#First Draft Complete

[naffeclipse]

[prettylittlelyres]

Ladies Don't Write Music - complete!

I finished writing the first draft of the first "Violins and Violets" book!

It's taken me 2 days to get round to writing a blog post about it (today is 15th December), but I actually finished the manuscript from the 13th of December, with 93,226 words in total. I wrote 50,120 of those words in November, and another 9,852 in December.

I have been working on this manuscript since the 31st July, so it's taken me 136 days. That's a daily average of 685 words per day, and there were quite a few days when I didn't write at all, But I am very pleased to say that I have written every single day since 31st October (inclusive).

One of the things I wanted to do this year was get back into a better writing habit, and I think I've managed that! It's been a very difficult year for a number of reasons, so I have also been trying to be kind to myself. I would have forgiven myself if I haven't managed to make NaNoWriMo happen this year, and I would have forgiven myself if I hadn't managed to get the first book finished and the second book started...

...but I haven't needed to, because despite everything, I have done all of those things!

Last night, the 14th of December, I started writing the sequel to "Ladies Don't Write Music". I didn't even take one day off! And that's not me being harsh with myself. I was so excited to get started on the second book that it would have been harsh to make myself take a break. I'm so excited about this story!

My tasks today, when I have taken a day off work as annual leave, are to write some more of the sequel, ideally about 1,500 words, and to plan it out properly with the snowflake method. The sequel has a lot more in common with the older drafts of "Violins and Violets," so I can probably just reuse the snowflakes that I used for those, and just add bits where I want to, but I still need to look at them.

The sequel doesn't have a title yet, but I am toying with the idea of calling it "Ladies Don't Run Away."

[the-maw-consumes]

do you think it'll let up soon?

static version:

[smokin-salmon]

HAPPY (very, very late) BIRTHDAY MIRABELLE!!

[ruporas]

it's time to go, my love (ID in alt)

[laurasimonsdaughter]

“The first thing you need to know,” the stable master announced loudly to the gaggle of school children trailing behind her, “is that these are not unicorns.”

Eleven-year-olds tended to be loud. Their silent scepticism was deafening.

“You cannot keep unicorns in captivity,” she continued. “These are all crossbreeds, mostly with specific breeds of horses.”

There was a small murmur of curiosity and a gangly arm shot up into the air.

“Yes?”

“Only mostly horses?”

It was always fun when some of them paid close attention. “Only mostly horses. I only deal with European breeds, and they tend to cross well with horses. See this here is a cross between a grey Thoroughbred and an English Unicorn. They’re large, and reasonably docile.” They also had that champagne sheen most showy folk preferred. “For people who come here looking for a steed, this is their best bet. Although I've only ever seen it done by people who personally broke them as yearlings.”

By now she definitely had the whole class’s full attention.

“But this French Licorne cross is actually half fallow deer.” She gestured to the pasture beyond the fence. “Look at them. Slight build, slender legs, built for speed and agility. They need a lot of space but they are beautiful to look at, and they’re relatively easy to tame for the pure of heart.” There was still something distinctly deer-like about them and they were all so beautifully cream coloured that they almost took on a silver hue.

“What’s those hairy ones?” a voice piped up.

“That’s a Unicorno/Shetland mix, from central Italy. Traditionally they tend to be crossed with Monterufolino, but they are hard to come by and make their coats even darker.” Unicorni were naturally built more like ponies, some with considerably shorter horns, and their coats were often a much darker gold, or even brown. They were less flighty than the French breeds though, even if they showed blatant favouritism towards certain caretakers. They would even pull a carriage if properly motivated.

“Do you have any bigger ones?”

The stable master turned around. “What was that?”

One of the boys was standing behind her with a determined look on his face. “Do you have any like that but bigger. With the beards and the furry hooves.”

“Feathering,” she corrected automatically and the boy nodded eagerly. She frowned. “What exactly do you mean?”

“There’s really big unicorns,” he pressed. “With wild manes and tails and split hooves like the French ones but hair like those ones!”

“Buddy,” she laughed, “what you’re describing there is a Scottish unicorn and let me tell you, they cannot even be crossbred into domestication.”

The little face fell.

“Any offspring of an Aon-adharcach will be as wild as they are no one can capture them with their horn still intact, not on your life. You go near one of them with a halter and it will skewer you.”

She smiled at the boy, who still looked rather taken aback, despite this proof of his favourites superiority.

“Tell you what. If you want to see something unhinged and imposing, I’ll take you to see the Eenhoorn/Friesian cross we’ve just got in from the Netherlands.”

[lilybug-02]

Wow. That could not have turned out worse.

Part 23 || First || Previous || Next

--Full Series--

This comic will be on Holiday Hiatus this December and January! While on a cliffhanger? What a scam! >:/

[starry-bi-sky]

I'm in A Mood™ (stressed) so im going back to my roots of melting two character together into one person. So bruce wayne!danny fenton. Danny Fenton who, for eight years, grew up in a beautiful gothic manor with his mom and dad under the name "Bruce Wayne". Playing piano with his mother, running around the manor with his father.

Then when he's eight it's ripped away from him. There's blood on his hands and pearls pooling at his feet, and both his parents are dead in front of him.

And he gets shipped off to distant relatives "the Fentons" shortly after, Alfred close on his heels because someone needs to take care of him, someone that knows him. Bruce goes to the Fentons for the safety of anonymity. Gotham's press wants to sink its teeth into him.

Danny misses his city even if it took everything from him. There are shadows in his eyes and he's pale as a sheet even beside his distant cousins, and they change his name to "Danny Fenton' because nobody should know that their newest child was illustrious orphan Bruce Wayne.

They call him Bruce behind closed doors. Danny prefers it that way, he clings onto the name -- the one his parents gave him -- like a lifeline. He makes friends with Sam and Tucker. Tucker takes one look at the willowy, morbid little boy standing in the corner like a shade, ghosts in his eyes, and drags him out into the sunlight, and takes him over to Sam.

When Danny is twelve, he's still not over it -- and he's a little obsessed with the Fentons' research, with the morbid. He has books upon books on death, murder, detective work. Anything he can get his hands on. And stars. He loves stars.

Alfred owns the apartment next to them and comes over regularly. Danny clings to him.

When Danny is twelve, he's still quiet, meek, a shy little thing prone to being bullied. Freaky little Fenton with the night in his eyes and too-cold skin even before he put one foot in the grave. in a sleepover in his room with Sam and Tucker, he tells them the truth. They're his friends, he trusts them.

"My name is Bruce." he murmurs, voice quiet as the breeze, always quiet. he's staring at his star-covered sheets.

"Like Bruce Wayne?" Tucker asks, a joking tone in his voice.

Danny smiles a little, lamb-like with insecurity. "I am Bruce Wayne." And he takes them down to the lab, disrupting Maddie and Jack, to prove it. Sam tells them of her own wealth then shortly after. They start calling Danny "Bruce" in private too -- its trust. Thats what it is. It's trust.

Sam goes to media functions and comes back with aching feet and complaints on her tongue -- and Danny soaks it up all like a sponge, splayed across a beanbag chair with Tucker in her room. He's not envious of her, he used to go to events with his parents and they kept him safe from the ugly of Gotham's Elite. For the most part. He's had comments made at him, he doesn't miss them.

Alfred returns to the manor semi-regularly, Danny goes with him. he wanders the hallways and helps Alfred clean, the last thing either of them want is for their home to fall into disrepair. He brings Jazz with him next time, then Tucker, then Sam. They all help him clean, and he shows them his room. The one across from his parents', it feels strange.

When Danny dies when he's fourteen, the first adult he tells is Alfred. He and Jazz go over to his house more often than they stay in the Fentonworks building. At least at Alfred's, the food doesn't come to life. Alfred sits at the kitchen table and weeps when Danny tells him, Jazz is upstairs, and its just the two of them.

Danny's ghost form wears pearls around his wrist and the gloves look stained with some kind of black substance. He looks like a child who died in a lab accident, but he also looks like a child who has shadows dripping off his shoulders, curling at his feet, hanging from his eyes.

because amorphous blob batman has my heart always and danny/bruce will not escape it even in death even if that IS the only reason im giving him Mild BatBlob Vibes...so far

when they go to the manor, alfred helps danny make a pile of stones between Martha and Thomas' graves, nobody but the two of them (and sam and tucker) will know what it means. (not even bruce's children later down the line, not for a long, long time)

danny dives into ghost fighting on shaky feet and not half as witty as he once was in one world. he's skittish, skittering between blasts from shadow to shadow and clumsily making his way through each battle. but helping people lights a fire in him. he still has shadows dripping off his feet but there's a purpose in his eyes.

and god help him, he's going to help people.

[my-darling-boy]

It’s horrible how my design course has killed my enjoyment in creativity because all they want is finished pieces founded in nothing but a spontaneous mark just to hang at some concrete art gallery or to sell to some “join our revolution” comfy business-casual company with a prison cell wellness room. I’m not saying that it’s “not art” —cos that’s a different post altogether— it’s that the ethos behind this particular formula for art education is ruining the way we think about creation.

Design courses (and other art courses I’ve heard?) are no longer teaching artists or designers techniques, drawing skills, art fundamentals and allowing them to find their own voice so much as they are only instructing how to tic boxes alongside pushing corporate and classist motivated style/methodology bias aimed at producing workers, not creatives, not to mention providing Adobe with endless funds for their despicable scam programs. That’s it. My creativity is only a means to money for them, and if they can extract the process of creation from me without the complex creative intimacy involved in it, they know they can churn out products and services faster and it’s concerning some lecturers don’t seem to be aware this is what they’re teaching? Like they’re buying into industry propaganda?

And the whole time it’s sold to you like you can be some trailblazer when the irony is they’re usually either prepping you for cubicle work or for some misguided high horse creative team pumping out design solutions completely divorced from the reality. I’m tired of all the talks about sustainability in a vacuum with no conversation about nuanced designs that factor in broader social and economic perspectives which lack thereof is leading to sustainable products being sold at a price only able to be afforded by wealthier people who are causing said economic and social problems and contributing to the rapid obsoletion of trades and crafts. Lecturers and speakers don’t seem to think that’s any of our concern and should just worry about producing the design for the hypothetical Bluetooth powered organic hairbrush or using the twigs to make the pattern for the £85 fabric square.

Like? Can I please make something that actually resonates with people outside the circle jerk of egotistical creatives and corporations? Something charming and maybe idk something that doesn’t make me want to tear my miserable portfolio in half with my teeth? And they’re like Mm nope sorry it has to be an extreme close up of a mark making abstract leaf you made from a recycled trash bag inspired by a stalled urban space which we will force you to price at £100 during your exhibition 5 people will bother to attend and no you’re not allowed any other style cos this isn’t the Dark Ages :///

I think the worst thing my lecturer ever said was, while looking around the room of our class work reduced down to a series of cubes and splatters and abstract typography, “Wow, I love how you can’t tell what anyone’s [main artist discipline] is!” Like awww conformity at the expense of a person’s individuality to make pieces for airport hallways and rich people’s living rooms wow so cool heehee like girl that’s not good?? Why on Earth are you complimenting us for that? Like I get it, I thought this course would boost skillset as an illustrator (as we were told), turns out the degree is really not for me, fair enough to anyone thinking that, but forcing students to produce modern abstract art because you think it’s the ONLY Logical Pathway for the future of design, judging them intensely for doing a different style, and thinking producing financially inaccessible art + design is the solution to things like climate change and community severance is an objectively bad take.

[starflungwaddledee]

Gimme that GOOD shit girlie 💅✨ (Starstruck x Galacta knight)

✧˖°. give up what you love, before it does you in .°˖✧

[threeshadesoflime]

purgatory fanart of that one scene where phil loses his wings for the second time

[devondespresso]

i will not dedicate hours to explaining that & pairings are not the lower-focus version of romantic pairings, i will not dedicate hours to explaining that & pairings are not the less important version of romantic pairings, i will NOT--

[shizunitis]

Luo Binghe: Original Drafts Edition! Who and why?

“[…] in fact, in his original outline, Bing-gē hadn’t even had a romance plotline; he had been doomed to fade away, alone and unaging forever.” — The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System, Vol. 4 (Mo Xiang Tong Xiu)

The drafts version of Binghe! Not Bing-gē, nor Bing-mei, but a secret, third thing! (I’m partial to Bing-xióng (兄) myself, just for thematic cohesion. Bing-mei remains as he is: Shizun’s special glass-heart maiden.)

So! Who is this elusive, mythical Binghe we never got the chance to meet? What is he? How do I get to pick this one’s brains?

Why is he haunting me! What does he want! So much to think about.

Listen: I love my trash sons, both the racoon and wet dog variations, but I am curious about this handsome demon lord who did not bed thousands, and did not steal his shizun to lovingly coax him into a loving and respectful marriage. Alas, Airplane-bro, as is custom, has left me hanging.

The solitary quote above has been floating around my brainspace for months. Intermittently, I would look up at the sky and sigh a big sad dog sigh, and think of this lonely demon-man emperor who seems to be both perfectly representative of No-Shizunitis Suffering Binghe, and on the exact opposite end of the line. I have spent many a night trying to rearrange the blocks of both SVSSS and PIDW like a sad toddler with no plan but plenty of amorphous longing.

Thus, Bing-xiong. My beloved new toy.

We know he is left alone and unaging. This means that:

He does not marry even once. (Sorry, Other Bing Variants. This one came broken.)

He is not defeated, killed, or left to suffer his not-father’s fate of sulking under a mountain.

From 1) we can assume two more things! Xin Mo either gets fixed/doesn’t influence this Binghe the same way, or: Xin Mo is completely written off à la Airplane Retconning, making Binghe potentially even more individually powerful than his younger counterparts.

(Or he just. Takes people’s cultivation ad-infinitum. Interesting thought, but too straight-forward for my tastes. Airplane’s thoughts? Unknowable.)

From 2) we can also assume Binghe cannot die, is under the influence of the Protagonist Halo unto infinity, and will only be put out of his misery once the heat death of the universe deems it a worthwhile endeavour. Either that or the story ends, but. It tickles a miserable part of my brain pink to think Binghe will not be let off even then.

Anyway. Bing-xiong, of course, has the same source material to work off of. Up until the Abyss, and including it, the plotline should be if not the same, adjacent enough to be indistinguishable.

However. This means:

Bing-xiong never got coerced into sex by Qin Wanyue, thus not starting him on the path of sex-dependency/addiction, avoiding Bing-gē’s fate by virtue of the Butterfly Effect. (Read this post because it explains Bing-ge's whole thing better than a lot of things I've seen.)

Again, Xin Mo implications.

Alternate Universe Shenanigans make an appearance. (Shen Jiu’s fever and death was actually meant to happen, Bing-ge just got very, very unlucky and his Universe’s Yue Qingyuan very, very lucky. For a few years. Either that or there is a Shen Yuan for every Binghe! Again: sorry, Bing-ge. You need to find your own. Middle child issues…)

Once the drafts/original outline got lost, all bets are off and now the characters become real people, without narrative influence. This also has the very fucked up implication that Bing-ge is actually a result of exclusively external forces and would have never gone down that path if not forced onto it by Airplane’s unwitting hands. I do and do not love this version. Very Mo Ran-esque, if looked at from afar and squinting.

Other options I’m either too not-high to think, or too high to put together. (Cold medicine is insane?)

I am fascinated by this… Schrödinger’s Binghe. A jaded, lonely emperor left in the ashes of his world, gazing upon his own history and finding fucking nothing and no one. Metaphorically and, like, practically, if I’m understanding Airplane’s musings correctly. Isolated, cursed by his own blood in a completely new and fucked up way!

I need Airplane to speak with me for like, half an hour. This is paramount to my mental health, I’m losing my braincells by the hour.

What happened to this impervious, cocky, badass demon bastard lord to become so alone? How did it happen? Why did it not happen to the other two, or at least Bing-ge, who has had every horrible and shitty thing possible and impossible piled onto his head? What the fuck is up with Xin Mo? Why isn’t it eating away at Big Bro Luo? Or, worse: why is it eating away at him in such a way that instead of turning into a violent yet charismatic, horror-creature of a man, it turns him into the existential terror-fate I’ve contemplated and abhorred since I was seven?

Tianlang-jun as the final boss. Discovering Huan Hua Palace Master’s crimes, deceit and… stuff. Perhaps even uncovering Shen Jiu’s backstory.

Ooh! Worse! Or better? What if he finds out everything, after having followed Bing-gē’s path, and simply… gives up? A grown up Bing-ge, minus the marriage and surrogate-lover part(s).

(More unlikely than other options, but still there, I guess.)

Fucking insane of MXTX to do this to me, personally and specifically.

I can only speculate forever, I guess! Left… alone and pondering forever.

So. Not a Bing-ge, and not a Bing-mei. A Bing-xiong, if you will.

[pommegrantaire]

I can't imagine I'm the first one to think of and/or draw these two based off of this scene from The IT Crowd, but I couldn't rest until I got it out of my system.

[kindahoping4forever]

Bts of the boy EP visuals via lamajamakeup

[zukosdualdao]

another thing about the crystal catacombs is that it seems clear to me that katara and zuko MUST talk a little more in between what we actually see, because when zuko says, “i’m sorry, that’s something we have in common”, they are both sitting-slash-kneeling, and in the next scene (after a switch to other plotty events) they’re both standing, and katara is apologizing for yelling at him. i don’t think it was a particularly LONG addition to the conversation (i imagine katara asking what he means, zuko wanting to connect but not really knowing how to talk about it further due to The Abuse Trauma, katara apologizing for yelling because she thinks that’s why he’s not opening up, etc.) but what i AM trying to figure out (for fic-writing purposes) is what caused them both to stand back up?