#how to write a short story

[cjjasp]

Constructing the Short Story: theme #writing

I often find myself writing short pieces. These are scenes and mini stories that don’t really fit into a novel but are on my creative mind. Writing a short story gives me the chance to explore an idea that might be inspired by my longer work, but would muddy the waters if I included it there. Many of my works are series, each set in a world of my creation. Writing short stories helps me develop…

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Alternatives for "She Smiled"

If you can't seem to find an alternative for this common phrase "she smiled". here's a list of different sentence variations.

She beamed brightly.

Her lips curled into a smile.

She flashed a radiant grin.

A smile lit up her face.

She offered a sheepish grin.

Her smile twinkled mischievously.

She gave a soft, serene smile.

A wry smile played on her lips.

She smirked subtly.

Her smile spread slowly across her face.

She smiled wistfully.

A gentle smile graced her features.

She smiled with her eyes.

Her smile was tinged with sadness.

She bestowed a gracious smile.

Her smile glimmered in the dim light.

She smiled coyly.

A giddy smile bubbled up.

She smiled, lips parting lightly.

Her smile was infectious.

She gave a knowing smile.

A tentative smile flickered across her face.

She smiled, eyes sparkling with delight.

Her smile warmed the room.

She smiled ruefully.

A conspiratorial smile crossed her face.

She smiled, a trace of irony evident.

Her smile was wide and welcoming.

She flashed a quick, evasive smile.

She smiled as if recalling a sweet memory.

[sleepgarden]

Pupa ✢ The writing reads:

Time envelops and keeps me Not awake / Not asleep In this chrysalis / In this shroud I am stillborn / I am buried alive Yet I change / I am changing / And I ache Held still

I started this over a year ago and came back to it periodically, but I decided to just finally finish it. It’s morphed, undone itself, and transformed many times in the process of illustrating it. Sincerely, I considered giving up on the piece. I am glad I didn’t despite its awkwardness; I admit that it doesn’t sit in the eye well. But somehow I feel that it suits the piece and what it means.

I am, if anything, relieved to have finished an illustration finally. It’s been nearly eight months since my last. Prints are available in my shop. (I also have mini prints for $5cad/$3.40usd!)

[burningcheese-merchant]

Ten.

The dragon slumped forward, the newly formed cavity in its chest inadvertently sucking Hollyberry's fist in even deeper as it did so. A bottomless well of blood sprung forth from the mortal wound, soaking her leather gauntlet through and staining it - and many other parts of her person, as the sticky, foul-smelling life essence was blindly spat at her - a hideous dark color. Quickly and unceremoniously, she yanked her hand back out, allowing gravity to take back control and force the dragon's fresh corpse to the ground. The hole in its chest was far from its only injury, but it was the most grievous one. And with all of them together, the creature was slain; vanquished by a fellow predator that ultimately proved herself superior.

Hollyberry stared down at the remains of her prey, as cold and stoic now as she'd been when their battle had first started. The telltale glimmer of life in its eyes was long gone; it dimmed rather quickly, fading almost in tandem with the stream of blood that drained from its body with each erratic pulse of its dying heart, vanishing completely with the slam of its head against the tarnished earth. Once a mighty beast, now beaten and broken at her feet, its face now forever frozen in incomprehensible agony.

That's ten. Ten dragons slain. If memory served, ten was the amount of dragons that had been plaguing this area and terrorizing the nearby village. At last, she had gotten them all.

She wiped some of the blood off of her shield - just enough to allow the gem at the center to enjoy the sunlight again. Taken in by its renewed shine, she drew the shield closer, gazing into the pretty, polished jewel and the grim, unkempt reflection gazing back into her.

She didn't look any different.

She didn't feel any different, either.

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

"A tragedy, really. A doughy little Cookie, carried off by a dragon... Tsk tsk."

Never did that singular phrase ever stop replaying inside of Hollyberry's mind. Never did her mind rest; never did her thoughts grant her a moment's peace. Never. Not once. Every second of every minute of every hour of every day has just been this; this terrible memory that her mind and heart and soul simply could not, would not perish. The monster hunter's countenance, as real as though he yet stood before her. The monster hunter's voice, crystal clear as a berry juice glass.

If only she'd had it in her in that moment to punch the sneer right off of his godsforsaken face.

But it was fine. It is fine. It will always be fine, if she can help it... and she can. She will. She already has. Just a messenger, he was; not worth the ammo nor the aim. There were better targets out there. Tougher ones. More deserving ones. All in far more dire need of punishment than he.

After the village had been cured of its draconic sickness, she moved on. One last day was all she chose to afford the villagers, with all of their cheers and tears and now remedied fears. They made her a feast; a hearty sampling of their finest culinary selections, the cream of what little remained of their crop. The dragons had done a number on them in more ways than one: fields torched, loved ones devoured, homes and businesses reduced to smoking ruin. But it was fine now. They are fine. And now, they shall continue to be fine, without the monsters prowling around. Without her.

What was it they'd served her again? Pumpkin soup? Roasted quail? A smorgasbord of fruits and vegetables? Even as she ventured back through the houses and streets and reached the village gates after bidding them all farewell, she scarcely recalled a single morsel. In fact, she scarcely recalled sitting down at the table at all. Life and all its contents blended together and disappeared into the fog more often not nowadays - all but her hunts. Her battles. Her cullings.

...Juice. The elegant scarlet lettering painted onto the village welcome sign, carved and decorated in such a way as to draw one's eye and heart in at a glance, awoke a single memory of the night before: a goblet of juice, eagerly set beside her plate. Their last bottle, one villager said; the dragons had either drank or destroyed the rest. A gift, one of many, for her heroism. They admired its gorgeous color, yearned for its sweet yet tart taste - but for their savior, they would happily part with it. They would be remiss and horrendously rude not to.

She made up for their politeness by being rather rude herself, and turning the juice down wholesale. "But why?" they had asked her, in such overwhelmed surprise that it was almost comical. "Is it not to your liking? Please, won't you have even a sip? We only wish to honor you! We beg!"

"I can't accept such a gift," she answered them. "You have sacrificed enough already. Don't give up any more for my sake."

"But we insist!" Of course they did. Insistence is the foundation of all gratitude, and the fuel for all celebration and merrymaking. In a different time and place, she would've obliged without question. But not this one.

"No." Her tone was cool, her words clipped; painfully firm as her grasp on her silverware had suddenly become. "I need to keep focus. Juice would get in the way of that. All of you, keep it. You deserve it more than I."

How amusing it had been, in a morbid sort of way, when their rosy-cheeked insistence withered at the sound of her harsh voice. In a different time and place, she would've apologized. In a different time and place, she would've laughed and said they fell for her joke, her act, and perhaps then she would've down the whole glass in one fell swoop to the sound of applause.

But not this one.

Her shield provided much needed protection from the morning sun's glare. Light is always welcome, but not when it dares to overtake the lines on the map. She couldn't afford to lose track of her next destination.

"A tragedy, really..."

No. She needed to keep focus.

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

What might they be doing now, Hollyberry wondered?

Who "they" were, she could not tell you. Who "they" were, she knew all too well. "They" were those clouds that drifted in and out of sight on a windy afternoon. "They" were those shadows cast on the wall by the dance of the torch light, too ethereal and erratic to keep any proper shape for too long. "They" were those wandering reflections in the windows, in her shield, in the all of those berry juice glasses she shunned. "They" were a mystery. "They" were a paradox.

She wondered if there had been a search party. If the Crown had spared no expense, no soldier, no single second of time, in hunting their targets down. She wondered if her son tore his robes and dirtied his hair pacing through the jungle, parting every bush and overturning every stone himself. She wondered if her daughter-in-law could see through her veil of tears or speak past the lump in her throat; if her strength waned with each passing day, little by little, until her knees buckled and bent and she finally collapsed, howling her grief into the earth below until her voice failed her for good.

She wondered if there had been a funeral. Might as well have. From the clutches of dragons, even great warriors seldomly escaped. No exception would have been made for a child, especially one so small and feeble. Easy pickings.

She wondered if the other child felt her sister's absence. Never for a moment were they apart, those two; not in the womb, not in the crib, not even in the playpen or the bathtub. One so loud and vibrant, the other calm yet curious. But no matter their differences, it was plain as day that they loved one another. Before they knew of the world, before they even knew their own names, they knew and loved and trusted each other. Partners in crime, they were. Or, they were supposed to have been.

She wondered what the others would have said - to her, to the king and queen, whoever, it didn't matter much. The ghostly memory of a voice, sad but serene, drifted through her ears; there was never a shortage of heartfelt prayers with him. Perhaps, in the face of a tragedy like this, even his staff would have wept. Two weapons were drawn before her mind's eye, one great and powerful sword and one sleek and dazzling spear; he would proclaim that such an injustice could not stand and he and his warriors would gladly pursue retribution on their behalf, and she... she would likely say something similar, Hollyberry thinks. She would have, if she knew her well enough. Never mind that she probably didn't know what happened. Never mind that Hollyberry didn't even know where she was now.

In the corner of her thoughts sprouted a lily, small and thin and so unsure. She paid it little mind. Before all of this, Hollyberry might have imagined her gazing upon them all with such an overwhelming sorrow, even setting her staff aside so she may offer a proper hug. But now, she wasn't so sure. Nowadays she isn't so sure she ever knew her at all.

They were the sharp cries the dragons let out when her fist collided with their snouts: agonizing, deafening, piercing through her skull and haunting her thoughts well into the night. They were the droplets of blood that ruined her clothes and her hair when she rended the flesh from the bones, and bashed the heads into the rocks: small and bright and numerous, washing away in the river and rain and always leaving her behind. They were the reflections in their wide eyes, colored first with rage and then with panic, growing cold and still as their vitality slowly faded away.

She wondered what they were doing. She wondered if they wondered the same of her.

She wondered if any of them could hazard a guess.

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

Ten. Ten dragons slain this week. Or, at the very least, Hollyberry believed so.

Back and forth across the world, she continued her endless trek: through the woods and across the lakes and over the tallest mountains. Wherever she heard whispers and wails of dragons being a blight, she went. And she killed them all, one by one, until their extinction in the area was all but guaranteed. And then her endless trek resumed, with hardly so much as a brief pause.

Interesting, really, how many of them there proved to be. As she trudged through the mud and snow, she racked her brain for answers - has is always been this way? Could she remember a time when dragons weren't there, appearing as the black marks on society and history they always were? Ten, twenty, thirty, forty - she was starting to lose count of them by now, to the point that she'd begun keeping tally with her shield itself, whittling a slash mark into the wood with each conquered beast.

An occasional glance into its back told her she'd run out of space soon. Pity.

She was in Beast-Yeast, somewhere in the north. There were dragons there, too. No one had called her there - no one ever called Hollyberry to Beast-Yeast, save for fun and adventure and the pain tucked away deep in her heart, still knocking on the walls - but she set out for it anyway. Always some unholy creature of some sort skulking around in that place, making it worse than it already is. A revisit or two or three or ten or one thousand to clean house never did any harm. Fewer dragons in the world at the end of the day.

She was back in Crispia, near the Cream Cake Mountains. An overheard report detailing an ice dragon beginning to circle the outskirts of a snowridden village brought her there quick; a day of preparing a trap and a lure brought the dragon out quicker. Some small, unfortunate part of her almost lamented the creature's demise; countless snowflakes of all shapes and sizes took the place of its scales and icicles of a shimmering, semi-translucent beauty made up its many spines. From above, it appeared as a sentient aurora, streaking across the night sky. It was almost a shame that that sky had to be darkened for eternity. Almost.

She was near the Crème Republic. She was in somewhere in Wholegrainia. She was meandering around some old, worn path that stretched into both ends of the horizon - the Sugar-Free Road or some such nonsense. She was everywhere. She was nowhere.

Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Forty.

Fifty.

One hundred.

One thousand.

She ran out of space on the inside of her shield.

She didn't care. She simply stopped counting after that.

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

"Sweet Pinkyberry! It's been so long!"

Fighting the urge to wince at that old, silly name, Hollyberry dredged up a smile, hoping against hope that it actually bothered to reach her eyes this time.

"What brings you back to Dragon City this time around, hm?"

"What always brings me back here, my friend," Hollyberry said. "I'm here to hunt some dragons."

"Fair answer, haha! Not too much else to do here." Tapping on the side of the empty bowl in front of her, the Innkeeper's smile turned a bit wry. "Besides helping yourself to some of my famous stew, isn't that right?"

"Isn't that right, indeed," Hollyberry tried her best to play along.

"Let me get you some, then! And a mug of fireade to go with-"

"That won't be necessary."

"Eh?" The Innkeeper blinked. "Are you sure about that? You look thirsty to me. And you never say no to my fireade."

"I'm sure."

"Alright then, chum... If you say so."

She only half-heard her old friend call out to one of her sons to ready a bowl of dragon's head stew. She only half-noticed when it was placed before her a few minutes later, the hot steam wafting from it only somewhat snapping her out of her daze.

"The dragons have gotten quite rowdy these days," the Innkeeper remarked. "Moreso than usual. It's been a bit of a pain for local hunters."

"Oh?"

"No one's quite sure what's got them so spooked. But there have been rumors of a slayer running around the continent, culling their numbers awfully quickly."

"Maybe that's what it is, then," Hollyberry murmured into her spoonful of stew.

"Maybe, but... There's hardly anything to go on, save for the rumors. If that slayer is real, then they don't seem to want any attention. All that's ever been left in their wake are dragon corpses. Nothing else. Not even a name or a face."

The Innkeeper slowly leaned forward, propping herself up on her elbows, eyeing Hollyberry in a way that made her feel as though a thousand eyes were suddenly upon her, trying to dissect her. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?"

"...No," Hollyberry eventually answered, the agonizingly slow sip of her stew having done nothing to soothe her nerves. "I can't say I have."

The Innkeeper raised an eyebrow at her, but ultimately shrugged. "Alright then. I'm surprised to hear you say that, in honesty. But it's understandable. Elusive fellow, that fabled slayer seems to be."

Hollyberry nodded slowly, feigning agreement long enough to appear convincing before safely turning her full attention back to her meal.

"In any case... Have you heard what happened in the Hollyberry Kingdom recently?"

It took everything in Hollyberry's power not to choke on her stew.

"That poor girl," the Innkeeper lamented. "I can hardly imagine what the royal family is going through. I don't know what I'd do if something like that happened to either of my boys, especially with their father leaving me alone to hunt so often. It's a tragedy."

Everything looked, sounded, felt so, so far away now. Blurry. Incomprehensible.

"Those damned dragons," the Innkeeper muttered. "Whoever that slayer is, I wish them all the luck and give them all the thanks in the world. Who knows, maybe they'll even take down whichever one of those devils took the princess."

The sudden screech of the bar stool legs nearly deafened them both.

"Wha- Pinkyberry? You alright? Where are you off to so soon?"

"I have somewhere to be," Hollyberry spoke quickly. Perhaps too quickly. "I could never stay long, anyway. Forgive me."

In the blink of an eye, a rather hefty looking coin pouch appeared from Hollyberry's pocket, being all but slammed on the table before she made a heel-turn and began hurrying to the inn's front door.

"Wait! Sweet Pinkyberry!"

Biting back a sigh, she turned and looked back over her shoulder one final time.

"Be careful!" the Innkeeper warned her. "Dragons here are more hostile than ever thanks to the goings-on! Promise me you'll take care of yourself!"

Hollyberry nodded, a bit impatiently.

"And don't you forget! The only good dragon is a dead one!"

"How could I?" Hollyberry called back to her, before leaving the inn for good.

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

It's a tragedy. It's a tragedy. It's a tragedy.

Was there nowhere she could go to escape this? This- this word? This feeling? This bitter, endless mourning, corroding her bones? Devouring her soul?

Stray embers and volcanic ash particles lazily rained down upon her, dusting her head and shoulders and shield as she steadily hiked up the volcano's slope. The Dragon's Valley today was the same miserable, heat-stricken, inhospitable wasteland it had been yesterday, and would be tomorrow, and would be the day after that. Simply abominable in every conceivable fashion - most of all in how it so brazenly housed dragons of all kinds.

...But it wasn't the fault of the valley itself, now was it.

All manner of creature came for Hollyberry as she traversed that hellish landscape, practically the moment her feet first touched its cursed ground. Dragons, wyverns, lesser reptiles big and small. Perhaps her visage was too obvious, framed against the rich browns and dull oranges of their surroundings, even after generously allowing ember and ash to dress her in their likeness and offer her a free disguise. Perhaps her scent was too unique, too cloying, just enough to rise above all those hideous, overpowering smells wafting through this godsforsaken place.

Perhaps they sensed her anger, and their impending doom along with it, and sought her, and thus, their destiny, out of their own accord.

Whichever one was the real answer... she did not know, and she did not care. Regardless, she appreciated it - all of her enemies delivering themselves to her right on her doorstep. Easy pickings.

Ten, twenty, thirty, forty- oh, what did it matter. What difference did keeping count make. What mattered was that they all fell before her. That she left behind a slew of dragon corpses in her wake.

The more blood she spilled, and the more viscera she lavished upon these lands, the more likely it would be that they would come out.

In all of her long years, Hollyberry never succeeded in finding Pitaya Dragon's nest. Her usual excuse was that challenging a foe to a battle in the foe's own house was unfathomably rude - but, the truth of the matter was that she simply didn't know where their house was in the first place, and all of her long years of adventuring and tracking expertise did far less to remedy this than she'd hoped they would. Ah well, it was nothing Hollyberry couldn't otherwise overcome; the next option was to draw that old lizard to her instead.

The so-called "legendary" Red Dragon. Undisputed lord of the Dragon's Valley since time immemorial. They had answers, didn't they? Surely, in all of their timeless and impeccable wisdom? The dragons that came to terrorize her kingdom and people always hailed from the Dragon's Valley - never anywhere else.

Pitaya Dragon has to know something. They must. They will. She won't entertain any other option.

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

Tendrils of steam whispered and coiled around Hollyberry's ankles. The air surrounding them crackled with heat and energy, born from both their godlike power and the valley itself.

"Pitaya!" she called out, daring to take another step forward. "What happened?! Where is she?!"

"What doesss it matter?" Pitaya Dragon drawled, lips curling to form a dry, mocking smirk. "She'sss gone. Ssso much for a hero."

Overcome with rage, Hollyberry lunged forward with a battle cry. Pitaya Dragon stayed where they were, feet firm and arms crossed, obnoxiously cruel expression only being wiped away with the hard swipe of her fist against their cheek.

Their fight lasted only minutes. Their fight lasted for an eternity. She blocked, parried, threw back every swing of their greatsword with terrifying ease - and a hideous smile of her own had begun to bloom as their little war raged on, growing bigger and brighter with every snarl and yelp of pain she managed to knock out of their lungs.

Yet still, something was missing. Yet still, her words and actions rung hollow. Yet still, through all of the blows they exchanged, in every hit she landed, she found no peace. No resolution. No respite.

Yet still, the voices wouldn't stop.

"Wouldn't you know it? Soon after the queen left the Hollyberry Kingdom, dragons began to roam freely, terrorizing the land!"

Carefully, she tried to step- careful not to trip over the dragon corpses. The beaten, broken, bloodied remains of those slimy, pathetic, cold-blooded cowards she dutifully removed from the face of the earth. Everything that happened, everything she did- it was deserved. It was destined. It was justice.

"And in all the chaos and confusion, those lizards kidnapped one of the twin princesses!"

Pitaya Dragon's face was a kaleidoscope of emotions, each more contemptible than the last. Smugness. Derision. Anger. Shock. Confusion. Realization. Betrayal. Terror. All the sight of them did was stoke the flames of Hollyberry's wrath even more.

"A tragedy, really. A doughy little Cookie, carried off by a dragon... Tsk tsk."

Ember and ash, fire and brimstone rained down upon them as their terrible duel shook and tore apart the heavens and earth. Red as blood, blinding as the sun, searing through skin and flesh and bone. Slowly, their color and texture changed; a new element was added to this hellish mixture. Ember and ash, fire and brimstone - and dark flour, mountains of it, turning the heavens and the earth and Hollyberry's eyes and lungs pitch black.

"Terrible, terrible stuff... Too bad the queen abandoned her duties and her land..."

In a last ditch effort to turn the tides of war in their favor, Pitaya Dragon transformed. The strain was great, Hollyberry could tell; as scarlet and emerald flames engulfed their person, hisses and howls of pain rung out from within, culminating in one skull-splitting roar as the dragon's true form came back into being. At this, Hollyberry barked out a laugh. A waste of time and effort. It meant nothing in the end.

"I bet she would've never allowed the dragons to do what they please!"

Pitaya Dragon fought frantically, mindlessly, beating and clawing anything and everything within reach, spitting fire every which way with little regard to what they actually hit, flapping their wings with such force that entire boulders were swept away in the wind. But every attack proved fruitless; Hollyberry was too quick, too tough, too clever. She had waited too long for this moment. She'd be damned before she let it pass her by.

"So much for a HERO!"

Eventually, they slipped up for the final time, and Hollyberry struck back for the final time. When they made the fatal mistake of flying too too low and too close, Hollyberry seized the opportunity and every last bit of her strength to jump up, shield outstretched and aimed at that precious gemstone, that window and key to their heart. The gem embedded in Pitaya Dragon's chest shattered on impact, blazing red shards splintering and exploding every which way. Their mouth fell open in a silent scream, eyes wide as the moon, blood staining their teeth and spurting from their mouth and nostrils. Quickly and unceremoniously, Hollyberry shoved them backwards, watching them collapse with a loud thud, blood oozing from their many wounds and pooling all around them, dyeing the soil an uglier shade of red than it already was. In a smoking crater in the middle of the Dragon's Valley thus lay the legendary Red Dragon. Beaten. Broken. Dead.

In their eyes, Hollyberry thought she had seen tears. It must have been a trick of the light.

She marched forward, making her way around her slain opponent's body until she at least reached their face. Wedging her hands between the teeth of their lower jaw and gripping them tight, she pulled, pulled, pulled; slowly but steadily prying their massive jaws open, until Hollyberry could all but stroll into their mouth with ease.

She didn't have to search for long. Sitting on Pitaya Dragon's tongue for the whole world to see was a cream-colored swaddling cloth, with a tuft of teal hair poking out of the top.

"Tiger Lily!" she shouted, rushing forward and kneeling and gathering the princess in her arms. "Tiger Lily, I-I'm here! I've got you! It's alright!"

She cradled her, rocked her, but the girl did not stir.

"Tiger Lily? Tiger Lily, please, I'm here now! Look at me! Come on!"

Nothing.

"Tiger Lily..." Her vision blurred in an instant, her whole body trembling with such force that it was a miracle she remained upright. "Tiger Lily, p-please- Please, I, I-I'm sorry, I know this is my fault, I'm sorry, I-I'm here now, see? See, everything is alright now. Please, p-please look at me, wake up, look at me, please-!"

Tiger Lily's skin felt freezing cold to the touch, startling Hollyberry when she brought her hand to her cheek. Cold, clammy, with a faint blue tint. Her eyes were closed and nothing Hollyberry said or did opened them. No matter her efforts, no matter her pleas, the little princess lay still. Silent.

Dead.

"No." Hollyberry's came out so small. So feeble. Warm tears began streaming endlessly down her face; she clutched at her chest, a deep, sharp pain suddenly striking her heart. The world blurred and spun all around her, the heavens and earth and her old friend's lifeless body melting together into a single abhorrent mess. All that remained within her comprehension was her dear granddaughter, and the tears soaking through her face and clothes, and the dark flour still floating down from the sky.

Hollyberry woke up with a start, clutching at her chest and gasping for air as though someone had tried to drown her. Frantically, she looked over her surroundings - everywhere her eyes were met with walls of cool obsidian, save for the opening a ways off to her right that offered an escape to the outside world. She'd taken shelter in a cave the night before, after slaughtering her way through the valley and ending up nowhere, with no Pitaya Dragon in sight all day. The night looked young still. The moon shone bright from a gap in the clouds, offering her a single source of precious light.

Still reeling from her nightmare, Hollyberry stared down into her lap, at her trembling hands. Caked in dried dragon blood, as were the rest of her clothes. Specks of gore could still be seen on her person, clinging to her vest and boots and even strands of her hair. Instinctively, she reached for her shield; polishing off the jewel in the center, she gazed into her reflection and stayed silent as it gazed back into her.

...Who is she? What is she doing? Who has she become?

Setting her shield aside and burying her face in her blood-soaked hands, Hollyberry began to weep.

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

Ten.

She slammed the crystal glass down onto the table - quite carelessly, sure, but who could blame her? It's hard to keep control of such things after a while.

"Care for another shot, miss?"

"Would I ever! In fact, I'm disappointed you'd even bother asking instead of just pouring! Haha!"

Ten shots in ten minutes. Was this a new record? She thinks it is. She hopes so.

Every day, Hollyberry sunk a little bit lower. But, at the very least, if nothing else at all, she could choose where she sunk. She could choose not to sink into rage and death and depravity. She could choose to sink into a tall, cold, delicious glass of beer or two instead.

The Hollyberry Kingdom, though renowned throughout the world for its berry juice, was far from the only kingdom with a fine drinks selection. The Crème Republic, for example; now there was a place and people that knew how to brew. And such friendly barkeeps, too! Polite, charming, well-versed in their trade. Perfect to buy a round from. As many rounds as they'd indulge.

The beer went down crisp and fresh, warming her throat and her stomach and her aching soul with each gulp. Delicious. Almost a rival to her own people's wares, even. She would have to leave the barkeep an even bigger tip than she'd already planned.

She hardly thought about that night in the Dragon's Valley, that she'd spent sobbing her heart out. She hardly thought about her nightmare, of her imaginary duel with Pitaya Dragon and its implications. Of the grave truth underlying her motives. The truth that she had not come looking conversation or civility from her old friend. She sought something far, far worse.

She hardly thought about the Innkeeper, or the fact that Hollyberry had fled the valley altogether as fast as she could at the first sign of morning, without stepping foot in Dragon City again to see her or say goodbye.

She hardly thought about the mountains of bodies she dumped practically everywhere she went. Almost every region of the world, littered with slaughtered dragons. In her quest to punish savagery, she became a savage herself.

She hardly thought about her newfound, twisted sense of justice, and the brutal nature of her one-woman crusade.

She hardly even thought all that much about her granddaughter now.

No, now it was back to her old routine; the only routine she ever should have known or abided by, that of fun and adventure and the illusion of freedom from her burdens. Though she was a connoisseur of poison, that which vengeance provided was simply too strong for even the likes of her. Her beloved drinks, and her beloved adventures, and the crystal clear reflection of her carefree smile captured within her glass made for a much finer alternative. One vice traded in for another.

It tasted less bitter than her shame.

[realrosielol]

Open them Up !!

[dpxdcsideblog]

!WIP! The Case Of The Marine

Danny’s an old contact, really. Someone he met back when he first started out. He had a habit of wandering a bit too close to where he shouldn’t and walking out perfectly fine. Drove Jason crazy how he knew some Batman level type things without ever getting real dirty.

If anyone asks, Danny is a little crazy. He digs and digs til he finds the body and doesn’t stop there. He investigates and gets information you decide not to dig into how he got it. 

Good to know that crazy likes crazy, or whatever it is they say. Jason never really had a problem with him. He is crazy smart and definitely walking the tightrope of becoming a rogue, but a good contact. Around him you learn to play the game if you want a prize, or trick the game master and steal his secrets.

But that’s not important right now.

There’s a shipment of weapons coming in and Jason wants to know why. Of course, he could ask Barbie, but he’s heard the big bat’s been pissy lately. There are times to pick his battles and this? This is not one of them. 

So he off to Danny to find out the root of the problem and maybe a little more.

[kabr0ztrousers]

A guilty fem reader who cannot take her eyes or hands off her cow hybrid step moms large tits?

I just love titties man

Kabr0z Writes Episode 85: Mommy Milkers

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Mild fauxcest; breastfeeding;

A/N: In the wake of a little fanmail and a little sleep deprivation, I'm gonna take 🪽 anon's advice to heart and make this one a little shorter.

Still plenty of focus on some lovely tits, and I'm not talking ornithology

##########################################

She held you so close. Her heartbeat thumped in your ear, through the soft flesh of her breast and the cable-knit of her jumper. You lay on her, head resting against her chest. More than the warmth of the embrace, the oasis of calm after a long day. Her perfume filled your senses: light, floral, summery despite the bitter cold outside.

Your stepmother stroked your long hair, smoothing it against your back as her nails traced the curves of your scalp and your neck. She was always very physical in her affection, gently mooing as she held you to her breast, lulling you into a doze. You nuzzled into her, wrapping your arms around her as you yawned into the plush warmth.

“Aww, somebody tired?” she mooed softly into your ear

You nodded a little, eyes drooping as her jumper pulled up from under you before coming back down over you. The warm light of the sitting room took on a pale cast as it filtered through the off-white wool.

She was so warm. Braless breasts either side of your head surrounding you with pleasant heat. She shifted around you, positioning an erect nipple at your lips. You opened your mouth obediently, taking the fleshy nub into your mouth

“Good girl, drink up now”

You murmured your assent as you started to suck. A gentle hand held you to her, sweet milk dribbling into your mouth as you squoze her tit, coaxing it out. You drank greedily, sucking harder as she mooed over you, holding you tenderly as she fed you.

Your eyes grew heavier. The warm skin and soft wool cushioning you, the sound of her braying just audible over the sounds of her breath and the comforting metronome of her heart.

Gradually, you fell to a deep sleep

########################################

So that's 300 words of gentle fauxcest breastfeeding. Which may or may not be the first time anyone has typed that sentence.

Something, something, send a request. There's 85 of these suckers, you know the drill

[starryslyii]

When you finish writing a spicy scene and immediately consider changing your name, deleting your blog, and moving to a small cottage in the woods.

[moongothic]

Rereading Dressrosa for the first time in quite a few years, after having become a Crocodad Truther specifically, was a really interesting experience, mainly due to the relationship between Kyros and Rebecca and Luffy's very strong feelings about those two in particular

Starting with the latter point; watching Luffy get really passionate about making sure Rebecca reunited with her father, instead of the two never seeing each other again as Kyros had planned, was just really facinating to me.

Now there ARE layers to this; Luffy saw first hand how much Rebecca and Kyros love each. Even if he didn't know or understand all the details, he knew these two were family forced to live apart due to Doflamingo's rule and that, even though Rebecca didn't know Mr Soldier was her father all those years, he still looked after her and did all he could to protect her. Luffy understands how much they matter to each other. Luffy also gets that Kyros was trying to make a sacrifice out of self-loathing; Kyros saw himself as a bloodstained monster who did not deserve to be by his daughter's side, thus his insistence on them going their separate ways. But not only is that "sacrifice out of loathing" not a thing One Piece rewards within the narrative*, but Luffy emotionally understands what Kyros was trying to do was stupid as hell. *(See; Robin trying to save the crew in the CP9 Saga, Sanji trying to offer his head to Kuma to spare everyone else (because he saw himself as the "least worthy", compared to Zoro who believed he was the only one who could actually tank Kuma and survive), Sanji again during Whole Cake Island, etc)

Adding to that, in what I feel also harkens back to Alabasta (vaguely important since Dressrosa in many ways is a reflection of Alabasta); Vivi made her decision to stay in her home because that's what she wanted deep in her heart, because she loved her country. Just the same way, dethroning Doflamingo, getting revenge for her mother and reuniting with her extended family were all fine achievements. But all Rebecca wanted deep in her heart was to stay with Mr Soldier (regardless if he was her father or not). That's what mattered the most to her.

How could Luffy even think about leaving without making sure Rebecca was able decide on her own if she wanted to stay with her father, instead of him making that decision for her, not because it was truly "for the best", but out of Kyros' own guilt and self-loathing.

All of that to say; Luffy becoming so emotionally involved in Rebecca and Kyros' father-daughter relationship is perfectly normal and on-brand for him, it's not strange at all.

...At the same time. I could not help but to wonder if those two's relationship could somehow reflect Luffy's relationship with his estranged parent(s), and more importantly, kind of debunk the fandom idea of Luffy as someone who 100% does not care if people are related or not and has ZERO interest in Dragon etc

Like I have discussed this before but I've been meta posting for so long on here I'll repeat myself just a lil; I feel like it's less "Luffy doesn't care Dragon is his father" and more "Luffy doesn't know HOW to feel about Dragon". We don't know what Garp told Luffy about his parent(s), presumably and based on the conversation post-Enies Lobby it just seems like Garp never mentioned ANYTHING to Luffy? Like he didn't even tell Luffy a white lie about why his parents weren't there for him? We simply do not know. But what we do know is these three things: 1. Luffy hates being alone, even more than "being hurt". Being alone is his worst fear 2. Although Garp was responsible for raising Luffy, he wasn't always there, meaning other townspeople and Shanks' crew alike were equally "responsible" for looking after Luffy. 3. Meaning Luffy was essentially an orphan. Fans will joke about Luffy's surprise at him having a father being because he's stupid, an asexy and doesn't know where babies come from, and while I may not be fully able to debunk that conceptually. Like. It's just as possible that because Luffy was raised like an orphan, he might have assumed that either his parents were dead or had abandoned him because they didn't want him. And I'm going to argue that if that's what Luffy always assumed was what happened, yeah, it'd contribute to his fear of being alone. It'd explain why he'd be surprised to find out he actually does have a father out there somewhere. And yeah, Luffy might not know how to feel about Dragon if that's the case. Should he hate Dragon because he wasn't ever there for him (from Luffy's POV)? Why wasn't Dragon there for him? Did he really not want Luffy, or did he have some reason for leaving Luffy? What is he like anyways, is he nice or cool or a dickbag?? Should Luffy even care about any of that stuff??? All of that to say; I don't think Luffy is completely disinterested in Dragon, I think he doesn't know how to feel or think about Dragon, and it's not relevant to Luffy right now anyways because Dragon's like, out there somewhere while Luffy is on his journey. Where as, if Luffy were to meet Dragon, get to know what he's like, why he wasn't there for Luffy and most importantly, how he feels about his only son (does he care about Luffy and his wellbeing? Is he a Kyros or a Kaidou?)- yeah, I think then Luffy COULD learn to be interested in Dragon and care about him Not out of obligation (because of their blood) but out of Luffy's own will, out of Luffy's acknowledgement of Dragon's love for him

And yeah, then we get to add the ever-delightful layer of Crocodad Trutherism to this mess.

You know how my personal theory goes; that Crocodile's been trying to find a way to overthrow and nuke the WG (potentially with an Ancient Weapon) to make sure his long lost child would be able to live freely and do whatever the hell he wanted without having to fear the WG would ever target him because he has Evil Revolutionary Leader Blood coursing through his veins. That's what makes the most sense to me as Crocodile's ultimate motivation. To protect his child, no matter the cost, even if he had to become the devil himself.

And hey, what was the story between Kyros and Rebecca again? Kyros trying to overthrow a corrupt government (a fallen Tenryuubito to boot) to protect his child so she could live freely without having a target on her back?

I don't need to explain how One Piece does have repeating themes and motifs, surely. (Also there's something to be said about fathers in One Piece who would go to hell and back for their daughters, Kuma being another example, but that's a whole different essay. But Oda's Girl-Dad Agenda is showing)

But yeah, what's even more interesting here is how Kyros believed he didn't deserve to have a reunion with Rebecca. He commited a murder decades ago, and although everyone else seems to have forgiven him for that crime, Kyros himself still thinks of himself as a horrible murderer with bloodstained hands. Not helped by how Kyros thought him teaching Rebecca self-defence skills was a failure on his part as a father (instead of him doing all he could in the horrible situation they were stuck in; teaching Rebecca how to defend herself was absolutely justified, and Kyros shouldn't have blamed himself for anything there).

Kyros didn't think he deserved to be with his daughter because he wasn't a good father, because was a monster. And Kyros could not believe anything other than that until Rebecca essentially forgave him, by explicitly telling him she wanted them to stay side-by-side. That she wanted him, and no one fucking else, as her father.

And I once again repeat myself just a little as I ask; how would Luffy feel if he found out Crocodile was his father? How would Luffy feel if he found out the reason Crocodile was going to destroy Vivi's country was because he was trying to protect his son from the WG? And that son was Luffy himself? How would Luffy feel that the asshole who stabbed him through the gut, mummified him and poisoned him was his very own family? Who also saved Luffy's life the second he learned of their blood connection? How would Luffy feel in that situation, if he found out Crocodile cares about Luffy, and wants him to be okay? And how does Crocodile feel? After stabbing Luffy through the gut, mummifying him and poisoning the brat, does Crocodile feel like he has any right to call himself Luffy's parent, let alone father? He knows Luffy rightfully hates him for all the horrible things he has done, how could Luffy ever accept him?

The past is in the past and it can't be changed. But you always have the choise, the free will, to change yourself and become a better person. You can choose to do better things, to help others and be kinder. You can have a second chance.

Robin was given a second chance. Hacchi was given one too. Kyros was given that chance to become better. So why not Crocodile?

[burpinmyface-xoxo]

you're lying on your side in bed, and your partner is getting ready to join you. they stretch and drink some water, and then they burp. the action is loud. it is vaguely wet too, and it comes out with a lot of vibrato. it's deep.

you cover your face. you told them the truth recently, how you like it when they do that.

"What did you think of that one?" Their voice is mischievous, flirty. A little condescending. They don't wait for you to respond as they climb into the bed and pull you closer.

you groan and try to push them away, something in you red hot with shyness and embarrassment, and yeah, okay, arousal.

They laugh knowingly. "Oh come on,, I know you like it..."

And you shrivel up a little more. You whine incoherently, warm face still in your hands, and they pull into their warm chest, kissing the back of your back and head.

While you're making your little noises, they cut you off with a well placed burp in your ear. If your underwear wasn't soaked before it definitely is now. It blows your hair a little and sends chills up your spine.

"Did you like that one too?"

They spoon you with arms coming around your chest and legs wrapping together. They're strong, too strong for you to even try thinking of getting away, and then they burp again.

[feroluce]

Not to make everything about my ship, but if I don't do it no one will, so today we are making meta analysis of Boothill's faceoff match about henghill, because the differences between Boothill's stand off with Luka and his one with Dan Heng- and what you can infer about Boothill himself and what catches his eye in a person- makes me chew concrete.

JUST. I loved the scene between Luka and Boothill so much. I love how wildly unrestrained Boothill is. He really just shoved the barrel of his gun in his opponent's face and put the fear of death into him as a way to test Luka's resolve. I utterly adore him. I hope he does it again. Anyway.

When confronted with all this, Luka freezes. His stress-induced hallucinations were already bad, but you can see how they really ramp up in this match, because before, they were always something familiar. Previous enemies became Silvermanes, or Belobogian automatons, or even Cocolia. Luka is far from home for the first time in his life, and he's so terribly homesick his brain is making everything familiar, because that is what he's desperately craving right now.

But Boothill.

Boothill is something so new, and unique, and horrific and terrifying, that he becomes something entirely unknown to Luka. His hallucination manifests as Something Unto Death, as the very fear of death itself.

And this stand off (which I love so much that this is how this match progressed, because like that's literally just Boothill's in-game skill; he locks the enemy into a one-on-one duel, so this was extremely in character for him) lasts long enough that Owlbert starts having to fill in the silence over the loudspeaker,

and even Boothill himself starts trying to push Luka into making a decision one way or the other.

Given that Boothill is a hunter by trade and is proven to have all the patience to track his prey and then some, this was more for Luka's sake than any impatience on his part, to try to shove him out of his freeze reaction.

And Boothill isn't really hard to read throughout this whole exchange, he all but says outright what he's looking for.

Boothill wants to see him surpass this test and come at him! You can see it in his face when Luka finally takes a step! And in how he congratulates him!

And then he fucking shot him snxhsjksjsn

Boothill admires courage, and bravery, and decisiveness. He admires a person's ability to put their life on the line and still fight in the face of danger and overwhelming odds. Those are the things that catch his eye.

And Luka does kind of get there eventually, but it is a stalling, halting motion that gets him there, and he fell to pieces immediately afterwards. This is his first time with this, and he's still figuring it out.

Dan Heng, on the other hand.

Boothill's stand off with Dan Heng from 2.2 is so fucking far in the total opposite direction that it is HILARIOUS.

Boothill literally breaks into the Astral Express, ambushes Dan Heng, and Dan Heng still has the balls to not only demand info out of Boothill- like doesn't even ask nicely, demands it- he also just straight up calls Boothill a liar. Right to his face! And he still isn't nice about it!!

By the way, that entire conversation? This is how it takes place.

Boothill, phrasing!!

Boothill has him at gunpoint! Dan Heng does not have his weapon with him! He does not flinch, and even stands there with his arms crossed seeming simultaneously pissed and utterly unimpressed. He looks like he should be irritably tapping his foot and looking down his nose at him. Dan Heng could not give less of a shit.

For that matter, Dan Heng even turns his back and walks away from Boothill- right in the middle of him talking, too! Not a single attempt to be considerate of the man who could decide any moment he feels like decorating the wall with Dan Heng's brains.

Dan Heng is brave and courageous and completely unflappable in the face of danger. He is ruthless and decisive in how he conducts himself, even when staring down the barrel of a gun. And through his efforts in Penacony, he shows the ability to put his life on the line and fight through overwhelming odds to save his once-in-a-lifetime companions.

No wonder Dan Heng caught Boothill's eye the way he did, no wonder the two of them were working together and bantering not even minutes after Boothill pulled a gun on him haha

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Creating Compelling Character Arcs: A Guide for Fiction Writers

As writers, one of our most important jobs is to craft characters that feel fully realized and three-dimensional. Great characters aren't just names on a page — they're complex beings with arcs that take them on profound journeys of change and growth. A compelling character arc can make the difference between a forgettable story and one that sticks with readers long after they've turned the final page.

Today, I'm going to walk you through the art of crafting character arcs that are as rich and multi-layered as the people you encounter in real life. Whether you're a first-time novelist or a seasoned storyteller, this guide will give you the tools to create character journeys that are equal parts meaningful and unforgettable.

What Is a Character Arc?

Before we go any further, let's make sure we're all on the same page about what a character arc actually is. In the most basic sense, a character arc refers to the internal journey a character undergoes over the course of a story. It's the path they travel, the obstacles they face, and the ways in which their beliefs, mindsets, and core selves evolve through the events of the narrative.

A character arc isn't just about what happens to a character on the outside. Sure, external conflict and plot developments play a major role — but the real meat of a character arc lies in how those external forces shape the character's internal landscape. Do their ideals get shattered? Is their worldview permanently altered? Do they have to confront harsh truths about themselves in order to grow?

The most resonant character arcs dig deep into these universal human experiences of struggle, self-discovery, and change. They mirror the journeys we all go through in our own lives, making characters feel powerfully relatable even in the most imaginative settings.

The Anatomy of an Effective Character Arc

Now that we understand what character arcs are, how do we actually construct one that feels authentic and impactful? Let's break down the key components:

The Inciting Incident

Every great character arc begins with a spark — something that disrupts the status quo of the character's life and sets them on an unexpected path. This inciting incident can take countless forms, be it the death of a loved one, a sudden loss of power or status, an epic betrayal, or a long-held dream finally becoming attainable.

Whatever shape it takes, the inciting incident needs to really shake the character's foundations and push them in a direction they wouldn't have gone otherwise. It opens up new struggles, questions, and internal conflicts that they'll have to grapple with over the course of the story.

Lies They Believe

Tied closely to the inciting incident are the core lies or limiting beliefs that have been holding your character back. Perhaps they've internalized society's body image expectations and believe they're unlovable. Maybe they grew up in poverty and are convinced that they'll never be able to escape that cyclical struggle.

Whatever these lies are, they'll inform how your character reacts and responds to the inciting incident. Their ingrained perceptions about themselves and the world will directly color their choices and emotional journeys — and the more visceral and specific these lies feel, the more compelling opportunities for growth your character will have.

The Struggle

With the stage set by the inciting incident and their deeply-held lies exposed, your character will then have to navigate a profound inner struggle that stems from this setup. This is where the real meat of the character arc takes place as they encounter obstacles, crises of faith, moral dilemmas, and other pivotal moments that start to reshape their core sense of self.

Importantly, this struggle shouldn't be a straight line from Point A to Point B. Just like in real life, people tend to take a messy, non-linear path when it comes to overcoming their limiting mindsets. They'll make progress, backslide into old habits, gain new awareness, then repeat the cycle. Mirroring this meandering but ever-deepening evolution is what makes a character arc feel authentic and relatable.

Moments of Truth

As your character wrestles with their internal demons and existential questions, you'll want to include potent Moments of Truth that shake them to their core. These are the climactic instances where they're forced to finally confront the lies they believe head-on. It could be a painful conversation that shatters their perception of someone they trusted. Or perhaps they realize the fatal flaw in their own logic after hitting a point of no return.

These Moments of Truth pack a visceral punch that catalyzes profound realizations within your character. They're the litmus tests where your protagonist either rises to the occasion and starts radically changing their mindset — or they fail, downing further into delusion or avoiding the insights they need to undergo a full transformation.

The Resolution

After enduring the long, tangled journey of their character arc, your protagonist will ideally arrive at a resolution that feels deeply cathartic and well-earned. This is where all of their struggle pays off and we see them evolve into a fundamentally different version of themselves, leaving their old limiting beliefs behind.

A successfully crafted resolution in a character arc shouldn't just arrive out of nowhere — it should feel completely organic based on everything they've experienced over the course of their thematic journey. We should be able to look back and see how all of the challenges they surmounted ultimately reshaped their perspective and led them to this new awakening. And while not every character needs to find total fulfillment, for an arc to feel truly complete, there needs to be a definitive sense that their internal struggle has reached a meaningful culmination.

Tips for Crafting Resonant Character Arcs

I know that was a lot of ground to cover, so let's recap a few key pointers to keep in mind as you start mapping out your own character's trajectories:

Get Specific With Backstory

To build a robust character arc, a deep understanding of your protagonist's backstory and psychology is indispensable. What childhood wounds do they carry? What belief systems were instilled in them from a young age? The more thoroughly you flesh out their history and inner workings, the more natural their arc will feel.

Strive For Nuance

One of the biggest pitfalls to avoid with character arcs is resorting to oversimplified clichés or unrealistic "redemption" stories. People are endlessly complex — your character's evolution should reflect that intricate messiness and nuance to feel grounded. Embrace moral grays, contradictions, and partial awakenings that upend expectations.

Make the External Match the Internal

While a character arc hinges on interior experiences, it's also crucial that the external plot events actively play a role in driving this inner journey. The inciting incident, the obstacles they face, the climactic Moments of Truth — all of these exterior occurrences should serve as narrative engines that force your character to continually reckon with themselves.

Dig Into Your Own Experiences

Finally, the best way to instill true authenticity into your character arcs is to draw deeply from the personal transformations you've gone through yourself. We all carry with us the scars, growth, and shattered illusions of our real-life arcs — use that raw honesty as fertile soil to birth characters whose journeys will resonate on a soulful level.

Happy Writing!

[thegeminisage]

aphobia vs slut shaming and they've been doing it like this all their lives

[chronicreativity]

masterlist of places to submit creative writing

it's intimidating thinking about submitting your precious work to judgement, but all the rejections are worth it when you finally get that one glowing acceptance email that puts your anxieties and impostor syndrome to bed. but where do you submit? it can be incredibly overwhelming trying to find the right sites/journals/zines to submit to so i thought i'd create a little collection of places i have found to submit to and i will update it whenever i find new discoveries.

PROSE ONLY

The Fiction Desk

They consider stories between 1k words and 10k words, paying 25 GBP per thousand words for stories they publish and contributors receive two complimentary paperback copies of the anthology. (A submission fee of 5 GBP for stories which sucks)

Extra Teeth

Works of fiction and creative nonfiction between 800 and 4,000 words receive a 140 GBP payment upon publication in the magazine as well as two copies that feature your work. If your work is selected to published online, you get 100 GBP instead. A Scottish based publication that also offers mentorships to budding writers. (Free)

Clarkesworld

Fantasy and sci-fi magazine accepting submissions of fiction from 1k to 22k words, paying 14 cent per word. Make sure you read their submissions page carefully, it gives you a good idea of what they're looking for and what will get you one of those disheartening rejection emails. (Free)

Granta

Open to unsolicited submissions of fiction and non-fiction. Unfortunately they do charge a 3.50 GBP fee for prose submissions, but they do offer 200 free submissions during every opening period (1 March - 31 March, 1 June - 30 June, 1 September - 30 September, 1 December - 31 December) to low income authors. No set minimum or maximum length, but most accepted works fall within 3,000 and 6,000 words.

Indie Bites

A fantasy short fiction publisher looking for clever hooks, strong characters and interesting takes on their issues' themes. Submissions should be no longer than 7,500 words. You get an honorarium of 5 GBP for each piece of yours that they publish - it's not much, but yay money! (Free)

Big Fiction

Novella publishers (7,500-20,000 words) looking for self-contained works of fiction that play with things like the linearity of narratives, perspective, structure and language. (Free)

Strange Horizons

Employing a broad definition of speculative fiction, they offer 10 cents a word for spec fiction up to 10,000 words but preferably around 5,000. (Free)

Fantasy and Science Fiction

They publish fiction up to 25,000 words in length, offering 8-12 cents per word upon publishing. (Free)

Fictive Dream

Short stories from 500 words to 2,500. They want writing with a contemporary feel that explores the human condition. (Free)

POETRY AND PROSE

eunoia review

Up to 10 poems in a single attachment, up to 15,000 words of fiction and creative non-fiction (can be multiple submissions amounting to that or a single piece). It's free to submit to, and they respond in 24 hours (I can vouch for that).

Confingo Magazine

Stories up to 5,000 words of any genre and poems (a max of three) up to 50 lines. Free to submit to and offer a 30 GBP payment to authors whose work is accepted.

Grain Magazine

Another Canadian based publication also supportive of marginalised identities. They accept poems (max. of six pages), fiction (max. of 3,500 words) or three flash fiction works that total 3.5k, literary nonfiction (3,500 words) and queries for works of other forms. All contributors are paid 50 CAD per page to a max of 250. Authors outside of Canada will need to pay a 5 CAD reading fee but they do offer a limited number of fee waivers if this impacts your ability to submit.

BTWN

An up-and-coming lit mag looking for diverse works that play with genres, breaks the rules and is a little weird. They want what typical lit mags reject. Stories up to 7,000 words, non-fiction up to 7,000 words and up to 4 poems totalling no more than 10 pages, hybrid work, comics/graphics up to 5 pages, original periodicals up to 14,000 words of prose or 20 pages of poetry. (Free)

Gutter

Accepting submission in spring and autumn work that challenges, re-imagines or undermines the status quo and pushes at the boundaries of form and function. If your contribution is chosen, you get 30 GBP for your work as well as a complimentary copy of the issue. Up to three poems (no more than 100 lines), fiction and essays (up to 2,500 words)

Whisk(e)y Tit

This one's worth checking out just for their logo. They're looking for fiction whether it's short stories, flash fiction or novel excerpts up to 7,000 words, up to 5 poems, up to 7,000 word essays, screenplays and stage plays (can be full works or excerpts up to 20 pages). (Free)

FOR QUEER AND MARGINALISED WRITERS

Plenitude magazine

A queer-focused Canadian literary magazine accepting poetry, fiction and creative non-fiction. They define queer literature as create by queer people. (Free)

Lavender Review

Poetry written by and for lesbians. An annual Sappho's Prize in Poetry takes place every October. (Free)

AC|DC

"A journal for the bent", always open for submissions from queer writers of all experience levels. They lean towards dark and raw writing but are open to everything as long as it's not over 3,000 words. (Free)

Sinister Wisdom

A literary and art journal for lesbians of every background. They accept poetry (up to 5), two short stories or essays OR one longer piece (not exceeding 5,000 words), as well as book reviews (these must be pitched before they are submitted, (Free)

Queerlings

Open annually from Jan 1st to March 31st they publish short stories of any genre (up to 2,000 words), flash fiction/hybrid work (500 words), poetry (up to 3 poems per submission with a 20 line maximum on each) and creative non-fiction (2,000 words) written by queer writers. (Free)

underdog lit mag

Based in the UK, they focus on amplifying emerging and underrepresented writers. If you're female, POC, LGBTQ+, working-class or all of the above with a story of 100-3,500 words that fits their flavour of the month (the last flavour was Magical Realism) send it their way! (Free)

fourteen poems

London-based poetry publishers looking for the most exciting queer poets. You can send up to five emails to them within their deadlines and you get 25 GBP for every poem published.

Froglifter Journal

A press publishing the most dynamic and urgent queer writing. Poets send in 3 to 5 poems (max. 5 pages), writers send in up to 7,500 words of fiction or non-fiction or three flash fiction pieces, and cross-genre creators send in up to 20 pages within the submission windows March 1 to May 1 and September 1 to November 1. (Free)

OTHER SOURCES

Short Stories: X | X | X

Poetry: X

[lizzybeeee]

DATV is overly reliant on Supplemental Media - especially if you are a returning player

TL;DR: Supplemental material should not be required reading in order to understand what's going on in the main game -> it's additional material that enhances what we were given. If what we were given is lacking and unable to coherently tell us a story, then the writers and those in charge did not prioritize what was important.

Not a take that's unique to Dragon Age, but one that is very relevant when talking about DATV. I've made a few posts about plot/story points that either make no sense or have been dropped entirely in the lead up from DAI to DATV. Every now and then I get a few comments or messages about how certain points I made were addressed in supplemental material released in the lead up to this games release.

This isn't a call out post, by the way! But it's frustrating, to me, that this games writing is so lacking that my understanding is being inhibited because I can't remember details from a book I read two years ago - not to mention various podcasts, comics, and short stories. My understanding of a video game in a video game series should not be reliant on additional/optional content.

DATV is a weird game in that it is absolutely a 'soft/scorched earth' reboot while also marketing itself as a continuation to what was set up in Inquisition and Trespasser. Personally, I think that if you are up to number 4 in a game series, one with a continuous story-line, it should be expected that new players won't be able to catch up to everything -> it's the game developers job to make the world and story intriguing enough that the new players will go back to previous games in the series and fill in the blanks themselves.

Veilguard, as a sequel, is overly reliant on content that comes from outside the games themselves (including DLC's) if you want to make sense of the world and story. Trespasser left us with an epilogue that set up some plot points for the next game: Solas & the Veil, the Elven Rebellion, and War with the Qun - plot points that have been built up since the time of Origins. But when we get into DATV two of these points have been dropped and resolved, off-screen.

There are more questions, but these are the ones that bothered me the most while playing the game:

What happened to the Agents of Fen'harel/ Elven Rebellion? -> answered in a cursed reddit AMA.

What happened to the Qunari following Trespasser -> addressed in Tevinter Nights, and a codex entry you can pick up (optional).

Why is Skyhold infested with demons? -> mentioned in Tevinter Nights.

How did the Dalish go from worshiping their own pantheon to knowing they are false gods? (specifically those we meet in the Veil Jumpers) -> mentioned in the Missing comic series.

What's up with Nevarra's Royals? -> Tevinter Nights addresses that there is a power struggle in the Pentaghast family and the role of the Mortalitasi in making it worse - though it does not address the whole 'mage puppeting a corpse' issue and all the implications it has.

This is a video game series -> the bulk of the information required for me to understand the story and its relation to previous entries needs to be included in the final game version. I am playing a video game and not attending a uni class - I should not need to have a required reading list in order to understand what the fuck is going on. I should definitely not need to go onto a reddit AMA to understand what happened in-game, either.

What makes this stand out the most is that DAI was very successful in tying in previous games, DLC's, movies, and books! Inquisition did a great job in getting you up to speed on the events of the previous games early on, providing personalization if you played those games, and giving the player the opportunity to inquire into these events.

Hiding away the answers in additional material or a codex entry that may be missed is not good game design or good writing. DAI didn't assume that you had bought and played the Legacy DLC -> it made certain you experienced the conversation with Varric and Hawke if you wanted to proceed in the game. It didn't hide away imperative information in codex entries - it had characters talk about it in scripted scenes and encourage the player to ask more. You would actively need to avoid interacting with characters for you to not experience this information in DAI.

Leliana talks about her role during the Blight, her calling by the Maker, and her relationship with Dorothea/Justinia -> DAO and Leliana's Song DLC.

Cullen talks about his time as a templar at Kinloch & Kirkwall -> DAO and DA2.

Cassandra speaks about her history, investigation into Hawke, and the Seekers -> Dawn of the Seeker movie, DA2, & Asunder novel.

Varric talks about Hawke, Kirkwall, and Corypheous -> DA2 and Legacy DLC.

Cole talks about how he discovered he was a 'demon' - it leads to further conversations about Rhys, Evangeline, and Lord-Seeker Lambert -> Asunder novel.

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts -> the game literally continues what the Masked Empire novel sets up, the Orlesian Civil War. The game does a decent job of telling us about the players (Celene, Gaspard, Briala etc...) and the reasoning behind the conflict through dialogue, the ability to explore the battlefields, quests, ambient dialogue, etc... The book is not required reading - though it greatly adds to the complexity of the characters, motivations, and political intrigue!

I never once, playing DA2 or DAI, felt penalized or like my experience was lacking because I had not engaged with supplemental material or DLC's. I got into Dragon Age when I was in high school, it wasn't until I graduated and began working after that I had the disposable income available for experiencing the extra material. I cannot say that for DATV - If you have played Inquisition and go into DATV straight from that you will, absolutely, be confused about how we got from A to B.

Which is especially strange to me!? Why is it that new players will be less confused than those that are returning players? It's like the game is actively punishing you for playing and caring about previous games in the series.

Supplemental media is bought because the main product has earned your investment, love, or interest. Not everyone has the income available to buy it with their own money - especially if you live outside the US and have to pay additional shipping costs. Not everyone has the ability to buy or 'obtain' the digital versions either. My understanding of the main story of a video game in a video game series should not require additional monetary investment into other mediums.

The game itself should be enough and DATV is not enough.

[a-host-of-dancing-daffodils]

HOKAI so I have been wanting to do a post about this for a while so in order to distract myself from The Horrors here we go!!

What's Up With the Countess??

I'd like to start by pointing out that this analysis is almost entirely based on Episode 3.7 of the show (The Double Clue) because I haven't read any of the books that she's in / mentioned in. SO. Feel free to Take All of This with a Grain of Salt. But. as far as the show is concerned. I believe I am. Onto Something Here.

While I do think that the Countess if she's even really a Russian Countess...we'll get there DEFINITELY has the hots for Poirot (I mean. Who could blame her? He is Very Sexy), I do NOT think Poirot wants her carnally at all. He does seem compelled by her. And he does seem to both Respect Her Methods and Want to Study Her Like a Bug. And he seems to relate to her as a refugee a great deal and, from this, seems to feel a bit protective of her in some ways. But let's take a look at how he actually interacts with her, and it'll become clear: the attraction seems to be VERY one-sided, and it seems to on the part of the countess, not on the part of Poirot. This is especially clear if we contrast their interactions with the way Poirot acts around Hastings (with whom. we all know that Poirot is actually in love. and I will Die on that Hill Thank You Very Much).

Anyroad! I will put most of this post under a readmore because it got superduper long. like. it is now legitly essay-length and yes there are citations LOL

Итак. Начнем. [So. Let's begin] The way Poirot acts when he first sees the Countess, I can get why Hastings thinks he was "taken" with her. But.

If you ask me, I think it's quite the opposite: she was quite taken with him right away, and I think he picked up on this...and immediately thought "Oh. Oh, I can use this".

Case in point: We see him use another person's attraction to him to probe into their involvement in a case in other episodes, too, such as in 10.3 After The Funeral:

And that's what his interactions with the Countess feel like to me especially since, as he talks to her, she seems to be bent on giving herself away to him?? at nearly every opportunity??

But his interactions with the Countess differ from the other cases of him doing this in two ways. For one, they have the added aspects of him understanding what she's gone through as a refugee and relating to her in this way. In some ways, he seems to understand why she would turn to a life of crime, and it seems like he very much respects her, but (for two) because of this, he wants to warn her away from trying to live this lifestyle in HIS territory. During their interactions, he is CONSTANTLY implying that he IS onto her and he WILL Get Her if she's not careful. Which. only seems to make her want him more? and. I mean. Fair I guess. He's So Sexy when he's Dangerous.

First, during their initial little promenade together, he tells her that he's the most famous detective in all of England - this is a bit of a downplay from his usual "greatest detective who ever lived" shtick, which I always found to be a bit odd...but when you really sit down and think about it, it almost feels like he's firing a warning shot across her bow...Like he's trying to warn her that he's on her trail, and England specifically isn't big enough for the both of them.

and don't even get me STARTED ON THE IMAGERY HERE of the stone ornament in the foreground LITERALLY SEPARATING THEM FROM EACH OTHER as they talk about this???? LIKE!!??? HELLO???

Then. After this, SHE'S the one who brings up that he's investigating the jewel thefts (plural), and he smiles as he says, "It seems a simple matter, Madame." Like. 'Oh yes. And I already know who did it.'

And when she ASKS HIM IF HE SUSPECTS HER, he turns it right back on her by asking "Should I?" And she admits "I was there". IMPLYING SHE WAS ON THE SCENE OF EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. OF THE JEWEL THEFTS. NOT JUST THE LATEST ONE. LIKE??? JUST CONFESS TO HIM OUTRIGHT THAT YOUDONEIT, WHY DONT'CHA???

And then, when they're at the museum, she brings up a specific one of the jewel thefts, implying that it is 'the perfect crime', and he fires another few warning shots, implying that he knows it was her:

"It is strange that you should choose to relate this to me, Countess, I also have read of it. Oh yes, the Atherton Diamonds? And it is true that the police, they were confounded, but it is because they look with the eye that is too, uh...English"

He then MENTIONS that the police failed to think of who the lowest common denominator was - who was present for all of the thefts?

and then he all but points the finger at her when he says "Because the culprit, he is not English enough".

And Look at their expressions here! She seems to be very exited by the danger he poses to her. She is leaning in. She is INTO this. But Poirot's little smile? That isn't an I'm Into This smile. That looks like his I'm Onto You smile. It doesn't even really reach his eyes.

^^^^That^^^^? is NOT the smile of a smitten man.

Now THIS? THIS is the smile of a smitten man:

Like. When Poirot meets Hastings again at Styles? When he smiles that fond little smile at Hastings in so many different episodes?? His WHOLE FACE smiles. His eyes. His nose. His cheeks. His lips. He positively Glows with it. You look at that smile and you can FEEL the fondness radiating off of him.

He smiles at the Countess? and there's nothing in his eyes but a warning. In fact, sometimes when he's smiling "at" her, he's ACTIVELY LOOKING AWAY from her.

Which leads us to some other points about Poirot's behaviour and body language when he's around the Countess: Poirot seems to be very Pointedly Keeping the Countess at Arm's Length, which. He kinda does that to everyone, sure (in some ways, he even keeps Hastings at arm's length, too). But. I feel like many of his particular behaviours towards the countess wouldn't make sense if he was actually interested in her:

Firstly. Taking Poirot's own understanding of Love as our definition, when someone is in love with someone else, they smile at them and can't take their eyes off them (see episode 11.3 The Third Girl). and if you take another look at those pictures above, you'll see: Poirot's behaviour towards HASTINGS fits this definition quite well, actually.

And sure, Poirot smiles at the Countess sometimes. But, as I mention above, HE BARELY LOOKS AT HER WHEN THEY'RE TOGETHER. And half the time, he's looking off into space and he seems to be deep in thought.

During their first little promenade scene, he glances at her all of three times, and each time, it is for less than 2 seconds. He's not gazing at her like a man infatuated.

He gazes at Hastings, though. (Oh my, does he GAZE at Hastings. And Hastings gazes right back.)

Secondly, the Countess calls Poirot 'Hercule' twice in this episode, and each time, he doesn't seem to like it very much.

When the Countess calls Poirot 'Hercule' for the first time, it's at the museum. In response, he simply says "I do not think that there is anyone of my acquaintance who calls me by that name" (I would read that as a clear reminder that, она - знакомая, а не друг, и для русскоговрящего, это - очень важное различение [she's an acquaintance not a friend, and that is a very important distinction for a Russian speaker]). And when she apologises, he doesn't reassure her that it's alright. He doesn't say something to the effect of "Oh, it is alright for you to call me Hercule, I was simply surprised". No. He says "Madame." and goes DEAD SILENT. Almost as if to say "Yeah. Don't call me that." It's like he's saying "You're not allowed to get close to me. Don't Even Try."

And here's him looking away from her right after it happens. Again, I feel like he'd at least be looking at her if he was actually happy to be called that again

The second time she calls him Hercule, it's when she's about to leave on the train:

"Oh, I won't forget you, Hercule." "Nor I you... countess."

When he answers her, HE ANSWERS WITH HER TITLE, NOT HER NAME, and he doesn't even lean into her kiss look at how far out the window she's leaning, like. c'mon.

Which brings us to my third point: he doesn't seem to want to touch her. And when she touches him, he doesn't seem to know how to Handle It.

Like. To provide contrast for this, we know he touches Hastings every chance he can get, because whenever he gets an excuse, it's clear that he wants to touch him so bad. Just for one in-episode example, in the wound-care scene, he's feeling guilty for putting Hastings in danger, so he leaves his hand on Hastings' shoulder for a good. like. 20-30 seconds. He wants Hastings to feel his remorse, and so he lets his hand linger. and watch closely the next time you watch this episode, because when it's time for him to leave, he doesn't just take his hand away, he lets it slowly slip off Hastings' back like he doesn't want to let go.

And don't even get me STARTED on Hastings' Biting little Jealous "Where are you taking her?" Comment BABY IT'S OKAY HE'S NOT ACTUALLY INTO HER YOU ARE HIS ONE AND ONLY LOVE

He does touch the countess at the Picnic, but it's only for a moment, and, the way the shot is framed so that we never see his expression as he reacts to the touch? it really seems to be more for her benefit than it is for his own.

And when the countess takes his arm at the museum, he doesn't smile, he doesn't blush or look flustered. No. He was smiling to himself right before that, and the second she takes his arm, he looks surprised and he actually STOPS SMILING. Look at the set of his eyebrows...pointing down towards the bridge of his nose instead of up. He almost looks annoyed.

^^I don't feel like this is the behaviour of a man who is happy to be receiving attention from someone he's attracted to. I feel like this is the behaviour of a man who is NOT into this at all, but he's gotta keep stringing her along if he wants to distract her from stealing more jewels^^

Which brings us to my next point: Yes, he's 'taking her out on dates' or 'letting HER take HIM out on dates' or whatever. But when you think about why he's doing this? He seems to be trying to Keep Her Occupied. No more jewel thefts? No more threats to Japp's career.

and again. DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE IMAGERY HERE. She's reclining on the blanket and he's not even reclining next to her!! He's frikken SITTING IN A CHAIR ABOVE HER. That's not "I'm into this person" behaviour!!!

Perhaps he's doing this as an experiment - if there is a robbery while they are together, he can eliminate her as a suspect, but if not...

Of Course. He Can't eliminate her as a suspect. Because He Knows She Totally Did It. But he kinda feels sorry for her. Because in some ways? He can relate to losing everything. In some ways, he respects her. And in some ways, he thinks of what she does as a necessary evil.

He tells us as much at their picnic together when he implies to her that it's criminals (like her) that give him job security. Perhaps he respects how smart she is and how well she was able to commit the crime he was brought in to investigate (even though he obviously saw right through her from the very beginning). And perhaps he also respects that, despite her chosen occupation, she chooses to be a Refined and Proper Lady who Doesn't Kill People and Only Robs Rich People. And that she's clearly someone with a method. All things Poirot can respect/appreciate.

THEN. TO KEEP HER OCCUPIED WHEN HE CAN'T DO IT HIMSELF, he gets two other private detectives to keep an eye on her, implying that they're there to make sure she leaves the country without doing any more crime: "during your time here in England, there have been four very clever robberies. I do not wish for you to be involved in a fifth."

SO. Poirot basically spends the entire episode trying to give the Countess time to run away and continue her...somewhat necessary work Somewhere Else Please And Thank You and to sneakily tell her 'England isn't big enough for the both of Us. Don't You Dare Let Me Catch You Being a Thief in My Town Ever Again Or I Will Not Be Able To Give You A Second Chance And It Will Greatly Sadden Me.'

And he says it right out loud when he says: "You must continue your work and I must continue mine. But not in the same country."

AND FINALLY, and perhaps most importantly, let's get to the whole reason I started writing this post in the first place: What's UP with the Countess??

Well. I don't think she's the Countess Vera Rossakoff at all. I don't even think she's actually Russian.

What? Yes. Listen.

So She's supposed to be this countess-turned-refugee from Petrograd (which is known today as St. Petersburg)? Okay. You know what? Fair. I would absolutely buy that she's a refugee given that she seems to understand what it's like to lose everything. And it is clear that she is familiar enough with Russia to understand something about Russian impressionist artists and to know that an educated Russian person at the time would absolutely know how to speak French.

And she does make a compelling statement when she calls the city she is supposedly from Petrograd (even though by the time when the episode is set, it would have already been renamed to Leningrad); By calling the city Petrograd and not Leningrad, she's invoking a time period during The Great War when anti-german sentiments were enough to take the german-root words Sankt and Burg out of the city's name, but of course, in her case, right up until the Bolsheviks rose to power, which would supposedly be a clue as to when she left Russia.

So Why don't I think she's Actually Russian if she does all these things """correctly"""?

Well. I'm a Linguist. So my impression is mostly based on how she speaks.

First of all, we never actually hear her speaking Russian (only French and English), and the way she speaks English doesn't follow some of the more frequent patterns of Russian phonotactics and grammatical constructions that often find their way into Russian speakers' English. For example, she uses the sound [ð] (the "th" sound in words like "this" and "the"), which is a notoriously difficult sound for Russian speakers to learn because it's not a sound that's found in Russian, and even her education in French wouldn't be able to help her master that sound, because it's not a sound Parisian French speakers typically use either. Moreover, she uses definite and indefinite articles (the words "the" and "a" respectively), which are notoriously difficult for native Russian speakers to learn because Russian does not have these articles. Her education in French should help her with these, but even if it did, she would probably use more of them than a native English-speaker would expect (kind of like Poirot does) because articles are used in more places in French -- and she doesn't.

Second of all, she doesn't use Russian intonational patterns in the places I would expect to hear it. For example: she asks 'Do you suspect me?' with a rising intonation at the end of the phrase. Based on the Russian intonational patterns most commonly used with questions, I would expect a Russian speaker to say 'Do you suspect me?', emphasising the focal word instead and ending the phrase with a falling intonation.

(Obviously, in reality, these little quirks of her speech are probably just due to writing choices and the actress not knowing much about speaking Russian / probably not having an accent coach, but. It's fun to come up with little in-universe explanations for these things!!)

SO. Let's be real, lads. A jewel thief could absolutely assume the identity of a dead Russian countess if she said all the right things & had enough money from hocking her wares to buy a really nice wardrobe and some good luggage / manage to look and act the part.

But the simplest--and, if you ask me, most damning--piece of Evidence-That-She's-Not-Russian of all?

That would be her saying that she has no use for the cigarette case Poirot tries to give her because she read the initials engraved there as the English letters 'B' and 'P'.

AND POIROT IS THE ONE WHO HAS TO EXPLAIN TO HER that those symbols also stand for the 'V' and 'R' sounds in Russian!!!!

AND WHEN HE DOES, she only looks dumbfounded and says "You've been studying!"

If she was really a Russian Speaker? She would have taken one look at the BP on that cigarette case and read it as a 'V' sound & an 'R' sound just as easily as reading it as English "B" & "P".

Source? As a bilingual English-Russian Speaker myself, what happened in my head immediately upon seeing that cigarette case at the beginning of the episode. Was that my brain unhelpfully lol supplied both the English Phrase "Blood Pressure" and the Russian Word "время" (time), which starts with those two letters.

I would argue that. If the Countess was really a Russian speaker, a similar kind of thought process should have happened in her brain, too. And given that Russian is supposedly her first language (or at least one of the ones she would have had the most exposure to), she should have read those letters as 'V' & 'R' first. But this so-called Vera Rossakoff? Reads these letters as the English 'B' & 'P'? Come ON.

Now. I guess you could argue that, since she was in England and speaking English with Poirot at the time, that she would have been ""In English Mode"" and that she could have "Not Been Thinking" that BP also makes the 'V' & 'R' sounds in Russian.

But. There is a lot of literature out there in the psycholinguistics world to suggest that multilinguals cannot suppress one of their languages to that extent (especially not a language one has supposedly known since birth) - and most recent scholarship on competition between a multilinguals' languages agrees on one thing: words and sounds in all the languages known to the multilingal are activated in the brain during linguistic processing.

There are many psycholinguistics studies which delve into these mental processes. In case you're interested in the scholarship on this particular topic, here's some links: Here's one that talks about between-language competition during reading in multilinguals who speak languages with different scripts (English vs. Korean): Moon & Jiang (2011) Here's one that talks about between-language competition between words with a similar orthography (spelling) during reading in Dutch-English Bilinguals: van Heuven, W. J. B., Dijkstra, T., & Grainger, J. (1998) And here's a couple of studies by the same people that focus on a similar kind of between-language competition in Russian-English bilinguals specifically (although it's about spoken language instead of reading, but the mechanisms in the brain are probably very similar): Marian & Spivey (1999); Marian & Spivey (2003)

All of the above scholarship basically suggests that, when someone is processing words or sounds, even if the sounds/words of one of their languages do eventually get less activation than those of another, there is always some activation of all languages known to the multilingual at any given time during processing, and that competition between languages for activation differs depending on how familiar a speaker is with a given language (in other words, the more familiar the person is with a specific language, the more likely its words/sounds/etc. are to get activated in the brain during perception or production).

ANYWAY. I'M SORRY I KNOW SOME OF THAT WAS WORD SOUP. BUT LADS?? ALL I'M REALLY FUCKEN SAYING. IS SHE DAMN WELL SHOULD HAVE RECOGNISED HER OWN FUCKING INITIALS.

THEREFORE. TLDR??? I DON'T THINK SHE'S REALLY A RUSSIAN SPEAKER. BECAUSE ANY RUSSIAN SPEAKER WOULD SEE THE LETTERS ON THAT CIGARETTE CASE AND READ 'V' & 'R' FIRST. AND IF SHE DIDN'T RECOGNISE SOMETHING SHE SHOULD HAVE BEEN GETTING FAMILIAR WITH FROM THE TIME SINCE SHE STARTED LEARNING HOW TO READ, I DON'T THINK THOSE ARE REALLY HER INITIALS.

AND I BROUGHT A BIBLIOGRAPHY TO PROVE IT.

ALSO. TO RECAP MY POINTS FROM EARLIER. POIROT WAS NEVER INTO HER, EVEN THOUGH EVERYONE--INCLUDING HASTINGS--THOUGHT HE WAS.

NO. HE WANTED TO STUDY HER LIKE A BUG BECAUSE SHE'S A JEWELLERY THIEF WHO IS GOOD ENOUGH AT HER 'CHOSEN OCCUPATION' TO IMPERSONATE A RUSSIAN COUNTESS AND BASICALLY GET AWAY WITH IT, DESPITE ALL THE STUPID MISTAKES SHE'S BEEN MAKING. AND, LIKE A BUG, POIROT CAN APPRECIATE HER PLACE IN THE ECOSYSTEM, AS LONG AS IT DOES NOT INCLUDE HIS HOUSE.

IN THIS EPISODE, HE BASICALLY PUTS HER IN A GLASS JAR FOR A FEW DAYS TO OBSERVE HER SO SHE WILL STOP WREAKING HAVOC AND THEN HE PUTS HER OUTSIDE AND TELLS HER NEVER TO COME BACK INTO THE HOUSE AGAIN, OR ELSE.

AND!!! LET ME REITERATE!! THAT!!! HERCULE POIROT!!! IS IN LOVE!! WITH ONE PERSON!! AND ONE PERSON ONLY!! AND THAT PERSON'S NAME IS CAPTAIN ARTHUR J.M. HASTINGS!!!

I REST MY CASE YOUR HONOUR.

Anyway!!!! TLDR-TLDR: If you ask me, Poirot's behaviour towards the countess isn't that of a Man in Love. It's the calculating behaviour of someone who knows a good adversary when he sees one (even if her attraction to him made her transparent from the start) and a man who would feel a little like he was vandalising an exquisite forgery of a Rembrandt if he had to go and get her arrested - like. Sure, she may not be the real thing, but damn, is she good at playing her part.

AANYWAAY Now that I have shouted my opinions at the subway walls. I will stop here. because this post has already gotten entIRELY too long.

If you made it this far in this post, thank you very much for reading my ramblings to completion!! I hope you enjoyed them!! Спасибо за ваше внимание!!