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#also it’s fun to contemplate the writing of history in a fantasy setting
wrenlywofau · 1 year
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The Legends of how Pyrrhia’s Tribes got their Powers
(Shout-out to this video that I based most of this on!!)
A common IceWing legend tell of a great Ice Dragon (notably never referred to as an IceWing) flying up to the auroras in the frozen night sky and touching them in order to gain animus powers. This Ice Dragon would’ve lived just after the scorching, when the modern tribes were still forming. She’s regarded as the first queen of what would become the tribe, and though her real name has been lost, it’s not uncommon to hear dragons referring to her as Aurora.
The first SeaWing animus, Prince Albatross, was born as the result of an IceWing prince and SeaWing princess some 2,000 years later.
NightWings’ abilities come from the three moons, which they say were once brothers born with different powers; Perception could read minds, Oracle could see the future, and Imperial could do both to a much stronger degree. It was once said that they watched over the tribe, but this story didn’t prevail much longer after Darkstalker’s time, when the NightWings moved to a new kingdom and stopped being able to see the moons. Hope is working to repopularize this tale.
SkyWing dragonets with firescales have only ever been known to be born on the summer solstice. For a long time, all eggs set to hatch on this date were killed, but after generations of no firescaled dragonets hatching, the tradition fell out of practice. By the time Peril was born, the massacre hadn’t occurred in years, with egg instead just being kept out of the sunlight on this day. It’s said that the first firescales, a dragon named Solstice, tried to force his way into power, and that legions of dragons died trying to stop him.
There is no set-in-stone tale as to how SandWings got their animus abilities. Some say they come from an IceWing hybrid, or a SandWing who followed Aurora into the stars, while others tell of the moons stealing them from the IceWings to give to the SandWings. Though the latter is the basis of why the SandWings worship the moons, few modern SandWings are aware of this origin.
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History is written by the victors, and often without the intent of telling the full story. Take these legends with a grain of salt, most notably how they could easily be misconstrued.
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femmefatalevibe · 1 year
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(writer anon!) I really like to write fiction, but I'm also interested in writing nonfiction to broaden my skills, if this helps.
Hi love! I'm not a professional fiction writer/author, but my first mentor was one (high school English teacher), so I'll share some of the fiction writing tips I still remember (hopefully correctly lol) that I didn't mention in my original, general writing post:
Tips For Writing Fiction:
Study your subject and the primary motivations, desires, insecurities, and fatal flaws that would plague the characters within the chosen setting/plot. Consider your narrative's culture and structure its "norms." How do your characters navigate these settings – conform, rebel, lead, follow? Structure your plot points around dilemmas, successes, and tensions that the reader would expect to occur within the plot you've set up.
Develop characters that you illustrate how they are a "product of their environment." Allow readers to get inside the characters' minds. Ideally, each character struggles with their own "moral dilemma" that they contemplate or attempt to work through over the course of the story. Build tension through plot points that provide contrast between characters with different "moral" scripts to undercover something deeper about each character and the fabric of their "society."
Embrace the "ugliness" inside of each character's mind – the deep or unprovoked thoughts that others relate to, but outside of a literary context, wouldn't dare to say out loud. Use show, not tell to display their flaws, triumphs, and other natural ebbs/flows that come with existing.
Have a plan for writing, but let the work finish itself, depending on how the characters develop themselves
Use descriptions, not observations to set the stage. Evoke and show provoked emotions, not describe the characters' feelings directly
Tips For Non-Fiction Writing:
Dive deep into a subject of interest, and consider its history, trends, and innovations. What conclusions or new perspectives can you articulate from this information?
Develop a multi-layered "thesis" to organize your ideas and clarify your POV. How do these interpretations help us come to unique and a deeper understanding of previous studies, research, anecdotes, and developments within this field of interest?
Begin your story on an unexpected or controversial note. Consider using a personal story or historical "fun fact" to draw the reader into the piece. Introducing your story with a personal story, question, or seemingly deviant question can easily hook your audience.
Give them a chance to ponder your new insights or thought-provoking ideas while reading your story. Use personal stories and research study findings to give authority to your story. Extract the main takeaways from these anecdotes, and use them to offer questions about the situations, dilemmas, or overall subject matter to your audience.
Be clear about your structure and how you organize your points. Ensure there's a logical flow between paragraphs, grafs, and sections (or chapters).
Don't forget to evoke emotion through your language and word choice. Allow your humanity to come through, use clever, relevant, humor. Make the audience feel like they're entering an educational fantasy land where the "storylines" envelop your mind as much as they do the page.
Hope this helps! x
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peakespages · 1 year
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Ten to Take Away: Autumnal Reads
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Autumn is a season which, to borrow a phrase, contains multitudes. It is a season that marks the end of summer, and thus the oncoming end of the calendar year, and yet it also marks new beginnings in terms of academic environments. It is a time when nature blooms with its last bursts of vivid colour, to contrast sharply with the barren bleakness awaiting by the time the season ends. And above all, it is effectively Hallowe’en season, whether that holds contemplation of death and mortality, or simple costumed fun. Here, I’ve tried to pull together a list of books which capture Autumn in all its shades.
The Secret History by Donna Tartt
A quintessential Autumn book, and more or less the birthplace of the modern trend for ‘dark academia’, Tartt’s novel has Californian Richard relocate to a prestigious New England college, and attempt to fall in with a group of mysterious, affected Classics students. Murder, tension, intrigue and college study schedules abound!
Mort by Terry Pratchett
Pratchett’s beloved Discworld deserves its own post, but his Mort, in which the eponymous boy becomes apprentice to Death, scythe, cloak and all, fits in well with the Autumnal months, as one considers the end of all things, and skulls leer around every corner.
The Memory Police by Yoko Ogawa
Autumnal in feeling, if not as much in setting, Ogawa’s book presents a strange life on an island where memories can apparently be controlled externally, and evokes that wistful feeling which is so ubiquitous between September and December each year.
A Frog in the Fall by Linnea Sterte
A gentle, wistful book about a small frog undertaking a big journey, Sterte’s accomplished illustration brings the season to life, and showcases an abundant love of the natural world.
Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke
A great, long book to curl up with as the nights draw in, Clarke’s eponymous characters are two rival magicians who both get in rather over their heads as their powers, and rivalry, grow stronger. A good demonstration that the folly of man can provide more chills than anything offered by the supernatural.
Lovecraft Country by Matt Ruff
Ruff evokes the cosmic-horror made famous by HP Lovecraft, but blends it with the all-too-real horror prejudice and racist violence, in a series of creepy connected stories.
Thisby Thestoop and the Black Mountain by Zac Gorman
A grimier twist on some classic fantasy tropes, Gorman’s hero is a keeper of a huge, monster-infested dungeon, who finds herself tasked with ensuring a lost princess doesn’t cross paths with too many of the dungeon’s worst denizens. What could be more in keeping with the spirit of autumn than a book where one of the ‘worst’ monsters is an enormous black cat?
The Upstairs Room by Kate Murray-Browne
Different kinds of ghosts haunt the protagonists, a married couple and their live-in lodger, of Murray-Browne’s debut novel. Regret, mistakes and the permanence of times’ march loom large in our characters’ lives, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, there really is something off about that upstairs bedroom…
Wild’s End by Dan Abnett & INJ Culbard
Across 3 volumes, Abnett & Culbard essentially mix The Wind in the Willows with the War of the Worlds, resulting in a dark and more-than-occasionally frightening journey across the English countryside for a group of disparate villagers.
Salem’s Lot by Stephen King
It would be difficult to ignore the King of the scary story, and while I plan to write a longer post focusing on King’s works in the near future, it would be remiss not to mention his spin on Stoker’s Dracula, which results in one of the definitive vampire stories as a small town falls under the sway of a mysterious newcomer.
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phoenixtakaramono · 3 years
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Does Bing gē Have Descendants in ‘The Untold Tale?’
This topic has come up a few times since The Untold Tale takes place in the PIDW universe (post-Bingge vs Bingmei extra), I figured I might as well compile and archive my official answer here for me to refer my AO3 readers to in the future for convenience’s sake. I hope everyone doesn’t mind. :) I’m always happy to answer questions!
TL;DR
Q: Will we see Bing gē having fathered children with his harem of 600 or so wives in TUT?
A: For TUT, the answer is a definite “no.” There were a lot of factors which’d contributed to my decision. I’ll try to explain my reasoning down below.
Context
In PIDW, it is canon that Luo Binghe has a bountiful number of descendants with his harem of 600-or-so wives. It is a detail that has been mentioned even in ch1 of SVSSS and in ep1 of the donghua.
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(SVSSS Excerpt - ch1)
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(SVSSS donghua - ep1)
I like to plan things ahead of time. So from very early on, I knew this would be something I would have to decide on whether or not to address when I’d finally decided to expand TUT from just a prologue into a full-blown story. And after contemplating it, I decided against adding children into the story. It is because 1) it would make the situation more complicated, and 2) it would take TUT in a different direction that wouldn’t be fun for me to write.
I’m a very decisive writer, meaning when I make my mind up about something, chances are I won’t change my mind. This is because I would have already planned it into my plot outline, which means changing a decision would require me to change other details in the other chapters I have planned for that story. (I’m typically not a spontaneous writer; I try not to write spontaneously because when you’re a writer who rotates through multiple WIPs with different characters across different genres or writing styles, you inevitably have writer’s block because you probably won’t remember all the ideas or the direction you had whenever you return back to a different WIP. To reduce this shortcoming, it helps me personally to have a plot outline. This way I can return to any WIP, read my notes and then transcribe them into legible paragraphs, find a way to transition between the story beats I have to hit for that chapter, and then eventually post the final draft to AO3 when I feel it’s ready.)
Having made a decision, I knew I had to set it up in TUT and give a “reasonable explanation in-story.” Hence, in ch2, we see:
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(Excerpt I - ch2)
Basically the set-up is TUT takes place post-Bingge vs Bingmei, but between “the third or fourth book” of the hypothetical PIDW webnovel series aka before Airplane wrote the fanservicey chapters where the luckier of LBH’s wives give birth to children during the harem drama plots and the children are probably rarely, if ever, mentioned again in the story as a lot of stallion novels tend to do.
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(Excerpt II - ch2)
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(Excerpt III - ch2)
Contrarian Tendencies
You know the saying: Monkey see, monkey do? In my case, it’s monkey see, monkey do not do.
A little fun fact about me as a writer: if I have already seen a fanfic where someone has already written a concept or idea into their story, chances are I will just avoid it entirely in my own stories. I don’t know why this aversion exists, but I’m assuming it’s because of my counterculture hipster inclinations and an intrinsic fear of plagiarism which has been beaten into all of our skulls since adolescence. There’s nothing wrong with being inspired by other people’s works. Technically everything’s been done before in writing so, as a writer, a good rule of thumb is to always try to give it your own unique spin on things. So for me, my brain somehow interpreted this a step further. This is a reason why I try to avoid reading stories from whichever fandom my WIP is from during the writing process of updating a fic, because this is how I get influenced. Once I see an idea or interpretation from another fanfiction, it influences me to not want to write it into my own. This is a very strong unconscious impulse for me. I guess this is just the neurons in my brain’s thinking that this way, it won’t be something my readers will have read before and the story idea will come across as different or fresh, and mine. In a way this is also how I show respect for fanfiction writers in the same fandom—by being inspired to not be inspired, ha. I like to think every story in the world serves a niche audience, so seeing a diverse range of originality and interpretations in a fandom is a good thing. This is also how I feel when I am able to identify certain popular tropes or depictions or patterns in a fandom; 99% of the time, it makes me feel a compulsion to “go against the grain” or write the opposite. For example, you have no idea how long it took me to come around the idea of incorporating the fanon “A-Yuan” into TUT. However cute it is, the moment it dominated the fandom (well, “dominated” is an exaggeration; it’s more like I’ve seen enough, especially in the Original LBH/ SY | SQQ tag), my gut reaction was to nope out of using it. But after seeing a lot of comments in my inbox with readers affectionately calling SY “A-Yuan,” I’d contemplated it for a long time and it wasn’t until ch4 that I decisively decided that yes, I can have Bing gē calling SY “A-Yuan” in TUT—but it has to be at the right moment for maximum dramatic and emotional impact. (See this thread that started it all. And this is the small sneak peek I wrote where LBH will call SY that for the first time.) <- This is the rare 1% where I actually conformed to what’s popular.
In this case, when I finally decided to expand the prologue into a full-blown story, coincidentally I had just recently read a good Binggeyuan (Bingyuan) fanfic which featured a kidnapped Shen Yuan interacting with Bing gē’s harem and LBH’s children/descendants. I’d liked their portrayal and even thought the children were cute. <- However, with me having reading this, the problem came up: I felt the familiar stubbornness in me rearing its head. So knowing myself, if I had included children, it is very likely the direction that I would have gone down for TUT would have been the opposite. To further complicate matters, you have to keep in mind the kind of writer I am. I tend to like grounding stories with a semblance of realism, no matter if the genre is pseudohistorical fantasy, romance, sci-fi, etc. And this writer has seen and read quite a few harem and palace intrigue Chinese dramas/ premises.
For further context, in those types of “historical” C-dramas^, in that sort of environment which fosters scheming, competition, jealousy, etc, it is almost expected to see heirs aka children aka descendants harmed along with the women. Innocent parties are often victims in these sorts of cutthroat premises, to underscore the underlying message the show or novel wishes to present. (See Ruyi’s Royal Love in the Palace. See Yanxi Palace. See The Legend of Haolan. See Nirvana in Fire. See The Rebirth of the Malicious Empress of Military Lineage. Etc.) And me being me, this would be the direction I would take. Remember, while TUT is meant to emulate a legitimate danmei C-novel reading experience in a fantasy world, I do drop pseudohistorical and cultural Easter eggs into the story. So trust me when I say you would not like the direction TUT would have gone down in, had I made LBH have children with his harem. I mean, theoretically yes, we could’ve seen endearing children characters from me, but you would have also seen me addressing a lot of the baggage that comes with (see Comment III Excerpt down below).
The situation with dissolving Bing gē’s harem is already complicated enough. As his romance with Shen Yuan develops, I didn’t want to have an additional headache thinking about how to address the issue of LBH having children already. Divorces in a pseudohistorical context is already a heavy topic—even more so when it’s divorces with children in the mix. Naturally I will still have SY and LBH eventually discuss the matter of legitimate heirs since LBH will essentially become the Sacred Ruler of all Three Realms and it’s a traditional precedent for an emperor to bed his empress, noble consort, and imperial concubines until he has his heirs (plural, because the rate of mortality was high in ancient China). In TUT’s case, at that point in the story SY will remind LBH that he’s essentially an immortal sovereign so there isn’t any need for an heir unless he wishes to retire. Furthermore, he will inform LBH that he could set a new precedent since he’s already different from the other emperors from history (with him being of half-Heavenly Demon and half-human cultivator lineage); as long as LBH is fully aware of all perspectives of the situation, he doesn’t necessarily need to conform to all traditions if this is something he really feels strongly about. But this future conversation(s) is likely the extent of it.
But wait, you say, what about a certain someone who’s going to be transmigrated as an imperial crown prince? Isn’t he going to be in that sort of vicious upbringing? <- Yes. But that’s an entirely seperate matter. In a way, since I’ve decided Bing gē will not have had any children or descendants in TUT, with Airplane, this now presents an opportunity for me to show the consequences of being one of the many children of an emperor with a harem of women vying for one man’s attention—and the power struggle that’d ensue in this kind of environment. It’s an interesting What-If parallel, if you think about it.
AO3 Comments
Although these are just small excerpts from replies I’ve written before, it’s nice and orderly to just compile them here for everyone since these will be buried underneath all the comments as TUT updates:
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(Comment I- ch3)
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(Comment II- ch4)
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(Comment III- ch4)
Because of seeing comments that have asked me for my thoughts on whether or not I will include LBH’s children, I’ve had so much fun seeing theories thrown around: from LBH’s blood parasites being able to control conception, to someone’s headcanon about LBH being a hybrid and all that entails scientifically (think: mules). I will say in TUT, it’s more the former since in PIDW he’s supposed to have descendants; we’re pretending Bing gē doesn’t have any yet (and now definitely won’t, especially after having heard SY’s “prophecy”) because he subconsciously does not want children due to certain fears, trauma, etc. And his Heavenly Demon’s “blood parasites” (blood manipulation) is a convenient story device to explain why no wife has gotten pregnant yet.
I hope this explanation makes sense! Mainly I just wanted to have this archived on tumblr so that I have this post to refer to moving forward.
On a side note: especially since ch4 had been posted, quite a few people have actually mentioned they’ve read my replies to other comments and/or I have seen different people having hopped onto other readers’ comment threads (for example, imagine my pleasant surprise when I saw a reader you lovely person, you helpfully jumping in to respond to another reader’s questions about TUT, and their answers were actually aligned with what I would’ve answered!), so it’s always such a thrill whenever I see this level of engagement happening. I can’t explain why, but seeing this happening is just so cute to me. It really makes this writer feel so warm and fuzzy inside!
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h3trappedcollection · 4 years
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Author Interview Part V
The talented and all-round fabulous @weilongfu joined us today for another part of the Author Interview. 
Stories written for the Collection:
The Day of Singularity
Four meetings with Officer Meng (But one with Shao Fei) 
Interview:
How did you come into the Trapped fandom?
I came into the Trapped fandom the way I’ve gotten into many of my fandoms. By everyone around me screaming about it. People like @andwebegin, @ctl-yuejie, and @florbexter were pretty instrumental in getting me aware that it was going to happen. Especially after having taken their word about HIStory2: CTL, I was more than willing to check out Trapped. Especially after I found out more about the potential plot. 
My usual philosophy after that is to at least watch the first few episodes. If I’m not hooked by anything, then I give it up. Trapped kept me hooked for good! I fell in love with everyone in the show and the rest is… history? 
Who’s your favourite character?
I love a lot of characters in the show for different reasons. I love Zhao Zi for his honesty and genuine desire to do good. I like the mystery and mischief of Jack. I admire Tang Yi’s deep feelings and emotions. And I greatly enjoyed Shao Fei’s straightforwardness and ability to commit. If I had to pick one, I’d go with Zhao Zi because we both love food, potentially like dangerous boys, and we both want the world to be a better place.
What’s your favourite trope?
I honestly have been enjoying a lot of the AU fics that are in the fandom. Like the original Trapped setting is great, but pushing the boys into college or further back? It’s been an amazing thing to read and I’ve enjoyed it immensely. As to whether I’ll write it? Eh… Someone did ask if I’d ever write a proposed fic about College Freshman!Jack dating HS Senior!Zhao Zi so…
What do you like about writing for Trapped?
The best part about writing for Trapped has actually been the fandom. Everyone is so supportive and nice. It’s a real pleasure to see the responses I get which are also always very friendly. 
Aside from that? Trapped has such varied and interesting characters. It’s very easy to find the right knob to twist or switch to flip that can make a large variety of fics happen. 
Care to elaborate about your writing process?
My writing process is a mess!
I don’t usually outline because then I over-outline. A lot of my fics were spawned from just coming up with a good title! And that’s in every fandom I write for. 
But once I get going, things usually just flow. I’ll go back and read it once or twice to make sure I haven’t truly fucked something up, but once I’m done, I’m usually done for good and I post it before I second guess myself. Truly, I treat writing fics like how I take exams. Just get it done and hand it in before you delete/erase something that actually worked!
Sometimes it’s not that easy, and I have struggled with a few fics just because I’ve managed to overthink myself or I get hung up on an idea, but I have yet to find a better or more comfortable way for me to write. 
Your favourite Trapped fic by another author?
Oooo…. Well I have to give a shout out to @decadentdeerpolice and @the-wintry-mizzenmast for their lovely fics during the last exchange. I absolutely loved how they filed the prompt for me. 
I’m also a big fan of Skuld’s The Divine Art of the Househusband series. It’s definitely a twist on what Jack’s life as a househusband would be like and it’s always fun to see a new update!
I also liked @sarah-yyy ‘s fics fortune and amuse bouche. 
The next set of fics I’m actually eagerly awaiting updates on is Flor’s Breaking the Firewall series. The espionage and manoeuvring that’s happened in just the first parts is already super fun.
What do you want to write but never had the nerve to?
Hmm… I’m not sure? There aren’t a lot of ideas that I’ve never really had the nerve to put down on paper, if only to get them to stop bothering me. There are a few that never really made it to paper though. Like my Fantasy!AU where all the boys are different positions and have different abilities. 
I wanted to write Jack as a member of the Assassin’s Guild. Zhao Zi would be part of the guard and mostly be seen as a scribe, except when he pulls the robes off and gives most thieves a run for their money in his trap deactivating, lock picking, and ward/seal breaking. Shao Fei would, of course, be a paladin as he believes in the law and doing what’s right. Tang Yi would so be a weapons master type character, as once he was adopted by the ‘noble’ Tang Guo Dong, he was trained in many styles to defend himself. 
The idea fell apart after that because I had no idea what they’d do afterwards. Plus they’re missing a ranged caster and committed healer in the party and everyone who has played D&D knows that’s a mistake waiting to cause a total party kill. (I mean you could argue Hong Ye would totally make a great sorceress and Dao Yi would be the cleric cleaning up her messes, but let’s not get this any bigger.)
If you want, please share a snippet of your current Trapped WIP!
It wasn’t very often that Zhao Zi wondered what was the first link in the chain of decisions that lead him to slightly less than desirable outcomes. Not because Zhao Zi lacked insight or critical thinking, he was a police officer after all. It was often because Zhao Zi was usually pretty good at pulling himself out of a pinch.
A smile and innocent disposition were very good for many things. When those failed, being flexible in many ways helped some more.
(The third option was that he was legally allowed to carry a gun, even if no one wanted Zhao Zi to carry a gun.)
But as Zhao Zi lifted a large, homemade sausage to his lips while Jack eyed him expectantly, Zhao Zi contemplated if his grandmother would approve of what he was about to do to a perfectly decent piece of food and what had brought him to this new point in his life in the first place.
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Zhao Zi had been through practice interrogations before, but none of them had prepared him for someone like Jack. And despite Jack’s initial countenance, there was something about his smile, how easily he showed his teeth. It should have been predatory and dangerous. But in the curve of Jack’s eyes, Zhao Zi knew he wasn’t in any danger.
Of course, Zhao Zi knew plenty about Jack. Working with Shao Fei for so long, Zhao Zi knew plenty about Tang Yi’s most recent right hand man. Jack was a known mercenary, but he’d somehow managed to keep his nose just clean enough, just on the gray side of legal. All evidence was circumstantial. Even the International Crimes Division was often stuck dancing around Tang Yi’s lawyers when they were aiming for whatever secrets were hiding in Jack’s mind.
So it was Jack’s smile and eyes that allowed Zhao Zi to sell Shao Fei out in exchange for food. He did not expect the food to taste as good as it would. Nor did he expect that he might enjoy Jack pulling him close as Zhi De knocked over his bowl of noodles.
Zhao Zi decided to be open-minded. Jack was certainly interesting and fun. No harm in getting to know someone, right?
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Jack knew he was smitten the moment Zhao Zi sold out his friend for food.
Good survival instincts. Good taste. Cute face too.
Jack was also hardly the kind of guy who just let things happen to him. But Zhao Zi was a new quantity. He’d have to slowly edge his way in, find out just how Zhao Zi might handle another man pursuing him.
So when Zhao Zi said, “Don’t you need to try it?”
Jack knew this was his chance to appeal to the clear foodie Zhao Zi was. “I don’t need to. I know I’m a good cook.”
“Huh? I meant Ah Fei’s number!”
“Too subtle,” Jack thought.
But Jack got to hold Zhao Zi close and a promise to see him again anyway.
“That could be like a date, right?” Jack thought as he rushed to collect Tang Yi from the hospital.
Thank you so much @weilongfu for the Interview
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lothirielswanmarvel · 4 years
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“Just Muscles. And Abs. Lots of Both.” (Sneak Peak)
Word Count: 2260
Love Interest: Thor (+ Peter Quill Love Triangle)
Summary: A romantic and playful scene with everyone’s favorite Seductive God of Thunder—look out for twists!
**This is a sneak peak for a book I’m considering writing. I MUST have feedback before continuing this novel. Please enjoy, and I’d love to hear your thoughts. 
~*~
I finally realized why Tony liked large flatscreens. The living room suite of Avengers Tower was unoccupied tonight, which was rare: Steve loved documentaries, Clint enjoyed watching people contemplate buying extravagant houses, Wanda would kill anyone who tried to change the channel from the Bachelorette, and Bruce had a secret love for The Big Bang Theory.
The remote control almost felt foreign in my grasp. Spending time with any of the Avengers made my day, but alone time meant I could finally indulge in films or television shows without restrictions. I decided to go full range with my power, and settled for Game of Thrones. [Before you look away, Readers, NO, there are no spoilers to Game of Thrones as you read on. It’s incredibly vague, doesn’t talk or name any characters. Don’t stress. Love, fortune and glory to you!]
I was thirty minutes in, trying to decide who would make it alive to the next episode when I finally heard someone behind me. It had been a quiet night, and I didn't feel like ruining it with an argument.
“Sorry, I didn't know you were here. I'm changing it,” I called out as I paused the show.
“Are you sure? It looks interesting.”
I turned to look at Thor. He smiled warmly at me and walked around the long couch to my cocoon of blankets. Thor sat down beside me, leaving little room between us. I liked his closeness—not just because of the ridiculous crush that I’d been harboring for him for years, but the implied friendliness of it. It was nice to be close and comfortable with someone; no boundaries, no professionalism. As Pepper’s niece, it was nice for someone to treat me like a person and not some reserved business workaholic.
“I don't mind putting on something else,” I offered. Game of Thrones was so popular, no one in the tower really had an issue with it, but there was only so much fantasy some of them could take—and the Avengers witnessed enough dramatic deaths in daily life without the help of George R. R. Martin.
“I like it. The cold and the creatures remind me of Jotunheim—not the fondest memories I have, but it’s familiar.” Thor replied, his tone slightly wistful as he relaxed into the couch. I offered him some blankets from my comfy makeshift nest, although I could feel his body heat through my layers.
“Jotunheim? That's were Loki’s from, technically, right?” I said, glancing at him.
Thor caught my gaze, nodding slowly. “Yes, you are a perceptive one. I'm surprised you remember.”
“I think it's cool, the stuff you talk about. The nine realms, Asgard, it's fascinating.” I said. I forced myself to look back at the TV. I usually didn't want to miss anything, but I found myself losing interest this time.
“You think so?” He sounded miffed.
“Yeah.”
We continued watching. I tried to pay attention to the dialogue, but I was too aware of the presence right next to me.
“What's Jotunheim like?” I asked as the scene on television was full of snow. “Is it as freezing as what’s on TV, or…?”
Thor grunted as he sat up a bit straighter. His voice was deep and rich with a unique accent. “It is—was—a realm of eternal winter. There weren't any trees, or woods—I don't think any life could’ve survived such harsh conditions. Mostly rock and ice. It was always dark, as well: blizzards were their sunlight.”
“Wow—I mean, I guess it makes sense. You have a mountain terrain, that fits frost giants,” I said thoughtfully. “What about the frost giants, if it's okay to ask? What were they like—were they anything like those things?”
I gestured at the screen where creatures sprinted across the icy fixture. Thor hummed thoughtfully, “Hmm, somewhat. Anything the frost giants touched turned to ice—a dear friend of mine, Volstagg, made that discovery. And they’re tall, of course, but they didn't have blue eyes: frost giants are red.”
For the first time in human history, Game of Thrones was forgotten. I was too intrigued in our conversation. Thor’s voice was thrilling to listen to, not to mention that the topics we discussed were bizarre. The only attention I paid the TV was when I changed it to Lord of the Rings as I asked Thor about orcs and elves.
“Were there any kind of creatures like orcs across the nine realms?”
“What about dwarves? Do they stay on Asgard?”
“When Mjolnir was created, were there other things made too, like the rings of power?”
After many rounds of my questions, Thor smiled apologetically. “I feel like I am boring you with my stories, Lady Evangeline.”
I sat facing him now, and most of my blankets were discarded to my other side, making a cozy barrier around us. His presence kept me warm.
I shook my head, “You don't have to be so formal, Thor, especially with titles: you can call me Evie, or Angie, or whatever part of my name you prefer. And I'm not bored, I like hearing you talk about the nine realms and where you’re from. I think you're much smarter than you give yourself credit for.”
The grin on Thor’s face stretched from one ear to the other. My heart started to race in my chest. “You flatter me, my—Angeline.”
“It's not flattery, it's true. You know so much about the universe—and not to mention, you’re one of the best fighters I've ever seen. Seriously, that takes so much practice—and you learn a lot from fighting things. That's how you gain experience in video games, you’d probably be max level in all of them.”
As I stared at Thor, something caught me off guard. His face was turning red. Not just his cheeks; everywhere, from his hairline to his beard.
Did I just make the God of Thunder blush? Was I hallucinating? I never made anyone blush that hard before, not even the few people I had dated. It was such a bizarre sight. Thor, a literal god among men, unfazed by alien armies and robot uprisings, was blushing. Because of me.
But the redness didn't go away. It lingered, like a rose bush in full bloom. I didn't know what to do: this had never happened before, and I would have never expected it. I forced my mouth to open and say something, anything.
“Nat’s showed me a few moves for self defense and that kind of thing, but I wish I could do what you do. You’re really talented.” I said.
Dammit! I made it worse! The redness had multiplied like trees overcome by the vibrant colors of fall.
Thor must’ve regained some sort of composure, at least enough to speak. “Evangeline, do you need furniture moved?”
My eyes narrowed. “No. Why?”
Thor covered his face with his hands, one lingering on his chin to stroke his beard. “Such praise must have a purpose, I assumed.”
“There is no...purpose.” I said, confusion filling me as I tried to follow his train of thought.
I still didn't understand as he stood and offered me a hand. “How about a fighting lesson?”
I blinked twice, trying to process where the conversation was headed. “Uh...sure. Sounds fun.”
I took his hand and stood. We faced each other. Lord of the Rings was still playing, and it's magnificent music became background noise for whatever was about to commence.
Thor smirked as he watched me.
My eyebrow rose. “What?”
“You move with such grace. The nymphs of Asgard would be envious of such enchanting beauty.” He declared.
Like karma, my face felt like a tray of embers. Flashbacks of the many times I had bumped into coffee tables, counters, doorways, and yes, even walls, came to me.
“You remind me of them often, actually. Your beauty is so natural, like an earthen goddess.”
“Thor.”
“Yes, Evangeline?”
“Do you need furniture moved?”
Thor laughed. “No, but you’ll be the first person I come to when the problem arises. Raise your fists,”
I did as he instructed. “Like this?”
“Yes, and your feet a little farther apart.” Thor closed the distance between us. His hands enclosed around mine, making my skin tingle, and setting them up a little higher. I glanced down to make sure my feet aligned with his.
“Right, that looks good.” Thor held onto my hands a little longer than necessary. “Your hands are so tiny.”
“Thanks?” I laughed when he kissed my knuckles, then retreated back a few steps.
“You’re smaller than I am—”
“In my defense, everyone is smaller than you. And everyone is taller than Tony.”
“True,” He agreed. His tone was serious, but there was some lightness to it. “But to overpower me, you have to think differently. You have to find a weakness.”
My eyes scrutinized Thor’s bulking frame. “I don't see any weaknesses. Just muscles. And abs. Lots of both.”
Thor smiled, and some of the redness returned. “Look harder.”
My head tilted to the side. Then it hit me. “Your eyes?”
Thor grinned. “You are perceptive.”
I bit my lip. Thor was tall. I’d probably have to climb him like a vine to reach his eyes, and I ignored the voice in my head that giggled at the idea (which could've also been Wanda eavesdropping).
“Okay...what now?” I asked, tightening my fists.
“Try to take me down,” Thor said.
I stiffened. “I know this is going to sound stupid, but I don't want to hurt you, Thor.”
“We could continue our battle of compliments if you’d like—”
I made up my mind and charged. I knew I was too short to reach him; Thor was massive. So I made a detour and went for the couch first, then pounced.
I yelped when we made contact. I wrapped my arms around his neck out of instinct. One of my legs came around his waist.
“Bad plan, bad plan,” My words were breathy, but not just because of the physical exertion. Thor’s eyes were captivating up close. They were a unique, popping blue-gray like a stormy sea. I took one shaky breath and my mouth was filled with the scent of him; something natural with warm tones and a musky aroma.
“It was a good plan,” Thor insisted. I should’ve let go. My arms wouldn't move. My leg remained glued to his side, unresponsive, but completely aware of the warmth seeping from his body.
“It was a well-thought advantage point. The Valkyries would recruit you for such cleverness,” Thor spoke softer, but up close, I could feel the deep vibrations of his voice. The unique accent that made me stop whatever I was doing and listen.
Thor’s arms came around me, securing me so I wouldn't drop to the ground.
“This is nice,” I mumbled. “The air’s a little thinner up here.”
We smiled. Thor’s chuckle was low. I continued, “You’re so tall...I’ve never seen you up close like this before.”
Thor nodded, and our noses brushed together. “Perhaps you should visit up here more often.”
“Maybe if you could supply a ladder next time…”
“Yes. Of course, my lady.”
I didn't dare look away from Thor’s face, but I could still hear the faint score of Lord of the Rings. It was the scene where Arwen, the elven princess, admitted to giving up her immortality to be with the human ranger, Aragorn. For the first time, I appreciated how soft and soothing the singing voices sounded. It was like heaven. It was like staring at Thor, and sharing that gentle but happy smile.
“Hey, uh, Thor...Jane’s on the line, bud. She’s asking for you.”
My eyes widened. Heaven had dissipated. Reality had sank in. Like a cool morning mist, burned away by the sun.
Thor nodded mutely. His muscles felt stiff. “Please excuse me, Lady Evangeline. . .”
Thor set me down, and I reluctantly unhooked my arms from his neck. I couldn’t decipher his facial expression. He passed Clint on his way out of the room.
Clint crossed his arms and leaned on the couch. “Good thing I came in and checked on you guys instead of Wanda. We’d be knee-deep in gossip for weeks.”
“Uhuh.” I glumly sat back on the couch. The cushions were cold, no longer holding the remnants of someone else’s warmth.
Clint perched on the armrest. “You know, when Laura and I were dating, at some point I sat down with her and had a conversation. I explained that I loved her very much, and my job was very time-consuming. I wouldn't quit my job, but I sure as hell didn't want to leave her. Luckily, we were two very independent people, who kept in touch, who supported one another, and could still carry on with our own lives.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, shaking my head.
“ ‘Cause Jane didn't sound very happy on that phone. After they got together, Thor left her. Left earth. For two years.”
“But they’re still together.”
“I know the sound of somebody about to deliver some bad news when I hear it.” Clint said. He was crossing his arms again. “Look, you and him...I’ve seen you guys interact over the years. There’s something there. Half the people in this tower have bets on when it's gonna happen. But is Thor really what you want? Can you live that kind of lifestyle?”
Clint was silent, letting me ponder. Eventually, he stood. “I'm not trying to discourage you from anything, I just want you to make the best decision for you. ‘Cause you’re the one that's gonna have to live with it.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: Hi Awesome Adventurers and thanks for reading! I’ve been playing around with the idea of this novel for awhile, but I’d like to hear personally from you guys before I start publishing actual chapters. There will be one more sneak peak at the novel, and you can catch a glimpse at another sneak peak here, a very intense piece that will probably happen at the end of the series. But thank you so much for reading, and please, if you enjoyed this, I’d love to hear from you! If I do start hearing from people, I will post this story on Tumblr, Archive of Our Own, and Wattpad. Your words are powerful, and I’d love to hear them c: love, fortune and glory to you!!
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luckydicekirby · 5 years
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Hello yes I would like a dvd commentary on a history of partings thanks
Well first of all obviously this story was mainly written to cause you specifically pain, so jot THAT down. Mostly I really wanted like, a good long Alyosha/Arrell backstory and like…no one else was gonna write it…not even Austin…so alas this burden fell to me. I have toyed with the idea of writing Arrell’s version of this but god, it would be so depressing. 
Anyway! Here’s the mind meld scene, you’re welcome.
Story here!
Later–a few hours or days, I was not sure–I awoke, feverish, to see you bent over me, your hands clasped tight around one of mine. I thought for a moment that you were casting a spell, but I quickly realized that in fact you were murmuring the words of a prayer, so quiet I could barely make them out.
Arrell PRAYING as the obvious Oh Geez Things Are Bad marker, of course.
I still don’t know whether that moment was a dream, a conjured fantasy of mine: the idea that I could be the only thing you would dare to have faith for. But, figment or not, your prayer worked, and the next time I awoke my mind was clear once again. You weren’t there. I spared a moment to be upset before I heard you speak, clear as if you were standing in front of me: I went out to get food. I’ll be back soon, Alyosha. And underneath your words I could hear a heartbeat, running much quicker than my own. My mouth tasted acrid. I stood up shakily to drink some water, but the bitterness on my tongue remained. I realized, as my breathing began to pick up, that it was your fear.
This was a scene I really wanted to get into this fic because I do really love the idea that Arrell is just….Deeply Afraid, all the time. And like it does not excuse what an unforgivable jerk he is! But it does make me really sad. My capacity to be sad about jerks truly is boundless. 
You had used this spell on me once or twice before, although never for long. Once so that I could run an errand for you, to choose the right book from a large stock that a merchant carried. Another time so that I could give you directions to a particular bakery I wanted you to buy my favorite rolls from. A third time on a rare occasion when we travelled together, to ensure that neither of us became lost. Simple and frivolous things like that. But it did not work the way that it should. You had explained it to me: this spell was meant for simple communication between minds. And any other time you used it, that was how it worked. But between us, our thoughts bled together like cheap ink on paper, and nothing you did could stop it.
Dungeon World: Yeah so telepathy is just like, a normal telepathy spell that works to send messages, nothing weird here!
Me: Okay but what if it was a fucked up involuntary mind meld thing in this specific instance? You know just for fun?
Anyway, I think them using telepathy so Alyosha could give him directions to a bakery is really cute. Nothing is more romantic than bread! Just ask Hella.
The mystery and intimacy of it bothered you and delighted me. But you never agreed to test it further, to discover precisely why this spell worked differently when you used it on me, rather than anyone else.
Arrell obviously being like. Can’t let my boyfriend read my mind he might find out about the oncoming heat death of the universe, and actually try to help me with that! God I hate him. 
I let the subject drop. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and clearly to share your thoughts so closely with me did. I tried not to blame you for that. It was a normal thing, to dislike such claustrophobic intimacy, even with me.
And I knew why it was different. I could feel it, in the press of your heart against mine.
Aside from it being this way for Narrative Purposes, I do think being in love making your telepathy spell too intimate by default IS romantic.
But you hated that closeness, and I could not blame you for it–you, who believed so fervently in the separateness of humanity from one another. I have never agreed with you in that, but I could only respect the belief you held so tightly.
WE’RE MOSAICS MISSING EMBELLISHMENTS, ARRELL!! BITCH!!
I sat back down on my bed and closed my eyes, and I thought about what you had done. You had not wanted me to wake up alone, and so you opened a connection between us, something you hated desperately.
I let that knowledge settle into my gut over your anxiety, and I waited for you to return, content that for just a small moment, we were closer to one person than two.
Oh yeah I forgot I put the Plato soulmates story earlier in this fic…Alyosha is really into the idea of two people being so connected they’re one person, which sure means he should’ve picked a different boyfriend. Or maybe he is that way because he has such a standoffish on again-off- again boyfriend! fun to contemplate.
You returned with two covered dishes, and set them down with a clatter on the table before you came to me. You fell to your knees before me, hands on my thighs, your head bowed. You said my name, ragged.
“I’m all right. I promise you I’m all right.” I ran my hand through the short bristly hair at the back of your neck. I could see your back shaking. I could feel inside my head the sobs you were not letting escape. “Tutor, please, look at me.”
You did. I’d never seen you look so scared, not in the years and years we had known each other. And I could feel it, too. Fear for my well-being, fear that you would be left alone, fear that soon enough we would all be gone–
“Tutor,” I said, fear clawing at my throat, tears stinging at my eyes. I bent over you, pressed my lips to the crown of your head, my loose hair falling around us, sealing us off from the rest of the world. If I could just protect you from the dark–
The tail end of these paragraphs being Arrell’s thoughts bleeding into Alyosha’s, and getting really close to letting Alyosha know about the H&D. I do really love coming up with situations where characters thoughts can bleed together–this happens in the aly/arr/hadrian fic too (thanks, dungeon world spell Cage, which does explicitly allow mind-reading) and the vanven fic. I just think it’s neat!
I felt you raise your hand and wave it in the air, a dismissive gesture, ending the spell. All at once the fear ebbed, a tide returning to sea, and I could breathe again. I gasped and sat back.
And of course the moment Alyosha starts to get a sense of what exactly Arrell is scared of, Arrell is like oh shit, let’s NOT do that. I mean also because he was low-key giving Alyosha a panic attack.
“What–Tutor, I don’t understand–”
Your hands gripped my knees tightly, hard enough that I could feel your nails biting into my skin. “I thought that I would come back and find you gone. That something I had done would be wrong, or something I didn’t do–”
“It was just a fever. I didn’t meant to scare you.” I wiped the tears from my eyes. “Do you always feel like that?”
“It’s nothing,” you said. Head bowed once again. Hiding your eyes.
Yes, he always feels like that. ugh Arrell SAY WHAT YOU MEAN
I couldn’t bear to force you to speak, though maybe then would have been the only time I could–you were already so cracked open before me. But I wanted to see you smile again. I wanted to take the fear from your eyes. I wanted to convince you I was alive. And this was the problem I could see, so I pulled you up by your forearms and folded you into my arms, my mouth pressed against your ear. “I’m here,” I said, over and over, and you clung to me, your tears hot against my neck.
Alyosha is such a good boyfriend and Arrell does NOT deserve him. Anyway, for Arrell to actually be crying you KNOW he must’ve been really fucked up. One supposes that dealing with the impending death of the universe is fine, but when you add ‘my boyfriend is really sick’ into the mix then it just becomes unmanageable. 
Eventually you stood and dusted yourself off. The food you brought had gone cold, but we ate it together on the bed. Your eyes followed me as if magnetized, as if you couldn’t let me out of your sight. In time you returned to your duties, and I to mine, but for that long day we were simply together, not speaking much, basking in the surety of one another’s presence. I thought whatever darkness you so feared, we could act as one another’s lights. I thought we could stand against it, together. The sort of solutions children think of, that I have yet to grow out of. What creeping monster under a bed cannot be defeated by a light?
This is a sideway reference to one of the letters, where Alyosha talks about the prelate: “the sort of questions children ask.”
I talk about Alyosha/his beliefs in terms of light a lot, both in this fic and others–I mean obviously it’s a good set up in opposition to the Heat and the Dark, and a Samothes thing, but also I think because it reflects like, a kind of simplicity of faith that he has. How do you defeat great evil? Well, with light. Alyosha loves Kingdom Hearts, is what I’m saying. Or he did before he got stuck in the forge!!
I think, even now, that there are still embers within you, Tutor, waiting to be stoked. I remember the way you held onto me so tightly, the naked fear in your eyes. You care so much. You always have, reluctant as you are to show it. I know you want to save us. To save me. But I wish you would give some thought to what will be left of yourself. You, too, deserve saving. Yes, Tutor; even now.
Ugh this shit is sad. Like I know I wrote it but it’s sad? I think I find Arrell so tragic because I truly do think he cares, for the world and for Alyosha. He’s just really bad at it.
anyway, the only other important part of this fic is the time Arrell falls off a horse, which he deserves.
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Hey there. Hi there. Hello there.
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This is something I’ve been contemplating for quite some time. Another blog. One that isn’t a side blog and a place for me to write. 
My other writing blog is, unfortunately, a side blog and is all based on a single subject for one of the main characters. It’s all Harry Styles based and well, I’m bored with it. I think he seems like a great person and has been fun to write but I need to write about more than just him and the audience on my writing blog doesn’t seem like they’d all be interested in something about politics or a different celebrity being the feature. Some of them might but a lot of them love Harry, 1D, and a few other things but maybe not what I’m wanting to write going forward. So rather than try to transition that blog into what I want to be doing now I’ve created this one.
It’s hard to keep writing something you’re not 100% committed to because it feels more like a chore than a chance to truly enjoy your craft. So this is going to be a home for me to write just about anything else. I can’t even begin to explain how happy I am about that.
So first a little bit about me. Okay, it’s a lotta bit about me so click read more if you’re interested.
My name is Ann Marie, I’m in my mid-30s (writing that makes me feel old), and I live in Iowa. I’m a proud Italian-American who is in the beginning stages of doing some family history research which has been a lot of fun. If you’ve read my old writing, yes there’s a character with my name from Iowa in something I’ve written. Honestly, I didn’t feel like picking a name when I wrote it. Hell, most of the characters have a name that connects to my family and I’ve even used my Italian family’s surnames for the last names of characters before.
Yes, I did say I’m in my mid-30s. No, I’m not married or a mother. Neither is really something I’m planning on. If the right guy showed up someday I could be swayed on the marriage portion but not the kids portion. I have 2 cats, George and Gracie, and they are all the kids I need. I love kids, I just don’t want them for myself, at least biologically. My niece and nephew are my universe. Some of my writing may have characters with kids so please know that if you are a parent and it doesn’t seem accurate to your life I’m just trying to imagine it.
I own my own Social Media Consulting business and work as a contractor with nonprofits and small businesses. I love what I do and have been doing it for over 10 years but started doing it full-time almost three years ago. Working for myself is a dream come true. I make the rules. I set the hours. I decide whether or not I want to work with a client. It’s amazing.
Writing is my creative outlet despite my work being sort of creative. I’ve been writing basically my entire life. I’m not the greatest writer but I am also not terrible. It’s a form of escapism for me. A chance to create a fantasy world and dive into it often to avoid the realities of my own life. I’ve mainly written fan fiction and while it’s a lot of fun for me I am trying to write my very first 100% original novel.
I am very political. I often felt on my other writing blog that writing characters who were also political would alienate people. American politics is a shitshow but is something that I am unbelievably obsessed with. If I had a chance to redo my life I may have tried to go into politics. My original novel is based on politics. It’s my own little way of pretending that’s what I do. If you need to know, I’m a lifelong Democrat. I was about 8 months old the first time my Mom pushed me in the baby buggy she had for me and went door-to-door canvassing for political candidates. I watch way too much CNN and I often like to rant about my dislike for the current political administration. If you’re a Trump fan this blog will not likely be for you.
My AppleTV is my best friend. I watch way too many shows on streaming services and love snuggling under a blanket with a good movie or show. If you have suggestions send them my way. I’m often watching Harry Potter for the 472,000 time or in the middle of watching every Marvel movie ever made. When it comes to TV shows my top faves are The West Wing, Friday Night Lights, and probably something dumb like Gossip Girl. 
I suffer from several chronic health conditions including mental health issues. At one point I was agoraphobic and struggled to leave my house. I have chronic migraines, severe depression, panic attacks and an autoinflammatory skin condition. It’s not fun. So when I disappear for days on end I’m normally battling a migraine. 
I’m happy to talk about the issues I deal with or help other people that struggle with any issues. I’m a completely open book. Whether it’s about relationships and how terrible I am about them, mental health issues, sex, owning a business, facing your fears, literally anything I’ll talk about it. So feel free to ask me anything. You can do so anonymously or not. If you’d prefer to keep it private let me know or send me a message and we can chat. If you’d like to see me try writing something I’m happy to do that too. You’ll eventually learn the things I enjoy and I’m always up for a challenge if I at least know something about what I need to write.
I hope you enjoy my writing. 
xx. AM
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Writing Process Questions!
So I was tagged by @gold-from-straw and this seemed like a fabulous, fun thing to so, thank you!
If you want to hear me answer questions about my writing process, please click the cut below :)
1. What are your favourite genres and/or styles to write in?
Fantasy and Science Fiction are my top two. I love being able to create the world, cultures, creatures, abilities and histories of different planets and the fantasy worlds a character lives in. It’s kind of “anything goes” and that allows me to be as creative as I want. It’s fabulous!
2. What was the last writing project you finished and felt successful with?
I always feel excited about finishing anything! I do love completing a story idea that’s been in my drafts for a long time or one that I’ve been working on for a number of months. I get so much satisfaction from knowing that it’s finally had it’s time to shine.
I did feel particularly excited when I finished my “Assorted Short Stories - Collection 2″ since I had struggled with it at the beginning of the year. I ended up switching out a number of short stories and just letting what inspired me take control. It meant only two of the original tales remained, but I’m really pleased with the success of finishing it :)
3. If you have a WiP how do you feel it’s going? What stage are you in?
The current story that I’m working on is a homosexual romance that is set in the 1920′s called “Courting Me Softly”. It’s on it’s fourth chapter of an estimated seven or eight. I’m really exited for this one since it’s been on my “closet writing list” for a number of months now. 
I’m also looking to post this story to tumblr when it’s complete as a free OC story that will be update every week or so for you all to enjoy! It’s going well so far apart from some “meet the family” dynamics, oy vey. 
I’ll let you know more about this story when it gets closer to finishing :)
4. What are your favourite places to write?
I only ever write on my computer and I prefer to be in a room in my home where it’s dark, quiet and isolated. While I will sometimes write when I’m at a cafe/out and about, it’s rare. I like solitude and comfort and I find that best in a cosy spot in my home.
5. Do you prefer to write with long hand or type? Or some other method?
Type. 
I have the penmanship of a drunken chicken. The only time I can get my handwriting to be something legible is if I’ve typed the prose out first and can take my time copying it down. My writing can’t keep up with my brain and it becomes a smeared, scribbled mess I can’t always translate. 
I love writing on a computer as my quick speed/touch-typing allows me to keep up with my brain as paragraphs are created. I also like the fact that everything I might need is readily accessible: internet for research, music for background noise, apps for friends who I can pester with questions and all my documents saved in one place. Typing and computers are the way for me!
6. Do you remember your first character? If so can we meet them?
Oh man. I was 12 and I started writing a novel called “The World of Green” it started with a young girl who was tending the garden with her dog Bongo and having difficultly finding those “whatcha-ma-call-it” tools. I can’t remember the girl’s name but I know her search was interrupted when she was asked to go pick some strawberries from down by the river in a nearby forest. She took a basket down there along with her dog. I think Bongo located something from another world and she ended up going to that world with him. But I... really can’t remember the rest and the document is long lost, heh.
7. Where do you get your inspiration?
Um, from everything? I can be watching a TV show, hearing a news report, see a picture, hear a song, think up a hypothetical question/scenario, talking to someone, hear a turn of phrase, see a bird fly past me - and suddenly, my brain asks a question or imagines a different scenario and bam, there’s a story idea. It’s why I have hundreds upon hundreds of story ideas just filling up dozens of folders on my computer.
I’m also really bad at coming up with a single idea and not making additional novels, series, etc from it. I’ll have a “short story” and it will become a novel because there’s just too many new pathways that form the more I look at the idea/character/world. I’m getting better at telling my brain “no” and not sequel-ing things, but it doesn’t always work ^^;
8. Do you outline a story before writing it, or does it all live in your head until the first draft gets put down?
It depends on the idea but most of the time when I come up with an idea I open a document and start rambling about it in this giant flow of free thought, just letting it go where it needs to go and pen what is in my head. The more I type it out, the more it can snowball and give me additional details on the story, character backgrounds and motivations.
Sometimes, an idea might only be a single sentence long other times it might be pages upon pages. Once my notes are complete and I’ve “got the story out of my head” I can usually save it and shelve it to be picked up at a later date. 
When I start writing a story, I tend to expand on those notes as new things are developed through the prose and character interactions. Some stories will follow the original notes completely, others will end up completely different and disregard a lot of plans along the way.
So I suppose I do outline a story even if there’s little method and many holes. It develops as I go and I spend long periods lost in my head running scenarios and creating the characters as I go about my daily tasks (before rushing back to dump more information in the documents before I forget them).
9. Where do you go/ What do you do when you’re feeling stuck?
Depends on the level of “stuck”. I will usually either sit back and contemplate what the problem is and different scenarios I could take to find something to push the story forward. Sometimes I will go do housework or shower and spend the time picking at the problem and try to untangle it, other times I’ll message a friend and ramble at them about the story (this is usually a great way to unblock myself since I’m forced to explain the situation to them and that means articulated description).
Other times, I can open a document and try to work on a story only to just know that it’s not going to happen. Something in me just goes “nope”. I usually switch to a different task when that happens and go away from my laptop so I can come back refreshed and revitalized. I may also open a random, new document for some “fun writing” in a fresh new setting, depends on how encompassing that “nope” is :)
10. What got you starting writing/doing Art? (Because I always love origin stories)
When I was a child--I’m talking like six or seven--my mother used to read me stories at night. My Dad didn’t like reading stories so when it was his turn he used to “make one up” and since (as he claims) he was not very creative he used to prompt me for what happens next. I only have vague memories of this, but I would usually be the one taking over and telling the story. I also used to create large dramatic productions with my stuffed animals and get irritated when my friends used to get bored but I was in the middle of the tale and wanted to see what else happened!
I don’t know when I first started writing stories but I do remember writing a bunch around the time of “The World of Green” and then I just never stopped. I loved writing and did it during most of my free time. Then I realized that it could be a career in late primary school and well, that was me set. I can’t ever imagine doing anything else. I love it so much <3
Now, as for the tagging, I pick: @hardlyhalcyon, @staglynxspider @sentient-teapot @rmh8402 and anyone else who wants to participate!
And if you have any other writing (or general) questions, please feel free to send me an ask! I love asks :D
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acaranna · 6 years
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Oh God! I’m late. I am so late! And I’m sorry! But I’m going to finish this week because I already know what I want to write! So, hopefully you still have fun reading this!
PeapodMcHanzoWeek
Day 1 - Oh no, we have to share a bed…
The safe-house was more like a small safe-apartment. Two rooms, a kitchenette and a tiny bathroom that thankfully contained a shower and running, hot water. At least it had been hot the last time Jesse needed to hide there. Which had been a little over a year ago. Things might have changed during that time. He hoped they hadn't. They both needed a hot shower and a good night's rest.
“Looks like everythin's still in order. I hope it doesn' jus' end with lookin',” Jesse yawned and dumped his bag on the grey two-seater that took up most of the living-room's space. The cushion sagged instantly and he grimaced. “Jus' need ta figure out whether or not we still have electricity. Gettin' somethin' warm ta eat would be good. We ev'n have a little night cap.” He pulled two small bottles from his bag. One was his trusty silver flask, filled with whiskey. The other looked more delicate, made of something akin to ceramic.
“I took the liberty of sneakin' somethin' special into the last order,” he explained when all Hanzo did, was dropping his own bag right where he stood. “Took a while ta get it but it arrived about a day before we left for this mission.” Hanzo hummed quietly. He regarded Jesse steadily. For anyone not familiar with the man, he would have seemed wide awake and on his guard.
Jesse knew better, though. He saw the rigidity in Hanzo's shoulders; the tight lines around his eyes and mouth. They had been awake and on their feet for over 48 hours by now. Jesse didn't mind as much. Being a vampire certainly had it's perks – one of them being that he needed less sleep than humans. Unfortunately that was also tied to how well he was able to feed and he was a little overdue already.
“Do you need blood?” Blunt and to the point, Hanzo ignored the offered flask. His eyes stayed on Jesse the whole time but there was no caution in them just curiosity. “I know that you have not had the time to get something before we had to hide. If you need ...” Hanzo touched the side of his neck with his fingertips and Jesse's gaze zeroed in on that point. He knew that he could have seen Hanzo's heart beat pulsing through his veins if he concentrated hard enough.
“Nah, i's alright,” Jesse shook his head. He set their night cap down on the small side-table before looking at Hanzo again. “I got some of that synthetic stuff Mercy created. Tastes like ashes but it keeps me fed. It also doesn't go off when we're out on a mission. Cow or sheep just goes yucky in such heat.”
“Right,” Hanzo nodded but kept his fingers where they were. Jesse frowned softly.
“Ya want ta take the first shower? I'll make sure the bed is ready and waiting for ya when ya get out. Okay?” That would also give him a moment to figure out where he would be sleeping because the bed was everything but big, if he remembered it correctly. The last time he had to lay low in here he had been alone.
“A shower sounds good, actually,” Hanzo huffed, averted his eyes and rolled his shoulders. The tension slowly seeped out of his body and finally he allowed his tiredness to become visible. Jesse winced when Hanzo's jaws popped from the strength of his yawn.
“Then off ya go. Bathroom's through there,” he pointed to the first door on their right side. “There should be towels in one of the cupboards. Though they might be a tad … dusty these days.” Dusty and probably stale.
“I will manage,” Hanzo grinned and vanished through the door.
Jesse waited until he heard the shower start before he dug the bottle with syn-blood out of his bag. Hopefully the kitchen appliances still worked and he didn't have to drink it cold. Or lukewarm. He shuddered just thinking about it. Cold syn-blood was barely a step above cold blood.
Luck seemed to be on their side for once, though, because the microwave came to life when Jesse pressed the start button. He watched the bottle spin for a few seconds before heading towards the small bedroom. It was just as bare as the rest of the apartment. A closet, a night stand and a bed that would fit them both – if they cuddled close together.
Jesse refused to drift off into that fantasy. There had been signs that Hanzo was interested in him. He responded to Jesse's flirting when everyone else just got a snarking remark – if they got anything at all. They shared a lot of their history with each other already, neither expecting to find a confident in the other. Most evenings ended with both of them either sitting at the kitchen table, both drinking tea, or spending some hours on top of the watchtower, with something more powerful. Genji liked to joke that they were already dating in one way or another. Jesse liked to say that Genji was full of shit.
Stripping the bed off it's old linen Jesse kept one ear focused on the shower and the other on the microwave. He didn't want to risk exploding the bottle. A blood stain, even if it's just synthetic blood, was a little suspicious.
The microwave beeped just when the shower stopped running. Jesse marvelled at the timing when Hanzo stepped out of the small bathroom. His hair hung over one shoulder and Jesse couldn't help but think that a freshly showered, sleepy Hanzo looked adorable.
“Your blood is getting cold again,” Hanzo said. Then he stopped, rethought his words and winced. “That … was tasteless.” Jesse laughed.
“Nah, it's fine,” he shook his head, grinning widely. “I'll take my blood and hit the shower. Make yourself comfortable, Darlin'.”
Heat radiated off of Hanzo's skin and Jesse suppressed a shiver. His fingers itched to trail across the dragons. His lips tingled for something different than blood.
Jesse pulled himself together and heading into the kitchenette. He grabbed the blood from the microwave and took a long drink. It tasted worse than ash but at least it sated the craving well enough for the time being.
“Jesse? Where will you sleep?”
Only his reflexes saved the bottle from shattering on the tiled ground. He should have known that even tired, Hanzo's mind was sharp.
“Uhm, I hadn't thought of that actually,” he replied, honestly. “But I can take the couch just fine, Darlin'. One night won't kill me.”
“Do not be ridiculous,” Hanzo scoffed, closer this time. It seemed that he hadn't gone to bed just yet. “There will be no end to your complaining tomorrow if you sleep on that couch. It is far too small for you. I will take it.”
“No,” Jesse turned around and pinned Hanzo with his eyes. “Take the bed, Darlin'. I can deal with another sleepless night but ya are about ta fall over. I need ya ta be on your best in case something happens.”
They fell silent after that. Both staring at each other, contemplating. Jesse hoped that Hanzo would follow his logic. It would certainly not be his first time staying awake for longer than two days.
“We,” Hanzo started quietly. “We could share the bed.” He didn't look at Jesse. Instead his gaze locked on the bottle in his hand. “I would not be opposed to sleeping beside you.”
Jesse bit his lip when a faint flush rose into Hanzo's cheeks.
“Are ya sure, Darlin'?” Because this had to be a dream, surely. Jesse didn't have such luck when it came to people he was interested in. And Hanzo was special in his own way. Baggage to rival Jesse's himself but with the same drive to just be better.
“I can not deny that I find myself wondering what it would feel like,” Hanzo rubbed his hand across his tattoo. “Maybe, when we are back at the Watchpoint, we could talk about this. Us.”
The air left Jesse's lungs in a rush and his legs turned to jelly.
“I'd like that, Darlin'” he finally rasped. “I'd really like that. Now, go to bed. I'll be with ya in a moment.”
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bubble-tea-bunny · 6 years
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birdie
[pennywise x reader]
author’s note: watched the film a couple days ago and this idea came from out of nowhere. got to practice my penny characterization and a bit of my horror/dark fantasy writing. all that was new to me. hope you enjoy
word count: 2,156
There’s a bird singing this morning. The sound echoes through the dark and damp tunnels, travels along the surface of grimy water, bounces off bricks and metal grates and despite being far away from the Neibolt house, it resonates through the bottom of the well clear as day, bright and melodious and all together too happy.
Sinister eyes peak through a storm drain and find you walking your bike down the street next to a friend. His joke had made you laugh and the toothy grin is still plastered onto your face. It’s the sort of smile that reaches your eyes and makes your cheeks hurt if you hold it long enough. Pennywise watches until you’re out of sight, and all he can think about is the joy in your voice and the cheeriness in your gaze and how he wants nothing more than to crush that. He’s practically drooling at the idea, his own smile wide and evil and ominous. When’s the next time he’ll come across you, he wonders?
A child he’d eaten had died clutching a stuffed toy bird close to her chest, and it now rests in the ever growing pile of children’s toys in the sewer. It’s soiled and disgusting and it grabs Pennywise’s attention from where it sits at the bottom, next to a yellow raincoat. He picks it up, stares it down like it’s his latest meal and he’s a beast absolutely starving. And then he squeezes it, squeezes so hard his claws dig into his palm, until the small toy bursts and the stuffing leaks out, falling onto the floor. He laughs and laughs and laughs and it’s nothing short of demonic. When he opens his hand and what remains falls to the ground, it’s soundless.
That’s where he gets your nickname from.
You take the same route home from school every day, and every day Pennywise is at the same storm drain. Sometimes you’re with a friend walking down the street, other times you’re alone and on your bike, pace casual as you’re in no rush to do homework the moment you arrive at your house. When you drift along on those days by yourself, breeze rustling your hair and your clothes, it’s like you’re flying. He thinks about that a lot; it plays in his head like a short film. He wants to snatch you out from the sky, feel the way you struggle to escape, squirming and wiggling. And he’ll pretend to be hurt, ask “Doesn’t birdie want to play?” and smile in a sort of fiendish delight because you’re not going anywhere.
They say to never play with your food but the notion of rules doesn’t apply to Pennywise. He doesn’t make himself known to you right away. He’s there in brief flashes—out of the corner of your eye, over your shoulder when you look in the mirror. You ask your friends if they see what you see, what you swear you can see, but they respond no and secretly they’re worrying if you’re not getting enough sleep. They talk to each other in hushed voices even if you’re nowhere to be found, as if nervous you might walk around the corner any second. They speculate about your hallucinations and voice their worries because you’re never like this.
It’s driving you crazy and Pennywise loves it. Carnal excitement runs through his veins and swirls in his eyes and he’s baring his teeth because he’s getting hungrier by the day, but toying with you is just so fun. He’s in your dreams now too. You haven’t gotten a good night’s rest in a long while. Sometimes you wake up screaming and your mother rushes in and you cry and you cry and you cry. And you taste all the sweeter for it. The fear is wafting from you in wave after delicious wave and he hasn’t even formally introduced himself yet. He figures he’ll have to soon. A growling stomach is hard to ignore.
You’re alone when you bike past the Neibolt house one Friday afternoon, and you slow down when you see a red balloon in the middle of the road. You tilt your head as you observe it from a distance. There’s no weight attached to the string yet it stays right where it is, not floating away. You let out a shaky breath, wondering if this is also something you’re imagining. (You say this because your friends and family are convinced it really is just your imagination, so you go along with it since surely they must be right, there’s no way you could actually be seeing these things. But there’s a part of you deep down that knows it’s all real.)
The balloon starts to drift then, slowly, and your heart is beating faster because there’s no breeze that could be carrying it. You remain still, watching it float to the run-down house on the corner. Despite being conscious of the fact that heading after the balloon and venturing into the Neibolt house is the worst idea in the history of ideas, there’s a pull in your chest to go after it. And you want to fight it, you do. You grip the handlebars of your bike so tightly your knuckles turn white. But the red balloon is on the porch waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting for you.
Thoughts of how badly this could go flitter through your head a mile a minute as you bike the short distance to the house, as you set your bike down on the dead grass and take hesitant steps up the walkway and the steps of rotting wood. You reach out and gently curl your fingers around the balloon string, and your breath hitches when it’s actually in your grip. You’re not imagining anything.
You bring your other hand up to the doorknob but don’t move for a second, considering just turning around and walking away and pretending none of this happened. But you glance up at the balloon floating above your head, and there’s no turning back. You twist the knob and push the door, and it creaks loudly after years of being unused. The interior is musty and old and gross and your nose scrunches at the smells that assault it. The floor boards squeak beneath your shoes no matter how lightly you try to step and you cringe because you’re thinking about the kinds of creatures you must be waking up with the noise you’re making.
There’s laughter echoing through the house and you freeze, eyes wide as you look around but see no one. Your fingers tighten around the balloon string, like it’s some sorry form of comfort. “H-Hello?” You meant to say this loudly, for the house is large, but it comes out as a half-whisper and your voice cracks. Your breaths are heavy and you feel yourself take one step back, and then another, and then you decide to leave, but the moment you turn, the door slams shut so hard it kicks up a breeze, dust flying, and you cough and swipe at the air and you feel tears pooling in your eyes because what the fuck have you gotten yourself into?
You twist back around and you see a clown ducking behind a corner: the same clown you’d been seeing for several miserable weeks. None of this is a dream or a hallucination and you just want to get out but you know if you try opening that door, it won’t budge. You’re stuck, and there’s nowhere else to go but farther in.
As you continue exploring, you still hear laughter, still see the clown popping in and out of your peripherals, playing with you. Your heart is beating so hard it’s difficult to breathe and you don’t know what this thing wants with you. You wonder if it could be reasoned with, but then you promptly disregard that idea. There’s no room for bargaining. The best you can do is beg is hope there’s even a tiny part of it that takes pity on you. Even that’s just wishful thinking.
“Does birdie like the balloon?”
You whip around quickly and see the clown standing on the far side of the room. Even from here you can tell he’s much taller than you are. His clothes are old and his hair is fiery and his grin is menacing and impossible to forget.
“Who are you?” you ask weakly. You feel like a mouse under the predatory gaze of a lion.
“I’m Pennywise the dancing clown!” He does a small dance and sounds jovial as he introduces himself, but it elicits no smile from you. You’re still frightened, he can tell. He repeats his question. “Does birdie like the balloon?”
“U-Um…” you whisper. “Yes. Yes, I like it very much, Pennywise.”
Pennywise’s smile widens, but then it begins to fade when he notices you’re not maintaining eye contact. You’re staring at the floor. “Do you want to leave?”
At his question, you look up. The desperation in your eyes gives you away immediately but you’re contemplating how to answer as if it makes a difference. “No!” you hurry to say before too much time goes by. “I want to stay.” You try to force a smile on your face, thinking that maybe, just maybe, if you play along, you can figure out a way to get out.
There’s a few seconds of silence, then Pennywise snarls, eyes flashing dangerously. “You’re lying.” He rushes towards you and you scream in terror, letting go of the balloon and running out of the room, searching desperately for an escape. But you can’t find any. The windows are sealed shut and the doors leading outside are locked. The sound of Pennywise’s laughter follows you, and at one point it feels like it’s coming from inside your head. You eventually end up in the study, panting and panicking because you know he’s close behind, and you watch in horror as the walls seem to bleed, crimson liquid pouring from them until the wallpaper is red. That… couldn’t be real, could it? But why wouldn’t it be? Everything else up until now had been real.
“There you are!”
Pennywise blocks the doorway and you twist around to look at him. You back up but trip over one of the tomes on the ground and fall. So you crawl backwards instead with every step the clown takes. Then you hit the wall, and there’s the feeling of warm blood sticking to your clothes and your hair but it doesn’t matter. Your eyes are glued to Pennywise as he comes to a stop in front of you and squats down so you’re face to face.
At the sight of your tears, he frowns in mock dejection. “Don’t cry, birdie. I thought you wanted to stay here and play with me.”
You don’t know if it’s exhaustion or fear that’s driving you to give the responses you do, because none of them seem to be the right one. “Please…” You swallow hard, trying to steady your breathing. “Please don’t call me that.”
Pennywise laughs and it’s piercing from this close. You flinch at the sound, not entirely sure if he’d reach for you, but he doesn’t. “Do you know why I call you birdie?”
You shake your head, not meeting his eyes. He moves closer and sets a hand on your cheek roughly to get you to look at him. His claws are extended and almost seem to dig into your head and you whimper. You can barely see him through the torrent of tears flooding your eyes. His tongue snakes out to lick at the salty tears on your cheek and you try to back away, but it’s useless because you’re against a wall and his grip is iron. His smile widens.
“The little tweets you make,” he explains matter-of-factly, as if he were talking about the weather. “Especially when you’re scared.”
He opens his mouth and a monstrous set of teeth extend from it and your eyes widen and you cry harder, repeating no no no in a pitiful plea, like your begging might actually do something. You scream when he latches onto your neck, canines piercing the skin and drawing blood. You’re kicking your feet and trying to push him away but he’s much stronger than you are. The last thing you see with hazy vision is a red balloon floating in the doorframe, completely still. (This one is a hallucination. But you’d never know that.)
You’ve stopped moving by the time Pennywise pulls away. Your blood coats his mouth and his claws are sticky but he’s eager to dive back in because this is a meal he’s been waiting a long time for. His little birdie tastes just as good as he’d imagined. Though he’ll admit, he’s going to miss hearing those wonderful chirps of pain.
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crow-moon · 4 years
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Reading and Self Isolation
One goal I set for myself for 2020 was to read one book a month that has been on my bookshelves for a long time. So far I have been sticking to that goal, and have read The Man Who Ate His Boots by Brandt, Tree: A Life Story by Suzuki and Grady, and most recently, and due to the self-isolation protocols and having nothing better to do, The Iliad by Homer. My personal white whale.
The Iliad has been on my book since I took a high school course in Greek mythology, way back in 2001. It's been hanging around on my shelf in various forms for the last 20 years, more or less, and every once in a while I'd look at it, contemplatively, thinking perhaps today is the day, perhaps this is the year...
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Needless to say, it never was the day, or the year. A bit of backstory: I spent a lot of high school reading Forgotten Realms and other Dungeons and Dragons-esque fantasy series, which evolved into high fantasy and fairy tale retellings by Patricia McKillip (which i still love).
In university, I moved on to the grim-dark fantasy we all know (and I thoroughly despise) as Game of Thrones. After that broke me of any interest in fantasy whatsoever, and well into university, I started heavily reading non-fiction. I was taking a major in history, you see, and sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.
I moved to Italy and read whatever I could find, really, having only a small collection of books to choose from in English - along with my course material from my long-distance courses with university, mostly 19th Century English literature and the very massive Janson's History of Art textbook that surely has every piece of Western art in it since history became a thing.
When I finished all that, moved back to Canada, and settled in (2011/2012-ish), I started thinking about fantasy again, and read a few more grim-dark things (A Dance With Dragons just came out and I decided to torture myself with that, and the The Blade Itself trilogy or whatever it's called), then fell into the most massive reading slump I ever did experience. I didn't read anything for like three years, unless I had to. Didn't even think of Homer in all that time.
Went back to school for two years to get my B.Ed, and read as little as possible (although for one course I did, I read several real gems, like Monkey Beach by Eden Robinson and Green Grass, Running Water by Thomas King). I graduated in 2017. This brings The Slump up to five years.
Graduated, spent half a year working, and was still massively disinterested in reading. I tried to get back into the habit, because it is a habit that you have to build for yourself if you want to read a lot. I read Fahrenheit 451 which sparked some interest in me, then got a fateful email from Goodreads in December.
This email gave me reading stats of celebrities for the year. Sarah Jessica Parker, star of Sex and the City (and lots of other things I am sure), this email said, managed to read something like 25 books in one year. I was flabbergasted. Sarah Jessica Parker, who is a busy adult woman with an acting career and probably interests and philanthropic endeavours and all sorts of stuff, managed to find enough time to read regularly and I, who has just sort-of started a job and had no interests or hobbies besides playing video games, walking, and reading, can't find time to read books? I'm certainly not making movies or t.v. shows, or donating my time to charities. What is wrong with me?
And all this time The Iliad is still on my shelf, untouched. That's not to say I haven't bought books in all this time. My shelves are teeming with things to read, because I kept buying, but not reading. I even bought a newer copy of The Iliad during the Five Year Slump.
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I got it at a thrift store. I saw some highlighting in it, and thought hmmm, perhaps the previous owner wrote some insightful commentary inside this copy... No such luck. Didn't matter anyway, as it simply replaced the older orange version on my shelf. I carried on not reading it, obviously.
After The Email, I made myself a goal: in 2019, I am going to read 25 books come hell or high water. Just like Sarah Jessica Parker. And I want to read The Iliad. So I started carrying books around with me again, and set time aside for at least an hour a day and read. I also got myself back to the library, a place I tend to shy away from because I dislike communal things: food, door handles, public washrooms, books... anything that might hang on to some nasty bug and pass it along to me (hmmm). But I went anyway, and got some audiobooks from the library to help me on my quest to read 25 books, including The Iliad.
I read all sorts of things in 2019:
The Silmarillion
Frozen in Time
Dombey and Son
The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
Rubicon
The Rise and Fall of the Dinosaurs
Far From the Madding Crowd
And re-read a bunch, too:
Jurassic Park
Good Omens
The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit
just about all of Jane Austen's books
The Shipping News
In total I read some sixty books, blowing past the goal I set some time in May 2019.
Still, no Iliad.  
I was quite proud of myself for reading 60 books, though. I haven't done that since probably 2001 or 2002, so I decided not to be mad at myself. I'd try again in 2020, and perhaps get through a few books that have been hanging around for a while.
So here we are in 2020, it's March, we're all being responsible and practicing social distancing, and my god I am bored. There is only so much one can do when they are not working, just hoping for good news.
About a week before the city shut down I was browsing the library waiting for my friend, when I happened upon the rather large collection of audiobooks they have stocked there, and lo, there was The  Iliad, like a sign from on high. I took it, ripped it to my library, and this week I have split my time listening to it while I walk and reading it while at home from yet another paper copy I picked up (I just love the  Oxford World's Classics, sue me).
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The audio version I picked up is a rather plain English translation, which is nice because it made the story easy to follow while I did not have a copy to reference in front of me. The Oxford edition used somewhat more... complicated phrasing? I suppose, but while reading it I enjoyed that rather a lot. I guess the translation does count in some sense.
If you didn't already know, The Iliad recounts almost the last two or so weeks of the Trojan War. The poem itself does not even cover the events leading up to the war (the goddesses conning Paris into picking whose best between them; him 'winning' Helen, the prettiest lady, and pissing off the losers of this little competition; Paris making off with another man's wife and all her wealth, Menelaus; being really pissed about his wife taking off/being taken, raising a campaign to go after Helen (and her money); the ten year siege that ensues) or the events after Priam goes to beg for his son's body back (building the Trojan horse, ransacking Ilium, Achilles' death). It really mostly focuses on what is honourable and dishonourable in war, and the destructive power of humans (and the gods)  - through all time.
How do you review a poem from the 6th century BCE?  The Iliad describes, book after book, line after line, every spear thrust into an eye socket, bowel, jaw, or groin. The merciless ruin people are capable of, but also the great compassion and mercy they can be moved to, such the compassion Achilles felt for King Priam, who snuck into the enemy encampment to beg for Hector's body in order for him to have a proper funeral. I arbitrarily gave it five stars because it didn't disappoint me after 20 years of anticipation, but that may change when I get around to reading The Odyssey, which made it to my shelf at the same time as The Iliad.
Well. I just spent the last couple hours writing almost mindlessly, and it has been really fun. Perhaps I should try this more often, especially when I am bored of reading and walking.
TL;DR: I got really upset that my life was way less busy than Sarah Jessica Parker's and still she managed to read more than me, and that is my motivation to read more. maybe I should thank her.
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trendtshirtnewposts · 4 years
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Third grade class of 2020 we made history our year was cut short but our dreams were not shirt
Third grade class of 2020 we made history our year was cut short but our dreams were not shirt T shirts Store Online
Third grade class of 2020 we made history our year was cut short but our dreams were not shirt
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bookofsurvival-blog · 6 years
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David Orwell Reality Bending Secrets Review - It Actually Works
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thekitschies · 7 years
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Not the Kitschies 2016, by Cat Webb
Cat Webb AKA Kate Griffin AKA Claire North has been a judge for the Kitschies twice, for her sins. Behind the Throne – K.B.Wagers
The story of green-haired gun-runner who wakes up one day to discover that she’s ruler of an interplanetary empire despite herself, there’s a lot here to like. K.B.Wagers isn’t doing anything astoundingly new with her political-intrigue/assassination-filled space opera… but she is doing some very nice things that would definitely make a Kitschies judge keep reading.
For a start, the empire that our heroine has to rule is matriarchal, and deliberately moulded on Indian mythology and culture. A men’s resistance movement is fighting back against the entrenched female monarchy, and as much time is spent attending temple and offering incense to Ganesh, as it is reminiscing on days with smugglers from other Chinese or more European-styled empires. It’s a nice take on familiar political themes, and a pleasant inversion on some very basic gender stereotypes.
Would it win? Alas, probably not. There is some dubious editing, and a large cast of characters blur into each other fairly easily, not to mention an impressive amount of time spent on remorseful tears and descriptions of saris. The plot, when you stop to think about it, is light around the edges – however it’s still a headlong rush of Stuff Happening In A Funky Place, and even if you put it aside after with a cry of ‘ah well next!’ you won’t have regretted the time spent reading at all.
The Space Between the Stars – Anne Corlett
I can see this being submitted to the Kitschies with a cry of ‘hell yes’. Its premise – what happens when 99.9999% of humanity is wiped out – isn’t new, but has the addition that it’s set in a future in which humanity has colonized the stars. Consequently, this isn’t your usual shuffle across a desolate Earth, but can be the story of what happens to the one person left alive when a whole colony goes dark, or the few survivors stranded in a hostile corner of the universe when it all collapses. It is also a story about going home, and what home is in a space this big, weaving in religion, sexuality, authoritarianism and loss.
While both the book and the writing hold huge promise, it suffers from a supporting cast of two-dimensional characters, who sometimes feel as if they are ticking off a wish-list of narrative viewpoints. Quietly-tortured sort-of-priest? Yeap. Prostitute with a heart of gold? Tick. Swaggering space Captain with a hidden gem of conscience who we all learn to love? Boom. For all of the book’s many charms, the SF-geek in my soul still feels that Firefly did this better.
It’s also worth noting that the book does an important thing well, and then gets hobbled by it. It talks about miscarriage, from a mother’s perspective, and how that has changed her life. Tackling this in life and fiction is an excellent thing, and huge cheers to Anne Corlett for going at it. However, when most of humanity has been wiped out from the universe and survivors are struggling to survive violence, oppression and probable death, you begin to ask whether the scale of the narrative premise set before this characters, doesn’t begin to outweigh the topic that is being put at the heart of the book. To my shame, as one who’s all down with talking about things that matter more, I found a moment arriving fairly soon where I just didn’t care about the main character’s history or anxieties… because the unexplored dangers of the situation and the unknown future were just more damn interesting.
Poison City – Paul Crilley
Hell no it wouldn’t win a Kitschie. But hell yes, we’d have had fun reading it, and at the shortlist meeting Glen would have broken out a Tupperware box full of wine and at least a couple of minutes would have been spent celebrating how much fun we had reading this book, and but how there were too many other books that are just pushing harder, more at the boundaries of fiction for us to give it a prize.
And yes – a brief flurry of discussion would have arisen about how nice it is to read urban fantasy both set in South Africa, and which draws so refreshingly on South African mythology and folklore. There almost certainly would have been a moment of tense discussion over how ethnicity is written about in the book, because these things do matter, followed fairly quickly by the conclusion that hey, this isn’t a tome setting out to tear anything down or build anything new – it’s just dead fun urban fantasy doing a funky thing in a groovy place, and it does that well.
It does it very well, and it’s hugely entertaining, and sometimes, amid the earnest contemplation of what the hell a progressive book prize even is, we’d all just breathe a sigh of relief that we get to rejoice in pure fun and fantasy too.
A Closed and Common Orbit – Becky Chambers
I was a judge the year A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet got shortlisted, and it was a damn good book. As well as being beautifully written, it was a picture of a universe in which humanity was, for once, fully embracing what it meant to be humane. Aliens fell in love across the boundaries of species… sentience was celebrated as a beautiful gift, everyone was accepted for who they were and judgements were rarely levelled by characters against each other, and never by the writer. It felt like a universe I wanted to live in.
Plot? Heh. They go a place, and at the end, some stuff happens. But that is more or less the be-all and end-all of the book, and afterwards you’re left wondering just what it was that drew you along.
A Closed and Common Orbit is in many ways much the same… and it still works. Even though the plot is fairly light, even on the flashback sections which help build the characters more, and what action there is almost happens off-page in a sorta shrug at the end… I kept on turning pages and damnit, I kept on really, really caring. I cared for every single character, for their hopes and their dreams, and I loved them all not for the conflict they were experiencing, but for the compassion they showed each other, and how that drove them on. At the end there was a cry of ‘but what even happened really?’ and every now and then, when feeling vulnerable, I might just hug the book like a childhood teddy bear, and be in my happy place.
  Tomorrow Adam Roberts will give us his inimitable taste.
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