Iguro, especially his relationships with others!

Iguro is one of those characters who didn’t capture my interest for a long time, especially because I was so worked up over the raging battle with Muzan and Tanjiro’s condition that when I got the weekly update that was Iguro’s backstory, I was like, “no, not this! Keep the story going!! AAAAHH! I waited a week to see what happens next!” I still feel like that timing was a disservice to his character, as I didn’t digest his complexity until much later (speaking of digesting, I never liked the design of the snake demon lady in the first place, as she felt comically evil for her baby-eating and contrived torture of “save this one and make him look more like me” approach).

And he truly is a complex character, and once that clicked for me, he’s remained as interesting to me as everyone else in the cast. Part of the reason he doesn’t stand out as much as first is because the interesting sides of him are subtle, as opposed to the surface level stripes, bandages, heterochromia, and snake buddy. But, all those factors together certainly make for an impactful design. And hanging out up the tree and judging people, really, what a statement of an entrance.

Since the first appearances we get of Iguro all showcase his tendency toward harsh judgement of others, it’s easy to type-cast him as grumpy and hateful, unless you happen to be Mitsuri, whom he likes enough to bequeath socks to. Sure, even, the most grouchy of and touchy of people can have a crush and gain a soft spot for someone; this made Obamitsu initially not very interesting to me too. Like, yeah, duh, of course he likes Mitsuri, who wouldn’t like her, I love her, and because I love her I guess I can’t help but like Iguro too because I want her to be happy.

Which just kind of brought out my frustration with him. Why can’t you get over yourself and just let her be happy!? She doesn’t care about your “tainted blood,” man, just let her love on you!! You’ll BOTH be so-o-o-o-o much happier, dummy!!

These being my feelings, I was twice as irritated with the Iguro backstory chapter appearing where it did. However, there was still some time before the final chapters were published, and this gave me more time to spend with Iguro in the context of fighting alongside Tanjiro, and going in as a Muzan-sized choking hazard. And then I had a vivid dream one morning about an AU in which he and Mitsuri were, in fact, married with small children, but due to a brain injury, they had a 50 First Dates sort of situation in which Mitsuri still thought they were in the “friends but not lovers” stage and Iguro was doing his best to care for the children (who missed their mother as they knew her but did their best to be understanding) as well as keep Mitsuri blissfully unaware so she wouldn’t be sad that she forgot about her children. In true KnY style, this had Tanjiro finding out by accident around the time of Pillar Training, and being shocked (and thinking it’d be kinder to let Mitsuri know she actually does have a happy marriage), and Iguro warning Tanjiro to back off and pretend he saw nothing. And then, after this emotionally involved dream, I woke up and immediately saw spoilers that Obamitsu was canon! They confessed love to each other and promised to get married! And then died. So yeah, that was quite a morning for me. And then after the Obamitsu shock I saw spoilers about dead!Tanjiro, so yeah, that was quite a morning.

So then where did this take me later? Ah, yes, I took an interest in Kaburamaru’s origins first, and this was my backdoor to pondering more about Iguro’s past. I remained interested in Kaburumaru’s origins and went to visit those snakes in person, and I wholeheartedly love those snakes now, especially the one who came up to the glass to say hello to me. I love you, little snake out there in Iwakuni.

While thinking more about the island (not exactly a place you’d expect to find rich people) and family upbringing is intriguing, what truly interests me about Iguro is his emotional complexity. The fact that poetry is his pastime (including senryu, which have more flexibility for cynicism) is what really got me. He’s not just a ball of hate sitting up there in the trees judging people, he’s appreciating the beauty of nature too, d’aaaaw. His personality is as striped as his haori!

However, he doesn’t seem like the type to express any of his sensitivities, he doesn’t mind that people generally only see him for his harsher side. Maybe he doesn’t hide his sensitive interior world, but he lacks people with whom to share those bittersweet appreciations for life put into elegant form. Sure, this awareness makes him look at Mitsuri for her natural cheer and brightness, loving her exactly for who she is, but she’s kind of bubbly and bad with words so she probably wouldn’t make a conversation partner for poetry appreciation. Again, it seems like a private activity for him, so I don’t think this would make him sad in any way.

However, as he prefers not to talk about himself and these interests, that makes his relationships with others very interesting, and I had a lot of fun with writing a short fic from his perspective to dive into more of these aspects of his character. I’ve found it fascinating that he and Uzui ever would have found themselves in a conversation about their pasts (as described the second fanbook), and I had a mad, mad desire to see how that ever would have happened, and what would had prompted it and made them feel inclined to put their trauma on display to each other. Not that I think they’d have been buddy-buddy after an experience like that, but at least open and frank with one another (clearly, Iguro feels his relationship with Uzui is one in which he can say, “you can’t retire, but good job on the lowest of the Upper Moons, I guess”). In this fic I also had Iguro meet Oyakata-sama, whom, among the whole cast, I suspect would have the best understanding of Iguro’s sensitive side.

The next most likely character to see this is Himejima, as he’s sensitive to everyone’s sensitives, as evidenced in the second fanbook. What with Iguro’s deep respect for Himejima, I don’t think Iguro would trouble with conversations about anything more than typical Pillar duties, though. I say respect because Iguro’s black-and-white judgements of others are based on how reliable he finds him, and he finds Himejima reliable. He wouldn’t say that about just anyone. It also squeezes my heart to picture him having a relationship with Kyojuro that goes far back, in any range of what sort of relationship this was. For instance, if Iguro stayed at the Rengoku estate initially and little Kyojuro was actively involved in Iguro’s care, that means Kyojuro probably kept a vested interest in Iguro getting stronger and learning Breath technique and passing the Final Selection and climbing the ranks, and this might had looked like checking in with him on a friendly basis once or twice a year. Or, perhaps their encounter in childhood was brief, and Iguro was initially embarrassed when he ran into Kyojuro later who happily inquired about his health and acquisition of Breath technique, and Iguro might had been a bit shy as first because Kyojuro KNOWS his past and how frail and helpless he was a child. However, what with Kyojuro having such a bright and cheerful personality like Mitsuri’s, he’d probably feel as ease with him very soon.

His relationships with Shinobu and Muichiro seem purely professional. He wouldn’t want to spend much time with Shinobu in the first place purely on the basis of gender, but he wouldn’t dislike her for it, and his respect for her is genuine (she’d probably be the most likely to appreciate poetry in the same vein as him, though). For Muichiro, I love that he has concern for him, but he would respect Muichiro’s skills in a way that wouldn’t make him feel like he needs to keep an eye out for his wellbeing like he does for Mitsuri, on account of Mitsuri not always being as level-headed as she should in battle. I like to imagine that instead of feeling inadequate seeing Muichiro’s genius levels of skill, Iguro instead has observed it here and there, and realized aspects that he can incorporate into his own short-person swordsmanship.

Okay, but speaking of my own fics again, and seeing as this one was purely for indulgent Pillar interactions, I had SOOO MUCH FUN making Iguro the second most uncomfortable person in this fic.

Iguro hating the sight of Giyuu is pure and simple hilarious to me. Moving on.

What I truly wish we could had seen more of is Iguro and Sanemi hanging out together; I imagine this looked like griping sessions about Giyuu following Pillar meetings. If Mitsuri brings out the white in Iguro’s personality, then Sanemi brings out the black. Sure, the black is always on display for everyone, it is the side of Iguro which best suits his Pillar duties, but in Sanemi’s presence, it’s not just professional, it’s fun. Venting is a bonding experience and they can both relax in each other’s presence with this, and I imagine that makes them open to hanging out in any other kind of context, too. They’d have that level of comfort with each other that, say, if anyone else approached Sanemi while he’s smiling and enjoying the company of a stray dog, he’d probably be embarrassed and defensive if approached by anyone else who might comment on that nice side of him, but if Iguro were to come up and say, “hmmm, so you like, dogs?” Sanemi would probably be like, “yeah, I love dogs” and continue enjoying the dog. Iguro, being at ease in Sanemi’s presence, may even be inclined to pet the dog too, even if he doesn’t connect with that animal as much as Sanemi does.

I also really, really love how Iguro’s complexity comes out in his treatment of Tanjiro. If it’s his choice, he has nothing to do with that annoying brat with the demon sister and who got him scolded by Oyakata-sama, and even worse, that brat is buddy-buddy with Mitsuri. However, in battle, that means nothing. He and Giyuu both are worthy comrades and Iguro treats them as realistically as the situation calls for, similarly to how he will admonish Mitsuri if that is what the battle requires. He can set aside his black personality with such ease that he can adapt to and sync with Tanjiro instantly, and this also means entirely setting aside the ire and accepting Tanjiro into the white side of his personality as soon as Tanjiro has gained his trust. Iguro’s a polite man who knows how to express his honest gratitude, too.

If he chooses to express himself, he does it well. It’s always a matter how of “if”, though.

Those who get to know the real Iguro, who are shown the multiple facets of his personality instead of only the professional ones, are few and chosen. Like how the stripes of his haori obfuscate his true form underneath, choosing when and how to reveal himself, to whom, is such a core part of Iguro’s character. He’s got a lot of self-knowledge, which also makes him able to read others well.

If he chooses to, anyway.  

EDIT: Forgot to add my take on Kaburamaru's interactions!! My take exactly is here in this fanart. Kaburamaru is friendly dude.

#iguro obanai #kny fandom theories and meta

[moonshotpods]

Moonshot Network is opening for YOUR podcast pitches this Friday! But who even ARE we? What does that mean? How do you even send a pitch????

Good news: we’ve made this handy slideshow in order to answer all those questions, and also questions you didn’t even know you had! It’s a condensed version of our official pitch guide, to save you the trouble of clicking through to the GDoc link! You can also find the full plain text below the cut here.

What is Moonshot and why should I pitch you my podcast, anyway?

WHO WE ARE

Moonshot is a podcast network built on creative collaborations and far-out ideas. Some of our work includes: podcast seasons recorded in 24 hours, a dunk tank fundraiser stream, amateur Pokemon competitions, fanfiction actual plays, and deep media analysis of things like Saw, Christmas music, Harlequin romance novels, and the Halo 3 alternate reality game.

Our primary goal  is to be a home for out-there ideas, shorter and seasonal projects, and experiments in the podcast medium that might not fit in anywhere else. We aim to provide the enthusiasm, the structure, and support for our members to work on their dream projects.

Our second goal is giving first-time and early-career creators the tools they need for a successful start. We feel strongly that podcasting should not be a gatekept medium, and aim to support new creators with the funding and guidance to make their show a success.

WHAT WE HOST

Here are some examples of shows currently on our network:

ARGonauts Podcast: Andrew and Marn do deep dives into the niche world of alternate reality games and the people who create them.

Riley Hopkins and Their Amazing Friends: Short-form actual play series and one-offs that focus on transformative fanwork and crossovers of established shows/franchises/characters.

I’ll Be Pod For Castmas: A seasonal podcast released in July and December where Juliet and Katherine pick a piece of holiday pop culture and discuss it through the lens of a piece of topical classic literature.

After School Anime Club: Max, Max, and Stevie take a nostalgia trip back to the anime of their youth, and play game shows about it along the way.

The Podcast Mines: There But For The Grace Of Pod Go We: Riley and Andrew pitch each other podcasts, talk about the medium of podcasting, and sometimes do neither of those things.

WHAT WE OFFER

We offer network members a lot of perks, including:

Coverage of hosting costs, plus access to Pinecast's advanced analytics

A pre-existing community of fans and listeners to introduce your show to

Collaborative network shows with monthly spots for guest hosts

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Our inbox opens for pitches on November 25th! We hope to see you there!

#podcasts #podcast network #open submission #call for submission

[thetinyboio]

Welcome Home [Cult of The Lamb A.u]

Hey yall before I get in to this I have been working on this with another friend of mine for a little while and feel we are at a good place i can start publishing parts of this au!! I'm so excited to share my brain baby with! Please forgive my formatting im not used to posting text on here yet! ^^; Prologue [Part 1]

In the midst of a boundless, dark void, a colossal figure floated, shrouded in obscurity. The void itself held nothing but a series of windows that served as gateways to other realms. This enigmatic entity bore chains around arms while around their neck, two smaller, shadowy figures stood guard. Amidst the desolation of the void, the central figure hummed a haunting tune, seeking to occupy their thoughts and stave off the unending solitude.

The figure's solemn humming slowly transitioned into a melodic song that echoed through the emptiness: "I know this dream of life is never-ending, It goes around and round and round again. You know the sun is rising while descending, It goes on and on and never ends..."

As the song faded, the figure returned to the hushed solitude, their reverie interrupted when one of the windows displayed the approach of an unknown presence. Intrigued, the figure turned toward the window.

"Well, you two are not where you are supposed to be. What entertainment can you two bring me?" the figure inquired.

In another realm, two small puppets, one resembling a sheep and the other a humanoid figure, stood nervously. The sheep puppet addressed its companion, Wally, with trepidation:

"Wally, this... this is too dangerous. We should go back to the holding and wait until nightfall."

Determined, Wally responded, "We are so close, [Redacted]. We can't go back now. It would be risky either way."

Reluctantly, [Redacted] agreed, "Right, okay..."

They both stood before a peculiar pedestal adorned with a velvet pillow, upon which rested a black crown adorned with crimson jewels that shimmered like house windows. Wally attempted to pick it up, but it emitted a searing buzz, causing him to hastily let go.

[Redacted] used their hooves to grasp the crown and declared, "I've got it, Wally!"

As they held the crown, the ground beneath them trembled briefly, prompting them to exchange anxious glances before breaking into a run.

Meanwhile, in another realm, a decaying kingdom languished in suffering and enslavement. Small creatures ranging from foxes to rabbits, alongside humanoid beings, toiled ceaselessly, attending to the ruling class. Among these oppressors were the wealthy and powerful, as well as religious figureheads revered as pharaohs and bishops, each serving a distinct purpose.

These oppressive figures watched with cruel amusement as they tossed scraps of food at two small jackalope creatures. These unfortunate beings were tasked with the unenviable duty of maintaining the royal halls' cleanliness.

In the oppressive halls of privilege and power, Thoth, the younger of the two, diligently wiped a window clean while enduring the relentless laughter of the higher class. Their mother, too, shared in this degrading task, both of them subjected to the mockery of those they served. As they wiped, they glanced at their own reflections in the window, revealing the callous figures behind them. A sense of pitiful resignation washed over them as they contemplated the monotony of their daily lives.

Amidst this grim reflection, Thoth's attention was drawn to an unusual sight—a figure, as if in a spectral projection, running frantically. Suspicion flickered, and they cast a discreet look over their shoulder, wondering if anyone else shared this eerie vision. Satisfied that they were alone in witnessing it, they returned to their duties, their eyes locked onto the unfolding drama within the window's pane.

In a hushed whisper, Thoth couldn't contain their intrigue, "Mother. Mother! Look. What is that?"

His mother's response was curt and dismissive, "Hush, child. Get back to work."

"But..." Thoth stammered, horror in their eyes as they spotted their cruel master chasing the fleeing figures in the reflection of the window, "Mother, is that the Master?"

His mother's tone grew stern, "What? Thoth, get back to work or else you'll catch a lashing again. You're too old to be playing pretend."

One of the disdainful royals added to Thoth's misery by tossing a grape at him, cruelly taunting, "Get back to work, brat! Listen to your mother. Or I'll teach you a lesson Milan should have taught you a while ago." His lecherous gaze sent shivers down Thoth's spine, compelling them to return to their cleaning, their eyes watching as the strange "projection" faded away for the time being.

Moving along the corridor, Thoth entered the Holy artifacts chamber, dimly illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight and the full blue moon just beyond the window. As they worked, they hummed a tune to themselves, finding solace in the empty room and savoring the meager comforts they could find in their wretched life as a personal slave.

After meticulously tending to the chamber's floors, they returned to the windows to clean them as well. But just before their rag could touch the glass, they noticed an unusual vibration, as if an unseen force was at play. The mysterious "projection" from earlier began to fade back into existence before their bewildered eyes.

In the dimly lit chamber, Thoth's gaze remained fixed upon the unfolding drama within the window's pane. Their master, Milan, had apprehended the sheep puppet, scrutinizing the captive with a predatory gleam in his eyes. Fervently, he rifled through the puppet's pockets, his voice dripping with anger and impatience, "Where is it, mortal?! Where is the artifact?"

The puppet, fear-stricken, could only muster a feeble response, "I don't have it..."

Milan's rage escalated, his words descending into a sinister proclamation, "Useless thing... Things like you are just a plague to be eradicated, only good to be sacrificed."

However, Milan's ominous tirade was abruptly interrupted by a sudden strike to the back of his head. He turned swiftly, only to behold Wally, now adorned with The Crown Artifact upon his head, his once-neat hair now disheveled, and a wild, unfamiliar look in his eyes. The transformation was stark, and Wally seemed almost twitchy and erratic.

A fierce battle ensued between the two, Wally proving to be an almost even match for Milan. Some of Wally's movements seemed unnatural, as though he were being puppeteered by unseen forces. Another Bishop, perhaps, was assisting him in this fight, though Thoth could see only four of them.

Thoth watched the scene in utter shock. It was an unprecedented sight to witness anyone lay a finger on their seemingly untouchable master. Though convention dictated that they should be outraged, an unanticipated spark of hope ignited within Thoth's very soul. A wicked smile crept across their lips as they silently cheered for the blue-haired figure, finding themselves inexplicably drawn to the rebellion against their oppressive master.

As they watch they notice the crown upon Wally's head they notice that the symbol on it matches the ones in the room they're in. Looking behind them they see the royals are distracted by something on the "sacred looking glasses". Unaware they were also watching the same fight Thoth was seeing. Thoth's mother standing next to the royals holding a wine tray for them. Thoth goes back to watching the fight.

Amidst the intense battle, Wally landed several powerful strikes on Milan, slicing through his robes and leaving painful wounds. Milan, initially amused, now looked at Wally with disbelief and fear. Gathering his bearings, Milan opened another portal, and through the sheep's thoughts, Wally followed.

They emerged on top of a speeding train in the sheep and Wally's original world. The sheep, reaching out for Wally, witnessed the toll the artifact was taking on him. Dark tendrils, inky black and tinged with orange, began to constrict around Wally's form, starting from his left foot. Milan materialized in front of them, his arrogance thinly veiled, as he declared, "You're not worthy of the sacrifices required to wield such power. You mortals are nothing compared to us."

The Sheep challenged him, "If you're so powerful, then why was it so easy to escape and steal from you?"

The onlookers, witnessing the escalating confrontation, gasped in shock. Milan's amusement swiftly shifted to annoyance at the sheep's audacious words. With a swift motion, he seized the sheep once more, using his dark, orange-tinged tendrils. Wally, determined to defend his ally, lunged at Milan. However, at that critical moment, the Bishop conjured a weapon with lightning speed.

In the blink of an eye, the sheep was released from the grip of the tendrils, tumbling helplessly. Initially oblivious to what had occurred, the sheep descended for a moment before everything turned blindingly white. Wally, wide-eyed and stunned, watched as the sheep's head landed a short distance away.

For a brief, surreal moment, Wally stood there, taking in the shocking scene before him. Milan, raising his weapon and ready to strike, found himself thwarted as Wally abruptly turned towards him. Windows cracked, and the viewing glass shattered into shards, leaving the nobles who had been observing the spectacle in horrified silence. Milan's face contorted from amusement to sheer terror once more. .

.

.

.

Thanks so much for reading so far! Hope to see yall around for more as I edit and format the pages I have so far! special thanks to @kittydoodlearts for being my amazeing cowriter and helping me out!! Edit: oh also i have changed the names of the bishops as i prefer not to have Names of deitys as the villian characters just as my personal preferance!

#welcomehomeau #welcomehomefanart #cultofthelambfanart #cult of the lamb #cult of the lamb au #welcome home wally darling #sfw furry #furry oc #furry art #welcome home #welcome home oc #fanfic

[kamoontwe]

Peace at the farewell

Hello everyone! This is my first story and it had been published before but something didn't convince me so I edited some parts. I want to mention that English is not my native language, so I did my best with my language skills. I hope you like it, and feel free to leave me any suggestions or opinions. ❤️ Link to Ao3

The sound of crashing waves sound become my favorite had over the last few months of living on the beautiful shores of Pandora. Although the sight was captivating, the feeling of sadness would not leave my chest. This had been my secret place, where I would go when I needed to escape from the world and its cruelty. No matter how hard I tried, I would never be accepted by the people I loved. From my earliest memories, Neytiri had never loved me.

Even after sixteen years of enduring her harsh stares, it still pained me how she still couldn't see past the blood of the man who had devastated her home and taken her father's life. I understood it was not an easy thing to forget, let alone forgive, but I hadn't even known about him until I was six, when I heard her talking to Jake about how I looked more and more like my demon of a father. Try as I might, I could never win her love and approval. Jake tried to reason with her, to make her understand that I was not responsible for my father's sins, but she would not agree, and no matter how much it hurt, she would never accept me. Oh, how I longed for Neytiri's motherly love. I longed for her to embrace me like a son, to see the goodness within me that I so desperately wanted her to recognize. But as much as I longed for it, her heart remained closed to me

But those dreams were dashed by the harsh reality of her indifference.

I longed for Neytiri to see beyond my outward appearance, to understand that I was not my father, that I carried the weight of her actions as heavily as she did. I longed for her to recognize the pain I had endured, the scars that marked me deeply. I ached to see the bond between Neytiri and her own family, the tender moments shared between mother and child that I could never experience. I saw how she adored her children, showering them with love and protection, while I stood at a distance. In my quiet moments, I couldn't help but wonder if there was something wrong with me, something that made me unworthy of love and acceptance.

The pain in my heart deepened, eclipsing any sense of hope. And even my relationship with Jake was no better. To him, I was not a son, not even a real part of his family, but rather a friend of his children who had found his way into their lives, as he put it, a stray cat who had entered their lives, an intruder in their sacred circle. From a very young age, I saw Jake's treatment of his children, how he showered them with love and attention. And I loved him too. But I understood that it was reserved for his own flesh and blood, and well, maybe an exception for Kiri. Still, I couldn't help but watch from a distance. I absorbed every moment, every word of teaching and instruction as Jake taught Neteyam the use of the bow.

Through countless attempts and failures, I learned alongside Neteyam, etching every technique and strategy into my memory. Jake's loving guidance of his children reflected his deep love for them, and sometimes without realizing it, I imagined myself in his place. But I would always be an observer. As the years passed, I continued to watch from the shadows, witnessing the Sully bond grow stronger. Every show of affection, every gesture of love, served as a painful reminder of what I could never have. I knew deep inside me that my longing for his love was futile, but that didn't make the pain in my heart any less real. Spider, eternally the outsider.

I was forced to accept this fact. It was a painful and bittersweet realization. So, I continued to exist on the periphery, never really part of their family, but always connected to them in some way. I cherished the moments I spent observing the family. In those moments I could pretend, at least for a while, that I belonged there. I thought of my father, Miles Quaritch, the man who had destroyed a part of Pandora's beauty and waged war against the Na'vi people. He was a monster, a man who had offered me nothing but pain and abuse. And though I knew not I should feel guilty for their sins, I carried the weight of their wickedness on my shoulders.

I belonged. My abduction was something I would never forget. It was a time when I was forced to suffer at the hands of my so-called father's ruthlessness. For months, I lived in silent terror, not knowing if I would ever return home. When I expected my supposed family to come to my rescue, I cruelly realized after an hour of torture with the light machine that tried to extract my thoughts that the Sullys had abandoned me. It was the general who confirmed it.

After bleeding from my nose and ears, almost unconscious, I managed to hear his conversation with Quaritch. Apparently, they had left and didn't know where they were. With a shudder, I realized that no one had cared enough about me to come looking for me. Disappointment and bitterness had consumed me ever since, and my last glimmer of hope was extinguished in an instant. I felt betrayed, abandoned by everyone I had ever known. As I sat there, gazing out at the ocean, I realized that I was doomed to suffer for a lifetime.

Then came the great battle. Lo'ak and Neteyam came to rescue me from the clutches of my father's minions. They were so happy, so glad to have rescued me. But I wasn't. I didn't feel happy, I didn't feel grateful to be alive. But I wasn't. I didn't feel happy; I didn't feel grateful to be alive. In fact, I felt nothing at all. As we escaped from the ship and the Sullys had a family hug on the tulkum's fin, I watched everything and knew that I would never be part of anyone's family; no one loved me enough to be my family. I was a stranger in every sense of the word, alone in a world that would never accept me for who I was.

Days after the battle, I still didn't feel like myself. Physically, I was sore and bruised, but the psychological pain was most unbearable. The loneliness and isolation were overwhelming. All I could think about was how bad it was, how I didn't want to be there anymore. I longed for an escape, a way to free myself from the pain that had become a companion in my life. And then it hit me: death. It was the only solution. Somehow, it seemed like a divine plan. No one wanted me, so no one would miss me. I would end my pain and finally stop being a burden to others.

In a few days, I prepared gifts for each of the Sullys: bracelets and necklaces with small parts of some of my belongings, like stones from my own bracelets. It was my way of saying goodbye. I wrote a letter to each of them. To Tuk, I made it clear that I loved her very much, that she was the best little sister, and that I would always be with her if she understood from the spirit world. For Lo'ak, Neteyam, and Kiri, it was much the same. I thanked them for the times they accompanied me, loved me, and accepted me. I hoped they would remember me as the best human brother they ever had. As for Jake and Neytiri, the letters were not filled with words of love and farewell, but with all the information I could remember from my months on the human base: duty schedules, maps of the structure, routes, passwords, etc. I hoped that with this information, they would be able to defeat the war and prevent Pandora from ending in destruction.

The day I decided to end my life was the quietest I had felt in months. I slipped away and left the gifts outside Sully's cabin in the dark of night, hoping that they would bring a little happiness to those I was leaving behind. Then I returned to my secret place, where I settled down on my blanket, held my breath, took off my mask, and took my pills. Slowly, I began to fade until my head rested on the pillow. I began to feel tingling sensations throughout my body, and my eyelids became heavier with each passing moment. Unconsciousness enveloped me, and as I drifted away, I felt a deep sense of peace.

.

The sun rises over the horizon, slowly illuminating the Sully family hut. But today there is none of the usual enthusiasm. Jake, restless, wakes everyone up. Neytiri asks the children to help prepare breakfast. Jake leaves the cabin, laughing at some comment made by Lo'ak and, without looking where he is going, he trips over a bag and almost falls to the ground. Confused, he looks at the bag and picks it up. What he sees inside only adds to his confusion: letters, each addressed to a member of his family, all from Spider. He calls out to Neytiri in a loud voice, but without shouting. She comes out bewildered and looks at what he's holding. "What's going on, Jake?" They feel confused.

They open the letter addressed to them and become even more confused. After a moment of reading, Neytiri understands what is happening and covers her mouth, surprised and scared. She asks Jake where Spider is, and he doesn't know. Then reality hits him. They rushed back to the hut and asked for Spider, but no one knew where he was. They began searching for him and, with the help of the tribe, they found him hours later. He looked so peaceful, as if he were sleeping. The scream Kiri let out when she realized that her best friend was gone shook the whole family. Everyone gathered around Spider's body, unable to believe what he had done. Slowly, the tears began to fall, then the sobs, then the cries of pain. It wasn't until he was gone that anyone realized what they had done. But even in death, he knew he had finally found the peace that had always eluded him in life.

#fanfic spider socorro #spider socorro #angst #no happy ending #bad parenting #avatar the way of water #jake sully #neytiri #miles quaritch

[itsstillsweetiebythealtar]

Readings Info

Okay so for whatever reason, my full post did not publish 🤦🏾‍♀️. Here is all of the information needed in relation to my readings.

Important Things to Remember

All readings are done within 48 hours but typically they are done and delivered by the end of the day. But still, be patient with me as I do have a lot of readings I work on throughout the week alongside my Patreon blog.

I also accept Venmo so if you do not have cashapp that is just fine.

Once you see the reading or digital itemyou would like, simply message me and we’ll go from there.

In the past I did not accept payment until after I finished a reading but sadly, I’ve learned that I can no longer do that so payment is required before the reading is done.

All readings come with pictures except the numerology reading which would just be pictures of a bunch of math problems.

The Dream journal and numerology guide are both downloaded through Dropbox, please make sure you can use Dropbox before requesting a copy.

For those who did not get to see the Hoodoo journal when it was posted, here it is below.

#black spiritualist #hoodoo tumblr #black spiritualism #hoodoo #african american spirituality #african american culture #black spirituality #black tarot readers #rootwork tumblr #support black content creators #black content creator

[kustas]

It's so disappointing how time and time again I see reminders of Taiyô Matsumoto's stuff being put on that high shelf of "artsy, highbrow, gatekept", this line from My dream is to die was yesterday's reminder for me

"If you know you know, if you don't we can't help".

I went to a manga specific bookstore with friends lately and despite how accessible manga is here, being mainstream nowadays, you don't find his works alongsides normal series but only in the section reserved to artbooks and fancy collector's editions. It's not published like other manga. Other releases that suffer the same fate are the monsters dominating the "classic manga" category like Akira and Tezuka's work. Several editors have collections in a larger fancier format, of which I own a copy of for "Monster", but you can and will find that one edited as regular manga and on the same shelves as in stores too. I wanted to show the stuff I read to the people I was with and struggled to find anything until I hit that fancy section asides from the rest and even with that it took time to find the books, most of which who were, like fancy editions are, under plastic and not browsable. And extremely expensive, of course...

"both genius and a bit of a hard sell" annoys me. If something is good it has potential to be famous from being recognized as such. Why a hard sell? Assuming it's a mix of the weirdness in the writing and the unconventional art styles. Ironic for both as I grew up to see most manga labeled as weird and quirky for being culturally different, and as for the art, the crushing success of modern series like Mob Psycho and arguably One Piece should have (despite the amount of weebs hating on their visuals, I know) shown publishers it's worth giving them a chance.

In the first place, one of the reasons his work stands out from other manga are the BD influences, especially Moebius, and for having read Moebius and Druillet and Bilal among other Heavy Metal classics I can say their writing is way harder to parse. Taiyô Matsumoto's stories are typically extremely simple ones if anything, often slightly surreal or nuanced, but still damn simple. It'd take me a few paragraphs to explain the plot of the Incal. I can explain no.5's in two sentences and that series is the most obtuse I've read by him. Ironic that in taking some inspiration in french comics, french editors don't seem to see him as accessible either.

Why this annoys me in the first place is I am very fond of his work and it's disappointing to see that...subtle gatekeeping? Prevent him from a chance to the mainstream. Anyone who's really into comics as a whole usually reads his stuff but I seldom see it recommended. It's invisible in online manga communities that I've stumbled upon. My limited anime con experience gives the same results.

But when I find comment sections online related to his work, left on clips of the animes based of it, on tweet threads about a series, etc, I always find a few people saying hey, I saw/read this as a child and it stuck with me forever. Even if I was already grown up when I discovered his stuff the constant shilling from my end on here should show how much I think more people should read his work. It's why I'm annoyed and disappointed - I don't want those manga to explode in popularity because I want clout and stacks for the author and my favorite things to be #1, but because his work honestly does not come off as hard to access to me AND is both refreshing and very, very touching

#mine #rbs locked for now

[pantsaretherealheroes]

fuck it friday: for this and the other midweek tags, thanks for continuing to tag me @cal-daisies-and-briars and @jeeyuns

(i have tried to post this THRICE and tumblr is being a bitch about it, snippets under the cut)

this is from a new au that i'm doing alongside my other bosh one, inspired by the movie stranger than fiction that i rewatched recently (it's great)

snippet one:

“You realise if people aren’t paying taxes, we get anarchy. Are you an anarchist?” Eddie asks, and maybe this is guy is getting to him more than expected. Maybe it’s been a weird fucking couple of days. Either way, it’s throwing him off.

“Maybe,” Evan Buckley says, a twinkle in his very blue eyes. “What do you think?”

“Well, if you’re anarchist, I assume you’re with a group,” Eddie continues, somehow feeling like he’s been lead into a trap.

“An anarchist group?” Evan Buckley says slowly, leaning forward. "Like them meeting up and organising together?"

Eddie feels like he should move backwards, or something. He doesn’t. “Yeah. Like, anonymous, or whatever.”

Evan Buckley doesn’t look away, and drops his voice. “Wouldn’t that kinda defeat the whole point?” he stage-whispers slowly.

Eddie doesn’t say anything for a moment, distracted by a smudge of flour on Evan Buckley’s cheek.

Another timer goes, and Evan Buckley smiles and turns to go back to the table where he was rolling out dough.

Eddie could perhaps imagine Evan Buckley as a revolutionary –

“Not now,” Eddie can’t help himself muttering.

That fucking voice was back.

“What?” Evan Buckley asks, looking up.

– his thick, muscular arms hoisting protest signs and banners; his long, long legs helping him and his friends run from police –

“Uh, nothing,” Eddie says, weakly. He takes some comfort in the fact that Evan Buckley can’t hear the narrator, that it seems just to be him. But not that much.

Eddie wasn’t the kind of man given to daydreams or fantasies, so he tried his best to remain professional in the moment. He of course, failed.

Eddie is in hell, apparently. The Catholic Church was right all this time, and it was either the premarital sex or the…other thing that had landed him here.

He watched Evan Buckley swipe a hand through his messy brown curls, getting flour in his hair, as if time had slowed to half its usual pace. He continued to watch him knead dough with those muscular arms, around which snaked all manner of tattoos – coloured florals, two bicep lines similar to one Eddie had hidden under the dark suit, lines of what seemed to be cursive text, more tattoos than Eddie would’ve dreamed of ever having, but wow, the way they looked on him – and work it gently with his fingers, and couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to have his cheek touched that gently by those fingers, and to touch that stubble to his own skin. He couldn’t help imagine what it would feel like to have those big hands and arms kneading his body, only skin between them –  

snippet two:

“My apologies,” the woman says, curtly. He doubts she means it. “My name is Athena Grant. Your publishers hired me to help you.”

Bobby frowns. “Oh, that’s today?”

“From today,” Athena amends. She’s very commanding, in her manner. Confident, but not showy. An interesting character.

“So, you’re here to spy on me?” he asks, annoyed.

Athena purses her lips into a thin line. “I’m here to help you, Mr. Nash. With finishing the book. I can talk plot points with you, characterisation, or I can get you what you need to write.” She pauses, staring at him with her sharp eyes. He almost can’t look away. “Provided it’s legal. The publishers have informed me of your history, and I will not disclose that to another soul. But I will not tolerate any of that while we work together, is that understood?”

Bobby snorts. “Sure, but I’m clean. I don’t even drink, and that’s legal. I just have the cigarettes, now.”

“I guess that’s a fair compromise,” Athena replies. She’s quite beautiful, actually, now he’s been focusing on her for a moment. Beautiful and severe. Her stoic expression is made of granite, impossible to crack.

“I don’t need an assistant,” Bobby mutters.

Athena’s lips become even thinner. “Good, because I’m not one. I am a creative partner, here to support you, but I won’t stand for disrespect.”

Bobby climbs down off the table. “Noted.” He watches her. “So, you’re here to support me, and to report back because my publishers think I have writer’s block.”

Athena looks unfazed, of course. “Do you?”

Bobby doesn’t answer. He’s not sure. “What do you think about leaping off a building?”

Athena’s eyebrows constrict, but her mouth stops looking so severe. “I don’t think about that.”

“Sure you do,” Bobby retorts. “Everyone does.”

“Well, I certainly do not,” Athena replies coolly.

Bobby grabs another cigarette, and his lighter. “I read this very fantastically depressing book recently, and there was this photo in it, old, called The Leaper.”

He takes a drag off the new cigarette.

“It was a woman, taken from above, who’d just jumped. There was blood fanned out around her head like a halo. I mean, her legs were buckled underneath, and her arm was snapped like a twig. But her face was just…so serene. So at peace. And I think it’s because when she jumped she could feel the wind against her face.”

He blinks, snapping out of it. “I don’t know how to kill Eddie Diaz. And that’s why they sent you.”  

“Well, I can help you with that,” Athena says. “It’s my job.”

Bobby gets up, walking over to the window. “Well, sure, but as much as I’d like to, I can’t just throw Eddie off a building. It wouldn’t make sense, he’d never kill himself.”

Athena picks up the ashtray and brings it over to him. He finds himself putting it out.

She fixes him with a stare. “Mr Nash, I’ve been doing this for fifteen years. I’ve helped more than twenty authors complete around thirty-five books, and I’ve never missed a deadline. And I’ve never had to ask for more time.” She pauses. He doesn’t look away. “I care about the work. I will make your book what I eat, sleep and breathe. I work full time hours and will be available to you as much as possible, until the last bit of punctuation is embedded on the last page.”

Bobby frowns.

Athena is unmoved. “I do not like loud music. I will not abide narcotics.” She pauses, and he knows she means everything she’s saying by the intent look in her eyes. “And I will gladly, and remorselessly, help you find a way to kill Eddie Diaz.”

Bobby rubs a hand over his stubble. He probably needs a shower. “Alright. Let’s figure out how to kill a man.”