#i have so much plotted out for this and none of it published yet

[senselessviolets]

“stay soft”

Roman Roy x Fem. Reader

Rating E (Smut)

Word Count: 3.3k

AO3 Link

WARNINGS:

Mommy kink, smut, some plot, this man has MOMMY ISSUES™️, gentle femdom, titplay, breast sucking, so much dirty talk, Roman gets called “baby” a lot, no PIV, no uses of Y/N

Author's Notes:

The people have spoken—y’all want Roman being fucking babied in bed so that’s what the fuck I did and I have zero regrets. Totally gave up in the end but school’s been incredibly draining for me so I’m proud of myself for even getting THIS out.

[Gif creds: I forget. if it’s yours, lemme know!!]

Summary:

You are an equally wealthy childhood friend of the Roys and Roman in particular. After years of little to no contact with him, he and you decide to finally act on the mutual attraction you both share in the most ‘Roman way’ you can think of. 

“Okay, but like if we…fuckin’...if we fuckin’ do this, I will want…some things. But I’m not g’na fuckin’ beg or anything…call you mommy, ‘goo goo ga ga’…none of that shit. I will want you…to be there…and I will want you to ‘not be there’...if you catch my drift. I-I don’t wanna hear a fuckin’ word or a single moan. I don’t want—I just don’t want it, okay. And this might sound bad—even though I’ve definitely said worse—but you would be just a-a means for me,” a voicemail blears in your ear as you are made aware of the four calls you missed in your slumber, “‘Kay? I dunno. Think it over. It’s not fuckin’ life or death. Until it is. And I kill you. And hide the body and burn the evidence…kidding! ‘Kay, love you, kidding, ‘kay, bye!”

This was uncharted territory for you both. 

You and Roman and the other Roy children were longtime family friends. Like Stewy Hosseni or a lesser example Ray Kennedy. What that meant was your incredibly loaded dad gave Logan Roy an ungodly sum of money in the nineties and had managed to stay on his good side ever since. At their status, that’s what qualified as ‘friendship’. Everything was a transaction at the end of the day. Like you suspected Logan and Caroline had bought their way into their kids’ hearts, to even be in the same room as these titans—to breathe the same air—you had to beg, steal, or borrow. Fortunately, you hailed from less-than-humble beginnings; your father being an incredibly successful venture capitalist-turned-philanthropist and your mother the heiress of a billion-dollar publishing company. 

But it was all just details. 

You were eternally grateful to be an only child, imagining an existence where you and your progeny were destined to forever claw at each other's throats—all for whatever scraps your parents were generous enough to leave you.

Unfortunate. ‘Pitiful’ felt more accurate. Every hollow soiree and vapid function served as a reminder. These were not your people. And they never would be. And yet—

“Heya! Well, you look less miserable than usual. Lemme guess, you finally ditched Loser What’s-His-Face and have taken up my longstanding advice of giving lesbianism a try,”

“Hi, Roman. No, I’ve actually been reminiscing about our younger years together. Remember the time you threw up in your mouth before presenting me my corsage the night of the winter formal? Seventh grade? Ring a bell?”

“That was because it only dawned upon me then that I would be getting Cody Keener’s sloppy seconds,” he answers, “I just couldn’t cope with that, I’m sorry,”

You slug him in the arm and he reacts overdramatically, as if someone stuck him with the pointy end of a knife. Onlookers included none other than Frank Vernon, Hugo Baker, and a close friend of your mom’s, Michelle Anne. This time, you and Roman had crossed paths at your father’s 70th birthday party. It was held at your parents’ penthouse on the Upper East Side and attracted a decent crowd. Faces you’d sworn you met pass you by as strangers come up to you, recounting memories of you who were only this tall. It was always a discombobulating experience but you continued to frolic and mingle nonetheless. 

In truth, this little ‘reunion’ was nothing but a facade. 

You and Roman had been talking for weeks now after years of no contact with one another. Brief texts turned into prolonged phone calls which by the end of the night became one-sided, pathetic voicemails expressing some sort of yearning for the other. It was becoming all-consuming and quite frankly, exhausting. And now it had finally come to blows. 

There was a plan, there were contingencies (of course, there were) but above all—there was transparency. And that was something you could hold onto. Oh, the many men who lied their way into your bed. And then here comes Roman, who’d made it abundantly clear he’d rather inhale glass than have you worm your way into his. So this scheme would not transpire at his place or yours. 

It would be occurring in a Central Park Suite at The Carlyle—just a quick jaunt from your parents’ place. He deigned to be a gentleman and handled the reservations as well as your transportation because you had to already be there. You were going to be lying on the bed, in some satiny sleepwear. No lingerie, no hosiery—nothing that could be construed as ‘sexy’. You were to look mundane, average, and bored. 

Roman would enter and you would be still and let him do as he pleased. While you’d had this endeavor nailed to a T, you’d be lying if you said the prospect of him going off-script—doing things rougher, harder, doors off the hinges, letting his darker impulses get the better of him—didn’t make your knees buckle a bit. 

So once the candles had been blown, the birthday wishes made, and goodbyes were said—you were to slide into his black Range Rover SV while his secondary chauffeur Crispin brought you to your destination. In your duffel was your change of clothes and a few other goodies. It had crossed your mind—once, twice how exceedingly easy it would be to bail right about now. Crispin could drop you off on the side of the road like some floozy and then your personal chauffeur could pick you up and drive you back to your cozy brownstone for a mundane evening spent by yourself—alone. That was the part that struck a pang in your stomach. That was the truly unbearable part. That, and the heat between your thighs which was starting to become really inconvenient. 

…

Now was not the time to get cold feet. 

You had already slid your sequin cocktail dress off and exchanged it for your satin sleepwear. Like the pretty kept thing he’d instructed you to be, you lay flat across the plush hotel mattress, awaiting his arrival, legs swinging to and fro like an eager teenage girl.

Maybe he’d be the one to pussy out.

At least then you’d have yet another thing to hold over his head for the foreseeable future. In your phone’s front-facing camera, you inspected the makeup you’d done earlier that evening for the party and it still seemed sufficient. Your lips seemed a bit drab. You roll off the bed and I sift through the contents of your bag, searching for the mauve lip color you’d brought along. Dabbing it onto the purse of your mouth while gazing into the mirror of the room’s modest vanity—you begin to lose track. 

This isn’t it and you know it. 

You know it. 

So fucking do something about it. 

Examining the time on the wall clock, you decide to hastily shake off your striped satin pj set and tear through your duffel for the sheer lace slip and matching long gloves. Not liking the unkemptness of your long hair at this particular moment, you palm your bag for one of the chignon French hairpins that had sunk their way to the bottom—a go-to for you since your younger years. The best you can muster is a half-up, loose, more-than-messy low bun because suddenly, a knock on the door can be heard. Your heart leaps into your throat and you shove your duffel bag into the armoire in a hurried panic. The click of the hotel room’s keycard lock comes next and you spring to the door as to be the one to open it. You and Roman meet each other’s gaze through the crack of the half-open door, you two beam down at your hands, enclosed over both sides of the handle. He is very noticeably startled, not expecting you to answer the door.

“C-Come on in,” you stutter, gesturing into the hotel suite with a gloved hand. 

Roman’s mouth goes dry. It is not all that often the family jester is able to be truly caught off-guard. This absolutely was one of those times. He shuffles into the room with tepid steps and doesn’t turn around to face you until he hears the door click shut. With a blank, nonchalant expression—he shrugs, prompting you to provide some sort of explanation. Of which, you do not possess. 

“What?” you say. 

“What’s…all of that about?”

“Yeah, sorry…wasn’t really feeling the pajamas tonight. I opted for something I felt was a little more fitting. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,”

He definitely fucking does mind actually. But any frustration at being caught unawares expresses itself in the form of big beautiful hazel eyes beaming at you with fear and uncertainty. His lips are parted, unable to form the words he can’t even begin to think of at this particular moment.

“So…,”

“...so…?”

“So…lay down,” you finally say.

Roman is able to briefly channel the smarmy assholeishness he usually hones with a sarcastic scoff and smirk. He shakes his head to himself before his gaze finds the floor. 

“...I’m sorry, maybe you just didn’t hear me right the first time,” you say, crossing over until you are eye-to-eye with him and your competing breaths can be felt, “...or maybe I should’ve been a bit more specific.”

You lean in until your lips brush the outer shell of his right ear and he stops breathing. 

“Roman. Lay the fuck down on that bed. Now.”

He quickly scrambles onto the bed, resting on his back while slightly sitting up. There is a tentative eagerness in his demeanor as if the last hints of resistance in his muscles had yet to dissipate.

“Good. Now can you unbutton your shirt by yourself or do you need my help?”

“...I-I-I need your help,” he mindlessly babbles, “P-Please. Please, can you help me?”

You click your tongue at his wanton request, attempting to maintain your composure. It was after the first ‘please’ that you knew you were going to willingly give everything in you to this man right then and there. 

The safeguards? Fuck the safeguards. 

The time for self-preservation was about five or so minutes ago before his knuckles had rapped gently on the heavy wooden door. Without breaking eye contact, you straddle him effortlessly, both knees on either side of his hips. You aren’t certain because all the blood had flooded to your ears and you were unable to hear much over the thumping of your own heartbeat but you swear you hear a quiet ‘oh god’ slip out of him. Your fingers find the buttons on his grey button-down and your wrists noticeably begin to shake as they undo them.

For fuck’s sake.

Up until this point, you had conjured the impression that you were the one in control here and that there was nothing he could say or do otherwise. But now the true vulnerability of the situation had begun to set in. The playing field had been leveled. 

His fingers enrapture yours and he steadies your grasp as you both work to unbutton his shirt. Roman swallows, anxiously. You get more than half of the way there before he gives up and presses his face firmly to yours. 

It’s a declarative kiss. 

It’s long-lasting and when the two of you eventually break it—you know there’s no going back. Those hands of his, wracked with nerves, find their way to your hips. He slowly drags the lacey fabric up so your upper thighs are exposed. Once you can feel the soft flesh of your hips exposed to the cold air, you grab his wrists and he freezes. 

“Ah-ah-ah, I don’t think I remember saying you could do that,”

“I-I’m s-sorry. I’m sorry. Don’t—I’m sorry,”

“So many apologies, they just keep on coming,”

“I’m…,” he deeply exhales out of his nose. 

“You’re what? Wait, lemme guess,” you goad, “Sorry?”

He bobs his head up and down, face full of embarrassment.

“Hm…think I’m a little sick and tired of those ‘sorrys’, sweetie. You and that mouth of yours. Oh, that fuckin’ mouth of yours. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the amount of headaches it’s caused me in what, the two decades I’ve known you? What are we gonna finally do about that mouth?”

Roman looks up to you, hanging onto your every last word. 

“I-I don’t know, j-just tell me what to do. I can make it up to you, I-I promise,”

You genuinely take a moment to mull it over, though the growing hardness pressing against your most intimate place admittedly was making it hard to think.

“...I think…we need to find another use for that mouth of yours—something to keep it busy, hm? How does that sound, my sweet baby?”

You swear his face goes pale as he assumes you mean your cunt. While the thought had crossed your mind (many, many times in fact), knowing Roman—you know that would be too much. And that you would lose him forever somewhere along the way and you didn’t even want to begin to think about that. 

You tilt your head, staring longingly at that poor little boyish face of his. Your clothed index finger traces its way slowly from the exposed flesh of his tummy, up to his ribs, across his collarbone, along his Adam’s apple, over his bearded chin— finally stopping at his pinkish bottom lip. You pull it down, making him pout for you. 

“Open for me,” you utter softly. 

Roman obeys, his tongue moving upwards in his mouth when he swallows. You continue to tease around his mouth torturously, the lace creating a delicious friction against his beard. The heat of his pants against your lone finger makes you stir inside. 

“Now, close your eyes—mouth still open,”

He noticeably resists before relenting, his eyes flutter closed. You drop one of the spaghetti straps of the slip off of your shoulder, exposing yourself. Your nipple pebbles in the cool air conditioning of the room. You awkwardly lean your torso inwards, inching your breast closer to his mouth. For a brief second, his eyes flick open, taking in the scene. Catching your drift instantly, he swallows as much of the soft flesh as his mouth will allow, moaning into it. The most obscene sucking sounds soon fill the room. Roman whimpers into your skin, letting his head fall limp against your chest. You wrap your arms around his neck, cradling his head. His brown fluff of hair is too tempting for your hands to not tangle themselves in. 

“There, you go…you’re so good. You’re so good for me, aren’t you? Yeah?” you sigh, tilting your head backward.

You swear you can feel your hips gyrating on their own. Roman’s fingers have ensnared themselves onto the flimsy fabric of your slip, gripping it so tight you think it might tear. Not that you’d give a shit if it did. 

“Y’know what I think? I think you act the way you do all the fucking time because you’re just waiting for someone to come and put you in your place, is that right? Yeah? You’re a brat ‘cause you want someone to do this to you? Hm?”

He releases your nipple and an almost pornographic line of spit drools from his mouth. Roman’s lips are plump and rosy, kiss-bruised and swollen. You find out just how warm they’ve become when his wet mouth comes to meet your own in a kiss so messy, you know you’ll touch yourself thinking about it later.

“I-Is this good? A-Am I being a good boy for you?”

“Mm-hm, you’re being a very good boy for me. My good boy. Mommy’s good boy, right?”

“Yes, fuck, yes—” he sobs, moving onto your other breast.

His voice is shrill and wrought with desperation. You only ever heard it get this high-pitched when he was making a mocking impression of you or some other woman. And now here he was, making these noises all on his own. The edge of his bottom teeth catches your nipple in just the right away. You squeal, jolting upwards in his lap and laughing at the surprise sensation. He soothes the sensitive skin with the flat of his tongue immediately after. 

“That’s it. There’s my boy, there’s my sweet baby boy,”

All of the sudden, his hands leave your slip and fly to the buckle of his belt. Roman undoes his zipper and shimmies down his slacks enough to pull his dick out. He jerks it quickly with his eyes wound tightly shut in an attempt to get himself completely hard. 

“M-Mommy, c-can I see ‘it’? P-Please, god!” Roman begs out.

Your current position leaves his cock hidden by the hem of your slip. All you can see is the silhouette of his fist in the fabric pumping up and down speedily—relentlessly. He could easily just lift the skirt himself and look at your bare pussy, just as he hungrily wants but he doesn’t. 

He waits. He waits for you to give him permission. 

“See what, sweet boy? Say it, use your words for me. You’re a big boy, you can do it. I know you can,” 

Your hands cup his face and you rest your forehead on his. The skin is taught and slick with sweat. A vein above his brow becomes visible as he strains into his own palm. 

“What do you want, Roman?” you reiterate, trying to regain his attention.

“Fff-fuck! Your p-pussy, I wanna see y-your pussy!”

“All together. Say it all together. Say ‘Mommy, can I please see your pretty pussy?’” 

“Mommy, can I please see your pretty pussy?”

His eyes finally open and they aim downwards, expectantly. 

“Is that all you want, pretty boy?”

“N-N-yes!”

“Is that all you want?”

“No! No, I wanna cum, I-I wanna f-f-finish! W-Wanna finish on it,” he whines.

“All together, baby…”

“Mommy, can I please finish on your pretty pussy?! Please!”

It’s on the last syllable of his sentence that he erupts. Only as he’s cumming is he able to look at your cunt. You swiftly move the fabric up and his load catches the edge of it, the rest of it coating your exposed pussy. Roman falls backwards limp onto the pillow and you roll off of him and the bed and onto your jelly-like legs. The two of you don’t look at each other, occupying opposite sides of the room while you make yourselves decent. You shed your stained garment, using it to wipe your cunt clean. You fling it onto the hotel carpet and don’t think twice about it. 

“Mind if I…borrow that…for a bit?” a weak voice croaks from across the suite. 

You turn your head and smirk, still topless.

“All yours.”

Briefly, you catch a glimpse of Roman from behind, buttoning up his shirt. You pull up your dress, sweatier than before when you had taken it off. You expected there to be a palpable shift between the two of you, had everything gone according to plan. You figured the next RECNY ball that was just around the corner might be a bit awkward but it was nothing a few sarcastic quips and some alcohol couldn’t fix.

“My guy’s still waiting out front, so that’s my not-so-stealthy getaway. I can have Crispin pull around in twenty if I guess, I dunno, you wanted to shower the stank off of y…”

Roman’s words trail off as he becomes caught up in the sight of you; your cocktail dress zipped up halfway, your hair in an even messier updo than before, one heel on with the other remaining to be seen. It left him dumbfounded, feeling impulsive, like he could leave everything behind then and there and things might turn out alright. 

“Um…d’you maybe wanna just come with me…I dunno. Back at my place, I mean. And don’t make it into…it’s not a thing. Th-This is not a thing. But, yeah, we could order in whatever you, you could stay over, I-I got spare rooms–”

“Roman—”

“—it-its not like a big deal or anything, y’know? This isn’t, this wasn’t ‘a thing’. Fuckin’ labels and everything, I m—”

“Roman! That all sounds fine; I just would like to exit one of the nicest hotels in the damn city not looking like a two-bit whore, yeah? Come and zip me up,”

“I mean, if you ask me—I think it’s a rather fitting look,” he says, echoing your previous words.

“ROMAN!” 

“Alright, fuck, fine!”

End.

{ Feedback is welcome! }

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<3

[verysanebsdfan]

My favs x bday!reader

Saiki Kusuo (the disastrous life of saiki k), Muichiro Tokito (demon slayer), Killua Zoldyck (hunter x hunter), Neuvillette(genshin impact), Dazai Osamu (bungo stray dogs), our!Ciel Phantomhive (black butler) (seperately) x bday!reader

Synopsis: them with s/o who has birthday, how they celebrate, what do they do etc.

MASTERLIST!!

Notes: IT'S MY BDAY GUYSSS!!! I honestly wanna go back to being a little child, but oh well, i still have a few years. probably contains grammatical errors but oh well. not proofread. Am I happy with it? no. Am I gonna publish this? absolutely. i also wanted to include Bram Stoker from bsd but my brain was blank and i had no ideasss :((

cw: none i think?

☆*: .｡. o .｡.:*☆*: .｡. o .｡.:*☆*: .｡. o .｡.:*☆*: .｡. o .｡.:*☆*: .｡. o .｡.:*☆

Saiki Kusuo:

Would not make you a surprise party, but i feel like he would buy you your favourite cake, pastry, sweets, snack...just something that he know would make you happy. Nothing extravagant, just an average present, from an average guy. It's the thought that counts<3 Would like to spend some quality time with you, but if you wanna hang out with friends or spend time with family, he doesnt mind. He would make sure everything goes smoothly and you would be safe tho<3 Prolly wouldnt make a big deal out of this...It is just birthday after all, but he loves to see you happy soo<3

Happy birthday y/n...i hope you like the (favourite dessert) i got you

Muichiro Tokito:

It really depends, if you are a demon slayer, you would maybe have private training session, and a cute lunch on a break. Now if you aren't a demon slayer (condolences) he'd make time for you'd watch clouds together, eat lunch and spend some time together, but he is busy so... :( I bet he was smiling teh rest fo teh day though :3

Look...that clouds looks just like (favourite animal)...happy birthday y/n...i love you

Killua Zoldyck:

Thinks celebrating something like an anniversary of your birth is stupid :3 Would definitely ask Gon for gift ideas<3 Now, if you are helping Gon find his dad too, I feel like you two would end up having a play fight of a sort? Yk, to train your nen:3 But if you dont, or its already some time after the og plot line, he'd take you on a date, and give you choco robots! Tease you a little too!

look at yourself, in a few years, i wont even be able to call you a baby :3 is it just me or youre even more beatiful? must come witha age:3 Happy Birthday silly:3

Neuvillette:

Humans celebrate the anniversary of their birth? Why? He asks, why celebrate being even closer to death. It scared him...your death...It's so close, yet so far. When you explained him that it's to commemorate your past years, and celebrate what's to come. he understood, after all, humans have only finite amount of years to live, so he was going to make yours the best possible. He would clear up his schedule, or at least try. He would get you flowers and then he would take you to a romantic dinner to the finest restaurant in all of Fontaine, and then to a romantic walk by the shore, to watch otters (:3) He hopes many of these so called birthdays of yours would come.

Mon amour...we should do this more often, not only on special occasions...I love you so much...and these..."birthdays" only remind me of...future without you...

Dazai Osamu:

My man will ask you to commit double suicide i am not even joking. Honestly would either not gaf about your birthday or would be really attentive and romantic and i cannot decide.

Would you be willing to commit double suicide with me, on this important day? *smack*

our!Ciel Phantomhive:

It's not like i am lazy to write, but it's really hard to think of anything okay. I believe you would have tea party. A lot of Earl grey tea, a lot of sweets...and chess or other board games. You will just spend quality time with him...and technically Sebastian too, since he will be tending to your needs, and preparing all the food :3

Happy birthday dearest, i hope the cake is to your liking, i had Sebastian prepare it out of the finest ingredients

[scary-grace]

Designated Villain (Chapter 2) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You loved BNHA's ending, mostly, but a few weeks after the last chapter is published, you get isekaied into BNHA on the day the story begins. That would be a dream come true, except you ended up in the body of a common criminal, and instead of enjoying life in your favorite fictional world, you find yourself struggling to survive in a world that's much crueler than you ever imagined. Armed with nothing more than BNHA Tumblr brainrot and a highly suspicious iPod Shuffle, you set out to fix the few things that are wrong with BNHA's ending. But as you learn more about the villains you hated and every change you make pushes the plot further off the canon storyline, it's not long before your feelings about the ending start to change. (cross-posted to Ao3)

(dividers by @cafekitsune)

Chapters: 1 2 3

Chapter 2

The noise inside your cell, which you share with five other women, is apocalyptically loud. Two of them are arguing over something, while a third eggs them on, and not only do you not care about whatever they’re fighting over, you need to be well out of the way when the fists start flying. You lie down on your bunk — the bottom bunk, because you’re at the absolute bottom of the pecking order — and stare up at the slats of the bunk above yours. You usually save practicing for quiet time, but you need to get better at remembering under pressure.

You take a deep breath and let it go. “Hi. My name is –”

Your real name gives you seizures if you try to say it, so you’ve been practicing calling yourself the name of the person whose body you stole. You’re practicing everything else, too. Your age is easiest to remember, since you’re twenty, same as you are in your world, and you’re the same height as you were in your world, too, as well as the same weight and the same blood type. Your body is basically identical to the one you have back home. That part is easy to remember. The next part is harder.

Your backstory in this world sucks, and not in the tragic sense. Your parents were dirt-poor drug addicts who took just enough care of you to avoid being reported for neglect, and you didn’t exactly pick up the slack. You were kind of filthy in school. You had bad manners. You made bad choices, but not bad enough that anyone offered to help you. And you didn’t do all that well academically. You can’t tell if the person whose body you live in was smart and just lazy about it, or if you’re trading off the knowledge you brought with you from your world right now. Smart or not, lazy or not, you were on your own by age sixteen. You dropped out of school. Since no one would hire you, you had to find some way to make money.

You aren’t quirkless, but your quirk is stupid — all you can do is generate small bursts of white light, none of which last for longer than three seconds. It’s not useful for anything but making a getaway, which you guess is good for a person who steals for a living. You’re not too good at stealing. You can’t count the number of times you’ve had to temporarily blind a shopkeeper in order to escape with whatever you snatched.

And that’s how you got your real rap sheet — while you’ve got a pile of theft charges that could probably stretch to the moon, your felonies are all for assault, which is what they call using your quirk on somebody in the act of committing a crime or resisting arrest. Nobody’s charged you yet for throwing up a flash in Kamui Woods’s face, but it’s only a matter of time, isn’t it? They’ve held you without charges for a month and a half. Something has to happen soon.

“Talking to yourself, huh?” The newest prisoner in the cell plops down on the end of your bunk without asking permission, and you almost jump out of your skin. “I don’t blame you. Places like this mess with your mind. First time in?”

“Yes,” you say — but that’s not true for the person whose body you’re in. “No. I’ve never been in one this big before.”

“Which ones have you been in?”

You’ve been in jail before, in Aomori and Kurouzu and Oshima and Shiroiwa. The new cellmate shakes her head as you list them off. “That’s nothing compared to this place,” she says. “Prefectural jail is a whole new ballgame. Only place worse is prison. Ever been?”

You shake your head. “What about you?”

“Honey, I’ve been in more times than you can count,” your new cellmate says, and laughs. She extends a hand to shake. “Hiikishi. Nice to meet you.”

That last name rings a faint bell in your head, but not enough to merit notice. You’re too busy trying to remember your own name. You say it, then shake Hiikishi’s hand. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“Now that we’re friends, let me offer you a little piece of advice,” Hiikishi says. She flicks a few strands of her dark auburn hair over her shoulders. “Cut the talking to yourself, and try to look a little meaner. These clowns are nothing, but if you get moved to a tougher cell, you won’t be anything but fresh meat.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You sit up, narrowly avoiding banging your head on the bunk above you. “I won’t be here much longer. They’re charging me soon.”

“How long have you been in?” Hiikishi raises her eyebrows. You tell her, and she gives you a sly look. “What did they arrest you for?”

“Skipping a warrant, resisting arrest, unauthorized quirk usage, and assault on the hero who tried to capture me.” Your face burns with shame when you think about it. You were so stupid to run. Why did you have to make things worse for yourself? “That’s pretty bad, right?”

“I’d say yes. You should have been on your way to prison a month ago,” Hiikishi says. Your stomach ties itself in a knot. “Did anything — untoward — happen while they were capturing you?”

Untoward? “They didn’t, like, assault me,” you say, offended. “Heroes don’t do that.”

“Heroes do whatever they want,” Hiikishi says. “What happened?”

“I got knocked out a window,” you say. Hiikishi gestures for you to elaborate. “From four stories up.”

She whistles. “Did somebody see?”

“There was a guy taking pictures.” It clicks for you, suddenly. “They’re worried it’ll come out if I go to trial?”

“Damn right it’ll come out. As soon as you’re formally charged, those pictures will hit the internet,” Hiikishi says. “Nothing matters more to a so-called hero than their reputation, and actually killing criminals — especially little slips of a thing like you — looks bad.”

“I didn’t die, though,” you say. That’s true. You didn’t die. “I guess I came close. And nothing I did to the hero was permanent. So if they’re not going to charge me –”

“They’ll keep you in here as long as possible, to keep you off the street and keep crime down,” Hiikishi says, yawning. “When this place gets overcrowded, like it is right now, they’ll let you out. You’ll be back in soon enough.”

“No, I won’t.” As soon as you’re out of here, you’re getting on the straight and narrow and staying there for the rest of your life. “I’m never coming back here.”

“That’s cute.” Hiikishi pats your leg. “Keep telling yourself that, babe. Now clear out.”

“Huh?”

“I’m a bottom-bunk kind of girl. Get up top.”

Back in your world, when you were still you instead of a stupid, reckless criminal, you’d have demurred by default. Said you were okay, said it was fine. But you’re an opportunist these days, and Hiikishi can absolutely kick your ass if you say no. Bottom bunk to top bunk is a promotion, honestly. You scramble up without another word.

One of the other cellmates notices. “Get down from there. If anybody gets a top bunk, it’s me.”

The urge to back down wells up, but so does frustration, anger. “I’ve been in here longer than you. It’s mine.”

“Oh yeah, you little shit?” The cellmate crosses the cell and starts partway up the ladder. “I’ll drag you down from there, brat. Who do you think you are?”

Somebody who doesn’t want her nose broken, who’s going to climb down in a hurry — but Hiikishi’s words echo in your head. Fresh meat. You hold your ground, and when the cellmate’s head appears over the edge of the bed, you clamp one hand down over her face and throw a flash.

Your flashes aren’t all that bright, but they’re effective at close range. The cellmate yelps and tumbles backwards off the ladder. “I’ve got more where that came from,” you say, trying to sound threatening. “You’ll run out of eyesight way before I run out of these.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I’ve already got assault convictions,” you say. “Against heroes. You think I care at all about what I do to you?”

The cellmate on the floor is scrubbing at her eyes. The other three exchange glances, and you feel a sick stab of guilt. It doesn’t matter where you sleep. You could have just climbed down — should have just climbed down. Why did you hurt her? Hurting her isn’t the choice a good person makes. It’s the choice of a bad person. A villain. And all it’s done is made you enemies. You’re going to sleep with one eye open tonight.

A hand appears over the edge of the bed and taps your leg. “Nice work,” Hiikishi says. You squeeze your eyes shut.

It’s not a quiet night. A new transport of prisoners has arrived from other towns in the prefecture, and the cell block is noisy and jam-packed, chaotic from when the lights switch off to when they come back on. It’s a mess, but after a month and a half in jail, you know the drill.

Wake-up is half an hour before dawn, so they can herd everybody to the showers in shifts. The showers are communal, which means more people have seen you naked now than you could ever have imagined, even in your worst nightmares. When you tried to keep your towel on, the other inmates stole it. Meals are fed to you in a cafeteria twice per day, and you get a snack midday, like you’re in primary school or something. You get some time in the yard, which is a tiny, narrow box bricked in on either by the men’s wing and the women’s wing, and separated from the rest of the world by a high, electrified fence. Prisoners who behave and who don’t have dangerous quirks get time in the rec room every week, where there’s a TV and a bookshelf with books you can check out — if you behave, and if you don’t have a dangerous quirk.

Your other cellmates are all on notice, but Hiikishi hasn’t had time to get in trouble yet. “I gotta behave while I’m in here,” she says two weeks after she arrives, as the two of you walk to the rec room with the others in your cell block who’ve been approved. “They’ll quit giving me my meds if I don’t.”

“That can’t be right,” you say. Hiikishi gives you a long-suffering look. “It’s medicine. You need it to survive!”

“They don’t think so,” Hiikishi says. You look askance at her. She sighs and lowers her voice — which is pretty low to begin with. “Do I have to spell it out, honey? It’s E.”

E. Estrogen. Hiikishi’s on estrogen? Your surprise must show on your face, because Hiikishi sighs again. “You’re a little slow, huh? Or I pass better than I thought.”

“That one,” you say. Something is pulling hard at the back of your mind, but you can’t think about it right now. You need to be alert, or you might end up micro-aggressing Hiikishi to hell and back. “Sorry. I just — it’s medicine. They don’t get to withhold it if you mess up. They wouldn’t withhold mine.”

You’ve been on anticonvulsants since you were released from the hospital. Nobody wants you to have another seizure, including you, but you don’t need medicine to prevent them. All you have to do is quit trying to tell people about the isekai thing. “You’d be surprised,” Hiikishi says. The two of you have slowed down, enough that a guard gives you a shove and smacks Hiikishi in the hip with the barrel of his gun. “Hey. At least buy me dinner first, or I might have to take that toy away.”

“Nice try. I know how that quirk of yours works. My gun is safe.”

“Sure,” Hiikishi says. She picks up the pace, and as she passes you, you hear her mumble something under her breath. “But you aren’t.”

You don’t know what Hiikishi’s quirk is. It’s easy to tell for most of the inmates because of the different ways the guards handle them, but hers must be something weird. She’s in a mood now, so you give her space in the rec room. She heads for the TV, and you go for the bookshelf, wondering if there’s going to be anything new.

Some of the books are the same as books from your world, but all of those are old — Pride and Prejudice, Dracula, a Shakespeare play here or there, along with a bunch of titles in Japanese you aren’t familiar with. You can read them now, though, and you’ve read a few. Even the old books you’ve never read remind you of home, because they were all written before there were quirks. And because they’re good. Books written after quirks are kind of…boring.

You’ve read a lot of the good ones, but new titles get added every so often, and there’s a new one today. It was originally written in English — you can tell by the author’s name — but someone translated it, and made some edits, based on the title. You crack it open for the publication date: 1906. Perfect. It’s something new to read. It doesn’t matter that the summary makes absolutely no sense. Maybe that’s just the translation.

You check the book out, sit down, and read until the rec period is over. Hiikishi falls into step beside you on the walk back to your cell. “Celebrity Bachelor Japan was boring. He kicked the cutest girl off the show,” she complains. “What have you got there?”

You hold out the book and she inspects the cover. “The Night Land: A Story Retold. What’s it about?”

“It’s a little weird. Not sexy weird,” you clarify when Hiikishi raises her eyebrows. “There’s this guy, and he meets this girl. But then she dies.”

“Sad.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “But then he starts having all these really weird dreams — not sexy dreams — about the future. And the future is –”

You only made it partway into Chapter 2 before rec ended, and the impression you’ve gotten so far is “bad”. But before you can head off Hiikishi’s incoming joke about whether it’s a sexy future, an excruciatingly loud alarm goes off, so loud that you drop the book to cover your ears. It doesn’t help even slightly. You let your hands fall, crouch down, and snatch up the book again. “Fire alarm,” a guard hollers above the noise. “This is not a drill. Follow the evacuation plan –”

What evacuation plan? You’ve been here for a month and a half, and nobody’s ever said anything like that to you — but if there’s a fire, you need to be outside. Hiikishi’s thinking the same way. She grabs your arm, yanks you around, and starts pulling you towards the stairs that lead to ground level.

The two of you aren’t the only ones who’ve had the idea. The staircase is packed with inmates and with guards, so much that it’s difficult to move forward. Going back isn’t an option; more and more people are piling up behind you, all of them shoving hard for the door — which is locked. “Unlock it!” someone screams from the front of the crowd, in a voice that sounds oddly strangled. “Do you want us to die?”

“Fuck this,” someone else snaps. You don’t see what they do, but whatever it is, the door opens onto the rec yard, and people spill forwards in a wave.

You were hoping to find open space, room to breathe, but the rec yard is already crowded. “Shit,” Hiikishi snarls. “Arms up, now!”

You put them up. “Not that far! Like you’re boxing,” Hiikishi orders. You lower them slightly. You’re still holding the book. “Stay on your feet. We have to get to the fence.”

“It’s electric,” you protest. People are pressing in around you on all sides. Hiikishi is shoving and throwing elbows, trying to clear a path to move along the wall. “We’ll get shocked –”

“It’ll be faster than the fire,” Hiikishi says grimly. “Faster than this, too.”

The air around you is hot. You can smell smoke, but worst of all, you can smell sweat. You keep your arms up, but the pressure is increasing against your back, against your sides, even as you try to follow Hiikishi. You’re still moving, however slightly. The woman next to you isn’t moving at all. Her arms are down at her sides, her mouth open. Her gasps for air take on a weird, rusty quality, and a moment later, you hear a dull snap, followed by another. As you watch in horror, the woman’s chest deforms, and she crumples, falling to her knees. People tumble forward into the space she left, and in the second before she disappears entirely, you see someone’s foot come down on her head, crushing it inwards.

You scream. You can’t help it, and soon you’re not the only one. People are screaming all through the yard, women and men, and underneath it all you hear the strange gasps, the dull snaps. People are dying here. People are being crushed to death where they stand, trampled when they fall, and while you’re almost at the edge of the crowd, there’s only unforgiving brick in front of you. If the crowd falls the other way, they’ll crush you against it.

“Come on,” Hiikishi snarls. She grabs you and yanks you up against the wall with a grunt of effort. “The fence is off. You’re gonna clear a path.”

“I can’t make it.” You’re going to die here, burned to death or crushed flat. Why were you even brought to this world? Did you come here just to die horribly? “Even if I could, other people — it would collapse –”

“Fuck them. It’s them or us.” Hiikishi spins you so your back’s to the gate, then plants one hand in the middle of your chest. “I’m picking us.”

You have a split second to protest before you’re thrown backwards with incredible force. Your feet are off the ground, the left side of your body scraped raw against the bricks, and every time you shove past someone, the crowd collapses inwards. Hiikishi is following the path you cleared, and she’s not the only one. How is she throwing you? You come to a stop. She catches up, smacks you in the chest again, and throws you harder. You’re close enough to the gate to hit it at close to full speed, striking so quickly and sharply that the chicken wire bends outwards, then rips free of the frame. Your skin is torn to shreds as Hiikishi’s quirk forces you through the gate, and you skid another twenty feet, hands still up, still holding your stupid book. Maybe you hit your head or something, but it looks like you’re glowing. Glowing pink.          

The noise of the crowd is even worse now. When you look back, you can see people pressed against the fence, their bodies deforming just like the woman’s did, but Hiikishi’s forcing herself through the gap you left in the corner of the fence. She’s not the only one. Two more inmates follow her, and then a guard. Before the guard can get to his feet, Hiikishi kicks him in the side of the head, so hard that his helmet flies off and his sunglasses dislodge from his face.

“Teach you to hit me,” she spits. She crouches down and picks up the sunglasses, taking the time to brush them off even as more people struggle to squeeze through the fence. She puts them on, then turns to face you. “What do you think, honey? Are they my color?”

You nod, but your mind’s running a thousand miles a minute, piecing together the details — the pink light that surrounded you, the way she threw you, the auburn hair and the E and the sunglasses. You didn’t notice, because you didn’t pay much attention to the villain-centric chapters and episodes of BNHA, but you should have seen. Not Hiikishi. “Magne?”

“That’s me.” Magne strides past you, looking totally at peace, as if she’s already forgotten the horror unfolding behind the fence. “If you wanted out of here, now’s your chance.”

Escape? You could escape. You’re on the grounds, with no guards. Your clothes are ripped to shreds on one side and you’re missing a shoe, but — “The others,” you say. “We should –”

“You want to go back up to that fence like some hero? Stand there while it falls in on you?” Magne turns, grabs your arm, and hauls you up. “Them or you, babe. Choose you.”        

She drops your arm and bolts. You stay frozen for just a few seconds more. You. It has to be you. You turn and run towards the edge of the complex, just like the others who made it through the fence, just like Magne. Just like the other criminals. Just like every other selfish person, who’s leaving so many others to die. The screams and groans fill your ears, the worst sounds you’ve ever heard, and tears sting your eyes even as bile rises in the back of your throat. You have to stop to vomit twice before you clear the edge of the complex. But you don’t turn back.

The other escapees scatter. You lose track of Magne, and although you want to find her, some instinct left over from the person who was here before tells you that she’s done helping you. It’s time for you to help yourself, and the person who was here before knows how.

She knows where to find clothes, because your jail coveralls stand out like a sore thumb, even in the dark. She knows how to pay for clothes, too, even though you don’t have any money. You end up with a bad taste in your mouth and a long coat, black and hooded, that’s way too big for you but covers your inmate’s clothing completely. That’s a good start. Enough to get you deeper into the city and onto a train. The person who was here before might not have a home address, but she had a home base, and it’s not here.

It’s three hours’ ride on the train. You realize you’re still holding the book from the jail library and tuck it away into the largest pocket of your coat. That gives you the idea to search the other pockets, and you do, coming up with spare change, a couple of receipts, and a set of headphones. The headphones would be great if you had music to listen to, but you don’t. All you have are the sound of screams, echoing through your mind, and the dull snaps of bones breaking burrowing into your ears.

You can’t get what you saw out of your head. No matter what else you try to think about, it’s there, and if you’re able to distract yourself for even a second, it comes right back the instant you let your guard down. You fumble the book back out of your pocket and reopen it to the very beginning, starting with the foreword you skipped. It doesn’t quiet your mind enough, so you give yourself another task – translation into your native language from Japanese, one sentence at a time. It slows you down enough that you don’t faint or vomit, and by the time your train comes to a stop in Niigata, your mind feels focused enough to get yourself back to base.

First stop is a bank of storage lockers in the station. It takes you a second to find the combination in the memories that aren’t yours, but once you get it open, you find a backpack and a duffel bag, both of which you take to the bathroom to sort through in one of the handicapped stalls. As if you needed anything else to feel guilty about. You console yourself with the thought that you’ll be fast and get to work.

There’s clothing in the duffel bag, and shoes, but there’s also a skeletal first aid kit, and a decent amount of money. There’s also some kind of support gear – a pair of goggles and a mask that would cover the lower half of your face, like you’re on Naruto or something. When you dig further through the bag, you find prepackaged food, too. In some ways it reminds you of the things you put in your backpack at school, which your friends used to joke doubled as a starter kit for the apocalypse. You and the person whose place you took have something in common other than your height, age, weight, and blood type: You both like to be prepared for anything.

You can go through the backpack later. You switch out your clothes, grimacing as you reopen every scrape and scratch on your body, and put on the pair of shoes. You think about leaving the coat behind with the coveralls, but you didn’t steal it, you earned it. After what you had to do to earn it, you’re not letting it go. You throw the coveralls in the trash on your way out and pick your way through Niigata’s streets, heading for the bad side of town.

The capsule hotel might have been a nice place once. As it is, your memories tell you that it’s a known way station for people on the wrong side of the law. In spite of that, the cops don’t go in often. They can’t verify exactly who’s in there, and they don’t want any nasty surprises. Maybe that’s why you feel your shoulders relax the instant you step through the door, why you feel safe haggling a little with the person at the front desk, why you believe her, just a little, when she says she’s glad you’re back. She gives you your usual capsule, and you settle in for what’s left of the night.

It takes a little while to get the water running in the shower so you can rinse the dirt out of your scrapes, and the water is freezing-cold and weird-tasting when you let some of it run down your throat. There’s a couple hooking up in the supply closet – a couple, or maybe not – and some part of you is grossed out. The rest of you remembers how you got your coat and spends a little while dry-heaving in the sink.

You swore you wouldn’t commit any more crimes, but since the fire alarm went off at the Shizuoka prefectural jail, you’ve committed half a dozen at least. You might have rented this place legally, and the clothes on your back and the contents of the duffel and backpack might belong to you, but you got the coat through less than legal means. Worse than that, you broke out of jail, and helped other people do it. And now you’re on the run. Even if you never slip up again, you’ll still be carrying every last one of those mistakes, forever.

You’ve ruined everything. Whatever was left of everything to ruin. The person whose place you took did a great job ruining most of it already.

You want to go home. Home where you’re not a criminal, where nobody’s hunting you, where nobody gets crushed to death in a prison yard – home where you’ve got friends and a family and a whole life ahead of you that was starting to look pretty good. Do people who get isekaied ever get to go home? If you landed in the body of someone who died here, did you die in your world, too? Maybe if you figure out why you were brought here, you can fix whatever you’re supposed to fix, and then whatever brought you here will let you go home. But what could you possibly need to fix? There’s nothing wrong with how BNHA ended.

You can’t think about it anymore. You’ll go insane. But even as you curl up inside your capsule, willing your mind to go blank, a plan settles slowly into your head. You need to find out why you were brought here. That’s the most important thing. You can’t find that out if you’re in jail, so the next most important thing is to stay out of jail. No matter what you have to do to make that happen.

You feel a twinge of unease at the thought, but you shove it away. You’re not stupid. You can stay out of jail without committing any more crimes. No matter what the person whose place you took did before, you can still find a way to be good.

<- Chapter 1 Chapter 3 ->

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[let-us-cultivate-our-garden]

I used to be part of the TOH fandom but left after the finale - I felt it was very lacking and was a huge letdown for all the reasons you said. Patting itself on the back and lore erasure. But I'd like to ask about something different.

It's no secret Dana hates Disney. But saying it everywhere, the jabs at Disney in the actual show, the attitude of fans parroting her, especially when the news of the shortening was first out - it was legitimately intense. Disney the company has done bad things. But there was a period where I felt like a bad person for even remotely enjoying Disney movies and Disney-published books. I hated myself and felt I was 'betraying' the show, because I had been told Disney was the enemy and nothing more. Disney shortening the show was not a good decision. But it also provided fans with a convenient scapegoat to put every bit of blame on when the show had the tiniest flaw. Comics of beating up Mickey Mouse, 'Disney' being treated like a swear word, praising TOH as the holy grail of animation and saying Disney hated gay people - it made me feel I was a traitor to the show and to myself. (I'm still figuring out my sexuality, but I know I'm not straight.)

Do you think the Disney blame game was too much?

The toh fandom has this incredibly binary way of thinking; the show is the greatest thing in animation and if you don't agree then you're a bigot. Lumity is the best sapphic ship ever and if you don't think so then you're lesbophobic. Shipping non canon ships is tantamount to a war crime. And of course, any criticism of the show has the convenient Disney defense. Any and all flaws of the show is because Disney is evil for not letting the show reach its full potential.

Listen, getting your show cancelled or shortened sucks. But, unfortunately, it's not unique and writers need to prepare for that because it seems to be an occupational hazard in the entertainment industry. A lot of shows get cancelled without even having a conclusion (thank you Netflix for ending the Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance on a cliffhanger! even after the show won a got dang Emmy! 😤) so people should be thankful that at least the toh crew were allowed to finish the story.

I can give grace when analyzing a show's elements knowing what the writers had to deal with. But if they make decisions knowing ahead of time that they only have half a season and 3 specials left, and proceed to add more characters and plot lines that would require a longer season, then those are all fair game.

Dana knew of the Shortening around the production of Eda's Requiem, yet decided to add the Collector, because screw it! We like this little guy and want to see where it goes! They had Hunter get possessed and kill his best friend, yet barely any time is given to him to process that trauma. In the penultimate episode, Boscha, of all people, gets a mini sub plot despite not being relevant for a full season. Luz's angst arc gets 4. separate. resolutions.

None of this is Disney's fault. This all on the crew for not using their precious time wisely and tossing whatever they can to the wall to see what sticks.

So yeah, the Disney blame game is too much but it's also a blessing in disguise because now it's a convenient shield for whoever doesn't want to hear criticism about the show.

As for feeling guilty about liking Disney; listen, Disney has been foundational for literally millions of people for decades. Its presence and influence is seemingly inescapable. And the company has done some awful things in the name of corporate greed and profit.

But you should never feel guilty for liking something that brings you joy.

Remember that writers and artists are responsible for the shows you love. Many queer folks have seen themselves in Disney movies for a variety of reasons and there are many queer artists that have worked for Disney (hi Howard Ashman and Andreas Deja!)

So no, you're not a traitor for liking Disney.

The toh fandom has a very reactionary, us-vs-them attitude and it's incredibly toxic. So don't let the haters get you down!

I wish you well on your journey and hope you're in a better place.

Thank you for the ask!

[earlgreytea68]

I have read another terrible book so it is time for me to talk again about terrible books.

All of the terrible books that I have read recently have all had fantastic premises. This was why I picked them up to read. And all of them had glimmers of something good somewhere inside of them. I can't tell if the fault with the book lies with the writers or with the editors. Because in my experience editors don't think super-hard about why characters behave in a certain way, as long as whatever is happening "sounds good" in a plot sort of way. So maybe these were all great books that got edited into absurdity. Or maybe the writers wrote the books in this foolish way, but it's still the fault of the publishers for publishing them like this. Either way, I think everyone could benefit SO MUCH from just, like, thinking a little bit harder about the way characters are behaving???????

I don't often name the books I think are terrible because I don't want to make anyone feel bad for loving those books! It's cool! If you find something that brings you joy, embrace it! I am going to name this recent book, though, because I have Things to Say.

It was The Wishing Game. MASSIVE SPOILERS BELOW.

The premise of this book sounds great because it's like a spin on Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (and the author says that was the point in her acknowledgments at the end). And there are glimmers of a pretty complete world the author has dreamed up for the books that form the basis of the in-book fandom.

But. Okay. In Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the golden ticket game is *in theory* totally random, and all the children except Charlie are awful and in the end Charlie wins.* In this book, the author chooses deliberately who to have compete in this contest and they all seem like nice people and in the end NONE OF THEM WIN because of how stupid this book is lol.

Even worse than the stupid, pointless, manipulative premise (oh, btw, we're meant to believe that the author in question is just a charming and lonely old man NO, HE IS MANIPULATING EVERYONE WHO COMES NEAR HIM AND IT'S CREEPY) is the fact that the MC is the worst Mary Sue I've encountered in years. I cannot believe that for so many years fic had such a bad reputation and meanwhile this professionally published book presented THIS MAIN CHARACTER to me. This woman is so deeply self-centered and selfish and childish and yet is presented as the bestest woman ever who deserves all the bestest things in life. This woman wants to adopt a child whose parents have died, okay, fine, but, like, she consistently refers to herself as this child's mother and seems to want to just pretend his real parents never existed, which is...weird, but Idk, whatever, maybe that can be justified or something, but throughout the book all this woman does is whine about how her parents never loved her. We find out that she believes this because her older sister was really, really sick throughout her life and constantly being hospitalized, so the parents were endlessly in the hospital with the older sister. I get it, she felt abandoned, that does sound rough and awful. Except then we find out that she was sent to live with her grandparents and I understand she feels abandoned by her parents but we find out that her grandparents were apparently lovely people who loved her very much so the fact that she is so constantly angry that she was never loved is...weird, again. AND THEN even worse she haaaaaates her sister so much that she refuses to talk to her, even as a grown-up, and it feels like as a grown-up you should maybe at least start to have some understanding that it wasn't her sister's fault she was so sick???? Like, her sister was genuinely sick, she wasn't faking, it seems, again, REALLY WEIRD that she hates her so furiously. And then they, Idk, make up in the course of a page because this book is like this and then the MC finds out her sister only has a few months to live (BECAUSE SHE'S BEEN REALLY SICK HER WHOLE LIFE) and once again it's ALL ABOUT THE MC, she's all, "Woe is me! I just found her again! This isn't fair!" SHE WAS NEVER LOST. YOU WERE JUST A SELFISH JERK. ALSO I THINK IT'S WORSE FOR HER.

Because this book was sooooo focused on the MC, we never found out very much at all about the other competitors, who all seemed like perfectly nice people, we have no reason to think otherwise. But no. At the end, BECAUSE THE MC IS SO PERFECT, the author chooses HER to basically leave his entire fortune to, but that is a choice that makes no sense when you don't know why the other characters couldn't have gotten it! And she's known this author like a week at this point but she moves herself and HER NEWLY ADOPTED CHILD to live with this guy and this seems like not the wisest course of action?????

And you can see from the Goodreads link that this book has over four stars and was nominated for awards and I'm like, ......WHAT IS HAPPENING?????

I read a lot a lot of terrible books that make me despair, because, again, THESE PEOPLE ARE BEING PAID TO WRITE THIS TERRIBLE STUFF. MULTIPLE PEOPLE ARE BEING PAID TO PROMOTE THIS TERRIBLE STUFF. WHY SO MANY RESOURCES BEHIND THESE THINGS?????

But in between these terrible books that honestly at this point I'm reading for sociological investigative purposes, I also sometimes scatter some classics, either that I've never read or that I read years ago and want to revisit. So after finishing this terrible book, I looked at the next book on the very long TBR list that I keep, and it was Kate Chopin's "The Awakening," which I haven't read since high school. I am about a quarter of the way through this book and...the writing is so good. The writing is SO GOOD. I mean, obviously, of course, it should be, the book is a classic and so it should be good. But it's just a relief to remember that I do like to read books lol and some books are really good.

*My personal theory of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, as I think I've mentioned before, is that Charlie is Willy Wonka's illegitimate son and the whole contest is manufactured to get Charlie into the factory and allow Willy Wonka to give the factory to him without acknowledging him as his son (because Willy Wonka obviously can never admit to having sex). The end.

[di-42]

2024 fic roundup

Finally getting round to doing this! Just in time for the end of the year!

Many, many thanks to @curiouspupsicle and @bellisima-writes for tagging me all those weeks ago, ant to @cheeseplants for creating the questions. Enjoy curious's answers here, bellisima's answers here, cheeseplants's answers here.

What fandoms do you write in?

Good Omens, only Good Omens, nothing but Good Omens.

How many words have you published in 2024?

133k. Huh! Me?

What is your greatest achievement this year?

In the context of fandom and fanfiction, being brave enough to put myself out there and share my work is probably my greatest personal achievement. But I'm also quite proud to have plotted an 85k fiction while working 55 hours a week (and being lucky enough to have a husband and friends to spend my free time with).

What are your favourite top three fics you wrote this year?

That's an easy one! None of my favourite three are the ones with more engagement, strangely enough!

And I Did, rated E, 85k.

While I know this could have been written much better, I am incredibly proud of this fiction. It's whole season 3 fiction where I managed to pour all my headcanon in a way that hopefully doesn't feel too forced. I think it has an original plot, good side characters and tension. I tried to throw in some humour wherever possible as well. It features Supreme Archangel Aziraphale and Grand Duke of Hell Crowley. They haven't talked for almost two years. The end of the world is approaching. They are on opposite sides. And they both know neither of them was ever going to make a different choice to the one they made.

Only Ever Meant For Someone Else, rated T, 9k.

My first human AU, wheee! It was so much fun to write! I think writing human AUs allows so much freedom, although one shots and shorter stories can be a bit harder than canon compliant short stories. But I had a chance to explore some versions of the characters that I don't really see in canon, but very much enjoy in fictions, and wanted to try my hand at that. And I liked the result! Written for the Scribbling Vaguely Downwards advent calendar.

Every year, the night before Christmas, taxi driver Aziraphale drives passengers to and from the hospital for charity. On the Christmas morning of 2023 he was ready to go home and rest with a cup of tea, a mince pie, and a book after a long night.

Guess who?

“No, you may not!” Barked the other. Then he started pacing up and down the pavement, rambling to himself. “Anathema’s going to kill me. She’s actually going to kill me! She had to go into labour on fucking Christmas day, just my luck!”

Oh, dear.

“In-into labour?”

The stranger stopped pacing and, yet again, looked at Aziraphale sternly. He joined together the tips of his right thumb and forefinger, and punctuated his next words with a gracious movement of his hand.

“Yeah. It means she’s about to give birth.”

“Does it, now.”

Angel! Angel! They're At It Again! rated M, 5k

I really love this little story of mine. I've been told that it made some readers cry and laugh at the same time, and it doesn't get much better than that.

It's the year 2030. The world never ended. Aziraphale and Crowley are living happily and safely together as a married couple. Everything would be well, if it wasn't that lately Aziraphale has been a bit busy. A bit distracted. Now, Crowley can't have that, can he? He seeks the advice of his girlfriends, who unwittingly give him an idea on how to liven up his marriage.

A fluffy story about how we get to a certain cottage.

What was your biggest pit of despair moment?

Tying up all the loose ends in And I Did. Sometimes it felt like I was just hitting a wall and I couldn't possibly ever go through. I felt so embarrassed -mortified, really- that some people had read the story up to a certain point and I had just to let them down, because I couldn't possibly write anything that would make sense with the rest of the story. Even though the main points were planned from the beginning, there were still all those little details that write themselves, basically, and I had no idea what to do with some of them towards the end. I still don't know how I managed to pull it off, honestly, but somehow I did it in a way that I found satisfying enough.

What have you learned?

That people are so much better than I am. Really. And I don't mean at writing fiction. Well, people are better than me at writing fiction, but that's not what I mean here. The amount of people who are ready to read about someone else's ideas and headcanons with an open mind, enjoy stories that they don't necessarily agree with, is astounding. I have very much to learn from this community.

What fic did you want to do but never made it off the ground?

I could tell you. But then I would have to erase your memory.

A fiction that has never made it off the ground is a fiction that has yet to make it off the ground.

Did you beta any fics? Any favs you want to shout out?

I was asked a couple of times, but due partly to my lack of time, partly to English not being my first language, I had to reluctantly decline. I do offer my thoughts on my betas' fictions, though. One of them hasn't published her work yet, and the other has a fantastic one shot on Ao3, called The Corset.

Aziraphale never understood just why he had been issued with a body likes his. He was the Guardian of the Eastgate, after all! So when in the 17th century corsets for men were fashionable again, he had an idea ...

What three fics have you read this year that you love?

Hah! We both know it's not going to be only three, don't we?

Some of these fics were written before, some long before, 2024, but I only read them this year. It's quite hard to pick my favourites among so much talent and creativity, but I'll do my best. I also can't help but notice that my all time favourites are not among the superpopular ones, so please don't be shy and check them out! (And leave kudos and comments!)

The Beginning Of The End (Again), rated M, 78k.

Season 3 fiction full of plot, great characterisation, humour and pining. It has of course a happy ending. It is beyond me how this fic didn't get more engagement, especially when it first came out, closer to the end of season 2.

The Anon Before Christmas, rated E, 66k.

One of my favourite human AUs. The characterisation is spot on and the slow burn is just absolutely perfect. But I did love the whole array of characters surrounding Crowley and Aziraphale. I love how this story is as much about friendship and chosen family than it is about love and romance.

The Bookseller And The Garden, rated T, 13k.

Canon divergent fiction where Crowley is a demon stationed on earth, Aziraphale is an angel stationed on earth, but they have never met until present day. There's no end of the world in sight, only an angel and a demon falling in love and not knowing how to break it to the other that they're not human. I laughed all the way through.

Wrong Turn, rated T, 37k.

Honestly, I don't know why this fiction touched me so much. I just couldn't stop thinking about it for days after I finished it. It's a post season 1 fiction where Crowley suddenly finds himself in a parallel universe at the time the apocalypse is just about to happen. The Crowley and Aziraphale in that universe have a different history to our Crowley and Aziraphale. All our Crowley wants to do is to go back to his universe and his very own angel, but how? As you follow the main plot and focus on Crowley's thoughts and actions, you'll start slowly feeling the other story get hold of you, and it won't let go until the very end and beyond.

Happiness, More Or Less, rated M, 21k

This human AU moved me so very much I cried. Crowley moves into his new flat in Soho, only to discover the flat in haunted by the ghost of the owner of the bookshop downstairs. I won't tell anything else about the plot other than it does have a very sweet happy ending, and it gets there via a rollercoaster of emotions. This is really one of those fictions that leave me in awe of the fandom's talent and creativity. Read it, read it, read it!

One last one that I haven't finished reading yet, but I know it's one of my all time favourites, is The Last Angel, rated E, 162k.

Canon divergent fiction where Crowley and Aziraphale were never assigned to earth, Armageddon happened and hell won the war. I've said many things about this fiction, among which that I can't believe the writer does this in her spare time and writing is not actually her job, and this is the most Good Omens-y fic I have ever read. It's astoundingly good.

What ideas are percolating for next year?

Watch out for The Angel Horror Show! When I learned that Peter Hinwood, the actor who played Rocky in The Rocky Horror Picture Show didn't have a long career as an actor, bout instead went on to become an antiques dealer, I knew I had to write this fiction with Aziraphale as the actor who many years ago played Angel/Rocky in The Angel Horror Show and subsequent film The Angel Horror Picture Show and is now living a comfortable life as a book and antiques dealer, and Crowley as the actor who played Demon/Frank, and went on to become a successful movie and theatre actor and director. I've just started writing it and I'm extremely excited about it!

Who do you want to thank?

Without the shadow of a doubt @sabine-smitten-obviously and IneffableShortCake who have been so incredibly generous with their time and support in the past 8 months! But also everyone who's ever left me a comment making me feel like my stories were liked, from the long comments to the ones with just enthusiastic syllables, from the incredibly witty ones to the more personal ones, thank you, thank you, thank you!

Tag, answer any Qs that suit and play along!

I think because I'm so late in the game that most of the writers I would usually tag have already been tagged by someone else, but perhaps a few haven't done this yet.

@smua70 @ngk-668 @ineffable-duck7

And anyone who wants to answer!

This was fun!

[bvckbiter]

some thoughts on characterization of the seven in hoo, VERY long post ahead:

for each of the five books in the series, i read them right as they came out and endured the year-long wait til the next release. like many readers, i was thrown off by the introduction of the new trio in the lost hero. but that was offset by 1) the seemingly more mature vibe/themes that riordan wanted to explore, 2) the monumental tension that was being built around the greek-roman separation, and 3) percy's comeback in son of neptune, even as an amnesiac.

mark of athena, released october 2012, was extremely anticipated because it was set to be the long-awaited percabeth reunion as well as the true crossover for the greek and roman spheres. there were a lot of theories being made at the time. would piper be able to mediate between eons-long enemies in a genuinely diplomatic way, or was she going to brainwash charmspeak them into compliance? how is reyna going to take jason suddenly having another girl and a new set of friends and another life after abruptly disappearing? will we get to learn more about jason's relationships within camp jupiter? would nico be dealing with any fallout from essentially boating along two riverbanks (translated directly from a tagalog idiom, so if the wording seems clunky thats why)? it didn't help that the first avengers movie came out in 2012, so the idea of a huge crossover event was all the hype then.

the published work, in my opinion... fell considerably short of expectations.

to be fair, we got some very good character moments. i did not find the judo flip scene cute, just kinda weird in the sense that i felt the author didn't know how to handle such a huge emotional turning point, but percabeth for the most part of moa was enjoyable, really giving you the high of this teenage couple finally being able to resume the honeymoon period they were probably in after four years of pining and a war lol. everything the fans wanted! unfortunately, we didn't get the same with other characters.

while i wouldn't say that percabeth was the reason, the difference in spotlight is nonetheless very staggering. the roman-greek reunification goes bad, sure, but it begins due to outside interference more rather than any actual intrinsic differences between the two camps; so the built-up tension from the previous books kinda falls flat. we get none of jason's backstory, so next to percy, he barely leaves an impression on the reader. hazel, frank, and leo get shafted into this weird love triangle where their enemy is leo's long-dead ancestor who ultimately makes no impact on the plot other than to have hazel and leo intersect somehow, contributing to leo's man-angst of being the seventh wheel. frank, who arguably has the most interesting set of powers and lineage, is basically relegated to being the muscle and hazel's (understandably) jealous boyfriend. piper... good lord. thats probably a whole other post, so i'll just say: cornucopia.

and yet, despite the disparity in characterization... you don't really feel that percabeth has a character arc or development per se. it's an odd contrast, with percy and annabeth getting a lot of time but pretty much remaining stagnant characters, as opposed to the other five who are written pretty blandly, but have valid, explicit inner struggles and questions they must face. for jason, it's being greek or roman. for hazel and leo, they want to parse their connection, even at the expense of frank, who is still struggling with his self-esteem. piper comes into her own power.

so despite being a book full of twists and turns, especially for percabeth, this is where you really feel the stakes begin to slump. decisions are being made to move the plot from point a to point b pretty straightforwardly, but there's not a ton of effort to make you invested in these characters other than what we know about them from previous books and the fact that they have a role to play in this apocalyptic second great prophecy.

but there's still two books left! the yearlong wait demands patience and creativity. surely percabeth falling into tartarus is going to make for some interesting development and impact. it was a brilliant plot twist, after all. with the darker turn that hoo was seemingly taking, there could have been so many consequences. percabeth could shut the doors of death from their side and come back alive, but come back wrong—unearthing old traumas, questioning and ultimately foreswearing their loyalty to the gods, threatening the reunification of the greek and roman aspects, etc.

and once again, house of hades... only semi-delivered? the tartarus chapters were certainly harrowing: percy choking akhlys is still a Scene of All Time to me because it felt earned, after all that percy has been through and what the series has been building up to! annabeth also having to face all the times she's been abandoned in her life, while less focused on, was also a very poignant moment for her character. they were events that seemed to push for development.

back on the argo ii, there's a continuing case of kind of low-effort writing on the other characters. frank and his mars blessing, for one; you kind of understand what rick was getting at, but... what! piper... girl idk what she was doing other than seeing visions in her dagger. leo... ue ue ue. jason commits to chb, but ofc he does because neither he nor we know/remember much about cj, so we don't really feel the loss! but there is one exception for his part, and that is of course the (in)famous cupid scene with nico, but i'll talk about nico much later.

hazel is an interesting case, so here's another paragraph for her. she gets to come into (more of) her powers just like piper did in the previous books, but from my viewpoint, it was considerably less engaged with who she was as a character compared to piper. in mark of athena, piper still struggles with being a daughter of aphrodite and how she can be "useful" as we know she struggles with internalized misogyny. on the other hand, hazel gets in touch with her mother's background... kinda? idk if controlling the mist can be considered equivalent to marie's voodoo; i dont think so. she certainly gains more understanding of her pluto heritage, too, and has this nice back-and-forth with hecate about creating her own path, but you don't really get the sense that doing so has consequences, or that she concretely shirked other paths to get where she was at.

where mark of athena fell flat with character stakes, house of hades to its credit does manage to up the ante—but only truly for percabeth. with all the resolutions to the character arcs in this book, you don't feel that the characters have anymore stakes or reasons to fight gaea other than the fact that she's still coming for them and they are in turn prophesied to defeat her. the one big thing that could be personal to them, which are the camps, ultimately fall under the purview of coach hedge, nico, and reyna, who are side characters, upgraded to main characters in the last book of a series already overbloated by shifting povs and favoritism.

ultimately, this is why blood of olympus falls apart. the best characterization work done, which is on percabeth and their time in tartarus, is in the end of no consequence and is barely mentioned. it's as if nothing has happened. all the build-up and investment fizzles out because in boo and beyond, even though they went through literal hell, they just shook it off (because accdg to rick demigods are extra resilient and don't get traumatized lmfao). the climactic face-off against gaea is headed by jason, piper, and leo, and it has no pay off. the books haven't dwelled on them as a trio after tlh because leo was too busy angsting about his love triangle, and jason's and piper's arcs, both individual and romantic, are shoddy, to say the least. to add insult to injury, leo's sacrifice is a fake-out! so he can finally shed the fucking seventh wheel arc that came about not because of a genuine exploration of how he has been outcasted all his life, but because the argo ii mysteriously became demigod tinder and also because rick thought "haha how funny that the latino is the outrageous flirt!" frank and hazel... just get shafted im so sorry babygirls T_T

what saves boo is not the cast of the seven that we have spent the five books journeying with. no, what saves boo is the three side characters suddenly made main characters because. well, fan favoritism and pandering. nico, reyna, and coach hedge comprised the only arc that wasn't an absolute slog to read through—high stakes, chemistry, and well-rounded character arcs that complemented each other. no hoo scene is honestly more heartwarming than reyna embracing nico. it makes you question if hoo's length and frankly shocking quantity of main ensemble members even constricted the narrative that could've been told, as opposed to the original intention of expanding the world of percy jackson through more povs. five books with at least 700-800+ pages each for five years. what a tremendous amount of time and energy to be wasted.

and there is, of course, the question of "should percabeth have been in hoo." until house of hades, my answer was yes. the fact that their tartarus arc fizzled into nothingness changed my answer to no. taking the whole series into perspective, if their treatment in boo was all that the hype and tension would amount to, it would've been better if they'd been relegated to side characters with mentor/helper roles as opposed to taking the spotlight away from the rest of the seven. their succeeding cameos in the other series + the new college reco trilogy makes the blunder all the more grievous.

heroes of olympus did give us a new cast of characters to love. along with all its racist stereotypes and pitfalls, it also diversified the percy jackson world. if not for the mid-2010s fandom who took up the slack of unexplored storylines and potential, these characters would be very much not impressioned on us. and as a successor to a series that was so deeply driven by family, friendship, love, and belonging, that it couldn't consistently humanize its main cast was the biggest sin.

[justabigoldnerd]

20 Questions with a Fanfic Author

Thank you so much @kcscribbler and @cha-melodius for the tags!!

1. How many works on AO3?

98, so far!

2. Total AO3 Word Count?

554,808 (honestly lower than I expected!)

3. Top 5 Fics by Kudos

"Eddie, I Want You To Marry Me" - Stranger Things

"Arwen or Aragorn?" - Stranger Things

"My Very Thoughts Are Cursed" - EPIC: The Musical

"The Injury of Finally Knowing You" - The Man From U.N.C.L.E.

"Slip Inside The Eye of Your Mind" - Gravity Falls

4. What fandoms do you write for?

Most actively, "The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)", but I have fics published for "The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)", "Stranger Things", "Our Flag Means Death", "Gravity Falls", "EPIC: The Musical", and technically "The Lone Ranger" lol, I also have a very long unpublished "MARVEL" fic

5. Do you respond to comments?

I always try to!!

6. Angstiest Ending?

DEFINITELY "For Death Is Not The Worst Of Evils", it is my only permanent Major Character Death fic

7. Fic with the Happiest Ending?

Either "To Find Someone To Talk To, Who Likes The Way I Am" or "To Grow Old In Simplicity" I think

8. Do you get hate?

I'm lucky enough to never have received any 💕

9. Do you write smut?

YES I'm a horny asexual who loves to explore the psychology of characters through sex

10. Do you write crossovers?

I have a couple in the works!! And I technically wrote a TMFU/Lone Ranger crossover lmao

11. Ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I'd be more to welcome to it!!

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic?

I've cowritten a couple of series with @pippinoftheshire ;

"Don't Believe In Fear, Don't Believe In Faith"

"Now You See Me, Now You Don’t"

"Because All This Time, The Monster Has Been Me" (the sequel I'm writing for this one has yet to be finished lol)

14. All time favorite ship?

YOU CAN'T MAKE ME CHOOSE

15. WIPs you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I'd love to say there are none, but I'm sure that will prove to be untrue, given time. Right now, I don't know 😅

16. Writing strengths?

I've been told that I write kisses very well, and I'm very proud of my medical accuracy, nature descriptions, and horror elements!

17. Writing Weaknesses?

Transitions, plot, finishing a fic qjdgsjsksjjs I've also been struggling with fluff recently

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue?

LOVE IT!!! My main blorbos all natively speak different languages, and its fun to play with how they pepper in words, when they can't remember an English word, when they revert back to German or Russian respectively when extremely stressed/angry/injured, and how they talk to each other in each language. Also. PETNAMES MY BELOVED

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Either Hetalia or Supernatural, I can't remember exactly lol

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

GOD this is a hard one ahsghdjskshsj

Lets say my favorite AU is:

"To Find Someone To Talk To, Who Likes The Way I Am" (Modern/College AU)

My favorite canon-compliant fic is:

"The End Is All I Can See (And It Scares The Hell Out Of Me)" (time loop)

My favorite canon-adjacent fic is:

"To Grow Old In Simplicity" (retirement)

No pressure tagging @huggiebird @happybean17 @falling-into-peril @heytheredeann @pippinoftheshire

@bighandsforabigheart @mybelovedillya @the-golden-comet @thattripleabattery @too-young-to-fall-in-love

@times-up-alone-tonight @vnyu73 @nicijones @prettyboynapoleonsolo @fandom-meet-fanthem

[liminalmemories21]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

tagged by @screamlet (who I've been reading since at least 2010). Thank you!

1. How many works do you have an AO3? 48

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 711,517

3. What fandoms do you write for? 911 LS, and 911

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Long Story Short (series) - LS A home isn't always the house we live in - LS It came without ribbons! - LS Always Wear Your Invisible Crown - LS Awful quiet here since love fell asleep - 911

5. Do you respond to comments? I really try to, sometimes I think they get lost in my inbox, but I do try.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? uh, none of them? I don't think I've written anything that doesn't have a happy ending.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? hmmm, maybe It came without ribbons?, or Knave 4 (The Knave of Clubs ... swears he'll take her part). They both end in marriage proposals.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Just a few on Knave 4, which I expected and mostly ignored.

9. Do you write smut? more often than I ever imagined I would

10. Do you write crossovers? I love a good crossover. Haven't written one yet, but would enjoy it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of. Let's keep it that way. (finger's crossed)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? no

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yup! All the 911 stuff with @cecilyv - nothing better.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Well, I don't publish WIPs, not because I have an ethical stance on it, but because I'm usually still changing things at the beginning right up until I hit post and I don't understand how people post things as they write them. Not my process.

That being said, there's a LS kidfic that I'd like to finish some day, but every time I look at it I can't figure out where it's going.

16. What are your writing strengths? I feel like this is a thing other people need to tell me? Dialogue? Plot (apparently? or so 200,000 words of Knave-verse would like me to believe).

17. What are your writing weaknesses? brevity

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I'd like to do more of it, because I have characters I write who I think probably do think in another language, but it's not a language I speak, so I don't.

19. First fandom you wrote for? published? Lonestar. unpublished? there's a Merlin story @cecilyv and I wrote for years that is mostly not great, but has it's moments.

20. Favorite fics you've written? ooh, okay:

There were a bunch I wrote early for LS that are kind of character studies that I love - A home isn't always the house we live in (Judd), Stitched with its color (TK & 9/11), and through same of am through haves of give (Enzo)

And, I'd be lying if I didn't say Knave-verse, because I think Knave 2 and Knave 4 are the best things I've ever written - and there is just so much of me in the way TK thinks about art.

And then Baggage That Goes with Mine - because there isn't necessarily me in there, but there is a lot of my history in fandom and the huge cultural shift that I have seen happen since I started reading fic in Tommy's story. Also, I do love me a split timeline narrative.

tagging @walkinginland, @rmd-writes, @alchemistc, @rcmclachlan, and @three-drink-amy

[persephones-journey]

For the writer emoji ask....

all of them

please :3

Well, then...

💖 Which of your fics is your pride and joy?

I... I can't pick....

My House of Stone lol

I love it cause it's so sad and made everyone sad

(my best work)

🎥 Pick a fic and I'll tell you the song I imagine playing during its movie trailer.

For my Aisling/Finan series, it would be Timeless (Taylor's Version) by Taylor Swift. @emilyhufflepufftlk screamed at me it was their song when the album came out and I cannot unhear lol

📝 How many words do you have posted?

2,842,060 on Ao3.... That's not counting the little fics or prompts I have posted on here...

🤩 What's the most meaningful comment you've ever received?

Hmm... I always love when I write an OC character, and someone tells me that it feels like the character actually belongs & fits in with the other characters, like they were there all along. I love that.

🔮What's your favorite plot twist you've ever written?

I haven't written it yet.... 😏

👄 Your OTP are having their first kiss. What song do you imagine is playing?

Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer

🎭What genre of writing comes easiest to you?

Angst... My emotional pain needs to go somewhere

🙊Your coworkers or classmates stumble across one of your fics, but don't know you're the author. Do you fess up? Or keep quiet?

Depends which fic lol

🙌What's a line or paragraph of yours that you're proud of?

Ah.... okay, truthfully... chapter 32 of Through the Dark. I am proud of that entire chapter. Like... I can't pick one thing from it. I love all of it

🦉Is there another author that helped inspire you to write?

Fanfic author?.... I mean, @ms-oswald and @tharros-auris-black-asimi keep giving me ideas for fics, as well as the discord servers I am in... I am surrounded by much more talented writers than I who do inspire me to write more (after I am done crying over how bad my writing is compared to theirs 😭)

👶Fankids: How you do you feel about them? Would your OTP have kids?

Yes.... Have you seen my club of sexy dark haired accented men? Yes, they have kids lol

🐗How do you handle trolls?

By telling my friends and watching as my friends ride off to battle and destroy them lol

🟥How long do you spend in edits?

edits? Like editing?... I don't know her

🏡What is your perfect writing envrionment?

Music/tv show on with a snack along with my drink, usually at night (middle of the night) so no one else can hear me whisper the dialogue outloud

💪What motivates you to write?

The ideas in my head. Like, I just need to get them out.

🚿Where do your best ideas seem to strike?

In the shower.... Or right after I close the laptop and get ready for bed

🌠What are your top three most commonly used tags on AO3?

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat (21)

Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot (19)

Smut (16)

Seems about right.....

💻What do you write your stories on? Laptop, phone, paper, etc.

laptop.... Although, my first fanfic I wrote, for Supernatural, I wrote that baby by hand first lol I still got the collection of notebooks

🤔What are some words or phrases you find yourself overusing?

Shrugged... leaned... raised their eyebrows... anything smut related

📕How do you feel about people printing your fics?

It's fine.... as long as I am getting a copy if you bind it all pretty

🤷‍♀️What's a fic you didn't expect to be popular, but really took off?

....All of them....

🍎What's something you learned while researching for a fic?

Gigglemug is someone who is always smiling or grinning... comes from Victorian England lol

🥘What wip are you most excited about?

Ahh... like 3 fics I am writing using the movie The Lake House as inspiration for 3 different fandoms....

🦗Do you write in sequence or jump around?

In sequence....

(don't look at my Erys series)

👀 Would you ever accept requests or commissions?

Sometimes....

😱What's your greatest fear as a fanfic writer?

Someone stealing my fics and using them to get published.

☕Coffee or tea while you write?

Water... or something stronger lol

📈Which are your top three most popular fics by bookmarks?

A Targaryen Heart Set A Blaze

The Tales of The Complete Non-Legend of Yesterday

I Wanna Swim in You

🎬One of your fics gets turned into a TV series. Which one is it and what network is it on?

My A Thousand Years series.... and HBO lol Like.... yeah, HBO to really do the sex scenes justice lol

🛌 What's a trope you haven't written, but want to?

I dunno... I can't think of any...

🐸 If you incorporated your OTP into a Disney movie plot, which would it be?

Beauty and the Beast.... My fave

👩‍🎓 Do you have an 'official' creative writing background such as a degree or previous experience publishing?

I did have a few short stories published after entering a few contests....

⏳If you could go back in time and tell your younger writer self something, what would it be?

Outline. GIRL OUTLINE BEFORE YOU WRITE.

💯 What rating do you write the most? Gen Audiences, Teen, Mature, or Explicit? How many fics at that rating do you have?

Explicit (116) .... *shocking to no one*

😁What makes you happiest? New fic comments, kudos, bookmarks, user subscribers, story subscribers, or Tumblr asks?

Comments. I LOVE COMMENTS. And messages or asks on tumblr screaming about my fics. The kudos and everything else are great, but the comments make me smile and giddy

🐎 Would you ever do a medieval or pirate au?

I mean... I could... maybe one day...

👩‍🏫Pick a character and I'll tell you their favorite season and why.

All my OC characters hate spring and fall... (because I hate spring and fall...) I'm kidding... or am I???

🎵Do you make playlists for your fics?

Some of them. Sometimes I just listen to whatever

🌷What's one of your fics that isn't as popular, but you hold dear?

'Cause you should've seen him when he first saw me.

I love it and really did like actual research for it. It's my baby, in some ways.

❓Insert your own question here!

okay... why do you like my fics?.....or do I not want to know lol

[supersoakerfullofblood]

Concealing Information in Fiction (Don't Do It)

Back in a workshop class in grad school, and I'm noticing a pretty common bad habit that is certainly more common the more sophomore at the craft you are, so I thought I'd post a little blip of advice here:

When you start out trying to write something dramatic, you have a notion to hide information up front. (And certainly even as you get better at writing, the temptation is still there.) Usually, it's a character's secret past that the reader isn't cued in to, something like magic powers they aren't yet savvy to, a traumatic life event, or some secret rivalry with other characters. Concealing these things aren't bad in-and-of itself, but it worsens the story whenever the narrator or a character explicitly references the secret.

For example, I'm workshopping a piece wherein the main character is a disgraced member of a former gang. None of this is stated explicitly for a long time, so it should be something the reader discovers naturally through the narrative. (I.e. when the character bumps into someone of his former gang.) Instead, we see other characters around the main character say things like:

"Would you rather eat bread? And make it easier for the Bread Knives to find you?" (names and contexts changed for anonymity, should this piece be published.)

"I don't think you have the luxury to choose where your bread is baked, what with your current standing with the Bread Knives."

Etc.

Why don't these work? Well, for starters, moments like this are used to convey information to the reader. ("Hey, reader, this character has a shady past!") But if both characters in the conversation already know this, then it wouldn't be natural for them to reference it so explicitly. It would make much more sense for character B to say something like, "Would you rather eat bread? If you say so." and only getting at character A's past obliquely. This works better as writing but doesn't convey much information to the reader.

If that reasoning doesn't make sense, imagine a friend you have in real life. Now imagine one of their siblings died. Whenever you talk about that event in the future, you wouldn't say, "Hey Jim, remember when your brother died on a rainy night ten years ago? Well, dialogue dialogue dialogue." It's just not human.

You also don't want to convey information so explicitly like that when the object of the information is purposefully concealed, because I as the reader have no clue what you're talking about. In the Bread Knives example, I have no idea what the Bread Knives are. You wouldn't even know they were gang, but I told you earlier in this post. Since I don't know what the Bread Knives are, I have no way of framing them with relation to the viewpoint character; and since I can't frame them with the viewpoint character, my brain has no reason to care about the information. And it won't hold onto the info, either, for when your big reveal of the concealed information happens. Readers are fickle and by nature do not care about what you're writing--you have to trick them to care. If you give information about something they don't know about yet, you're asking them to care enough to store that information in their brain, which just won't happen, nor should it. Readers want as much information as possible about your characters and their situations--concealing information in order to create a big "Aha!" moment later on will never yield the aha moment. It will only frustrate the reader's efforts to enjoy your story.

Similar discussion here: https://www.tumblr.com/supersoakerfullofblood/744302665349169152/plot-twists-arent-real-defining-agency?source=share

[angellayercake]

He is

Vampire Terzo x FReader | NSFW

Art by the wonderful @tasty-ribz

For @ghostchems on her birthday! To be a little bit soppy as much as I love ghost for being ghost it has also brought me some incredible friends. We bonded over loving terzo and love island and now you are my favourite person to scream about awful men with every day. I hope everyone is making you feel a special as Terzo would today because as far as we are concerned yours is the only important birthday happening this month 💜

Now a best selling author thanks to your experience at Crowley Manor you find yourself struggling to muster up inspiration for the sequel. Will returning to the place it all began help you? Or just confirm the none of it was real? A sequel to Cirice Warnings: blood, rough sex, hints of mind control, pinv sex, cunnilingus, lots of dust hehe

With a huff of frustration you scratch out the poor excuse for a sentence and drop your pen. There were more scribbles across the page then there were words and you needed a break or you might end up throwing your note pad across the room. Abandoning your desk you wander over to the window for a distraction from your writer's block. The evening was drawing in, street lights flickering on one by one as people hurried home from their day whether it be work or leisure it was still an unwelcome reminder of your lack of productivity. Turning from the view you scan across the room, your home office, hoping for something to spark your inspiration but your mind remains unhelpfully blank. You ponder just giving up for the day, shutting the door and giving yourself over to your evening but deadlines are approaching and there is still so much to do. With a reluctant determination, you turn to your inspiration board and will it to do its job. 

When you had decided to write a follow up to your best selling debut novel, you had carefully gathered all the things you knew you would need to refer to to build the story. There were your photographs from Crowley Manor, newspaper clippings about the house and the area, quotes and key plot points from the original story,  a couple of photos of bela lugosi, the closest you can find to how you remember him looking - although you have sketched what you recall of the facepaint he wore over the top with a marker - and in the centre, the note; the only thing you have that proves that it was real. Well, that and the two small scars on your neck. You rub your fingers over them absentmindedly as you try to remember anything more but even as the scars faded, so did your memories to the point where you are not entirely sure any of it was real. Reading over the words again. 

 A candle casting a faint glow

You and I see eye to eye

Can you hear the thunder?

How can you hear the thunder that's breaking?

Now there is nothing between us

From now our merge is eternal

Can't you see that you're lost?

Can't you see that you're lost without me?

-iii

You hum the tune to yourself, the melody you had only heard once and yet it plays through your dreams so frequently you have never been able to forget it, always accompanied by a dark shadow and the sense that you are being watched. Your experience at Crowley Manor - whether a true encounter with a dashing vampire or a figment of your imagination - had changed your life. You were a writer now; a successful published writer. Your vampire romance novel had been an instant best seller, ‘the mysterious vampire luring in unsuspecting victims until one stole his heart’ earned a loyal fanbase and quickly. In interview after interview you were asked if you had based him on someone real, probably assuming he was an older man you had a crush on, but you always answered no because how could you explain that he was a man you had most likely conjured up in a dream. 

But that had all brought you to where you were now; attempting to write the much anticipated sequel. The heroine of your story had left the manor in a similar way to you but after having spent much longer with her vampire lover, and as much as you wanted to see them reunited you were struggling to find the narrative. Unlike you she had been offered forever with him and had chosen to return to her normal life, so without a justified reason, why would she return? Your thought process hits a brick wall once again as you rub your tired eyes. There is only one thing left to try before you may be forced to give up. The familiar pull in your gut that you had been resisting since the day you left was finally winning. You had to go back. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The gate is rusted and stiff, so you have to push hard to create enough space for you to slip through and even then you almost trip on the piles of rubbish littering the driveway. You step over the buckled historical society sign with a sigh - even they had given up on the place and for some time by the looks of things. Tall weeds were growing through the now sparse gravel, even more windows had been boarded up and there were layers of faded graffiti covering the front door. It is already ajar but you have to shove it open, pushing it past the built up leaves and dust trying to wedge it closed. Although the state of the outside had saddened you, it is the interior that makes your heart sink -  it was never nice to see a beautiful old house fall into ruin.

The floorboards still gave their familiar creak under your soft footsteps, but that was about the only similarity. The sconces, once filled with dripping candles were now empty and shrouded in cobwebs, and dust motes thick enough to choke you floated in what little beams of light that made it through the windows. Without the soft piano luring you further into the house you took your time to properly look around, cautiously walking through room after room. What little furniture that hadn’t been stolen or vandalised was covered in dust sheets. The shelving sits almost empty in every room; you pass only a few odd books and trinkets still in place but almost unrecognisable underneath all the grime. 

Towards the back of the house you come to what looks like a music room and a feeling of deja vu washes over you. The grand piano still dominates the room, but when you run your fingers across what little keys are left it only lets out reluctant, discordant notes as neglected and decaying as the rest of your surroundings. The fireplace is a yawning chasm on the back wall without the welcoming fire filling it, but you remember laying on the soft rug before it where he had given and taken unimaginable pleasure from you, well at least you thought. Because it was seeming more and more likely you had imagined it. You pull yourself from your thoughts and that is when the portrait catches your eye. How you never noticed it before you don’t understand, but it hangs perfectly above the mantel and crushes the last shreds of hope you were clinging onto. 

It is him. His distinctive face paint, his perfectly styled hair and his intense mismatched eyes. At least now you know what really happened on your last visit to this place. Before you had fallen asleep you must have seen this portrait on your last visit, striking as he was and then your mind had concocted the whole fantasy. You are not sure exactly what you had been expecting returning to Crowley Manor, but you couldn’t avoid the cutting disappointment that was slicing through you. All that was here was an empty old house and a painting of a man. With one last longing look you take your leave as you fight the knot of feelings solidifying in your chest. There was nothing else for you here. You reach the foyer where the light of dusk shines around the edges of the open door, illuminating your exit from this house and your return to reality, when you hear it… 

We're standing here by the abyss…

That voice. The words were different and even the tune was different, but that voice. There was nothing else it could be but him. The alluring sound drifts down from the upper floor to where you stand and you don’t even try to resist his siren call as your feet carry you towards the grand staircase.

And the world is in flames…

Your footprints disturb the thick layers of dust covering the once grand carpet that leads the way up, but you continue unconcerned by the trail you are leaving in your wake, your only thought finding your way to the source of that beautiful sound. 

Two star-crossed lovers reaching out…

It gets clearer as you reach the upper level, but you still haven't quite found him yet. Along the landing are multiple doors that you consider as you walk, but once your eyes land on the ornate double doors at the furthest end you know inherently; that is your destination.

To the beast with many names…

The floorboards creak as you get closer and closer even as you attempt to keep your steps measured and even, but if that didn’t give you away then you are sure your laboured breathing and thundering heartbeat would. 

He is. He's the shining and the light without whom I cannot see…

The singing stops when you reach the doors and with barely a brush of your fingertips,they swing open revealing only a dark room within. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the gloom, but even that doesn’t make you hesitate to enter. It is as abandoned as the rest of this cursed house. All the anticipation you had felt soured inside you and tears pricked at your eyes as you circled in the centre of the room taking in the dusty bed and empty fireplace. Your back is turned when a sudden bang startles you, the doors slamming shut. You cry out in fear, turning in an instant and rushing towards them. Pushing and pulling is futile and they will not budge. The knowledge that you are trapped fills you with a shiver as a chill falls over the room.   

“My little lamb returns,” he growls in your ear, appearing as if from nowhere. His arms box you in against the door, his white gloves the only part of him you can see. You try to turn, to see him but his body presses close, cold and unyielding as stone behind you. You should do something, anything but fear and lust paralyse you as they tear through you in equal measure.

“You are real,” you barely whisper before his fangs sink into your neck, the sharp shock of pain stealing your consciousness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When your eyes flutter open you find it hard to believe you are even in the same room. You are lying in the centre of a four poster bed, propped up against a mountain of airy pillows and as you shift the sheets feel unbelievably soft against your fingers. The heavy drapes are tied to the frame on one side giving you a clear view of the fireplace and the figure silhouetted against it. His back is to you, seemingly unaware that you are now awake so you take your time admiring him.

It is undoubtedly him. His hair is slicked back, familiar in both your memory and in his portrait you had not long discovered. This time he wears a white suit with gold trim that glimmers in the firelight and it is certainly one you have never seen before. He turns in your direction giving you a glimpse of his striking profile still covered in his unusual skull-like face paint. He clears his throat glancing at you and you realise he is also holding a book up to the fire light. Not just any book. That is your book. The one you had written about him. You sit bolt upright but a wave of dizziness stops you from acting any further. 

“His touch feels like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. It scares you how much you crave it; how much you want him to keep touching you and to never stop. Your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest, despite the overwhelming feeling of comfort that has fallen over you.” He smirks as he reads your words back to you with an arrogance that can only come from knowing it was written about him. 

“How did you get that?” you hiss at him, the mortification you are experiencing seems to break some of the spell he has over you. He chuckles darkly in response, snapping the book shut and placing it on the nightstand so you can see the very suggestive illustration you had commissioned for the cover clearly.

“You have a way with words, agnellino.” He leans against the bedpost, running his eyes over you and watching how you react just to his presence. “Do you still crave my touch as much as you wrote?” His elongated teeth peek out of his mouth with how wide his smile is, clearly enjoying having this additional power over you. You almost miss not so long ago when you believed he had been a figment of your imagination. 

“It’s called creative licence,” you snap back breathlessly, trying your damnedest to keep your composure but you make the mistake of meeting his mismatched eyes and you are pulled under all over again. It’s like he can worm his way into your very soul and convince you of anything he desires.

“Why did you come back?” He looms over you at the end of the bed as he waits for you to answer him. As subtly as you can, you try to sit yourself up to make yourself feel less vulnerable but your limbs are weak and uncooperative.

“I’m writing again,” you start. It is the truth - or at least part of the truth - but you can tell he doesn't believe you, fixing you with his intense stare, waiting for you to be more forthcoming. “Last time I was here it was very… inspiring.”

“I see, I see.” He starts to pace next to the bed, giving you a reprieve and a chance to breathe but you sense it is by no means the end of your interrogation.  “Just ‘professional interest’ then?”

“Yes, that is all. I should go.” You try again to sit up and ease yourself off the bed but before your feet can touch the ground he kneels in front of you, blocking you from moving any further.

“Ah ah ah,” he scolds, wagging his finger at you like he was disciplining a wayward child. “You come into my home uninvited - again, I might add.” He leans close enough you can feel the cold radiating from him, his teeth bared threateningly. “I need the truth.” Fear makes you tense but somehow you know he would never really hurt you - at least not in a way you wouldn't enjoy. You start to think his irritation is more directed at your refusal to admit how much you want him rather than the fact you broke into his house. Again. 

“You lured me up here! You could have just let me leave.” That thought boosts your confidence just enough to push back. Just a little. He didn't have to reveal himself to you everytime you were here, and yet he did.

“No I couldn't, little lamb,” he whispers, a softness falling over his face. “I could never resist a chance to taste you again.” His attention drops to your feet, helping you out of your shoes before he stands again before you. “Tell me why you are really here.”  He had given you your chance to tell him of your own volition, but now you could feel his will influencing you and bringing forth the truth. He eases his jacket from his shoulders, leaving it on the floor where it falls. He makes quick work of his bow tie adding it to the pile of clothes at his feet. 

His cuff links go next, freeing him to turn up his sleeves and then his collar sliding one button free at a time until it hangs open. His toned chest is covered in thick dark hair and it's all you can do not to reach out and bury your fingers in it. Even without his vampiric lure, you would struggle to resist him. He crawls over you, forcing you to scoot back onto the bed to make room for him and you find yourself unable to speak as you get lost in his eyes.

“Tell me…” He is intoxicating and you find you no longer have the willpower to resist him. You had forgotten how powerful he was, his presence alone narrowing your mind until all you can think of is him. The words are on the tip of your tongue, but somehow they still won't come. 

“Why are you here agnellino, eh?” He holds himself over you, the only thing touching you are the open tails of his shirt, denying you any more until you obey him. “Did you miss me?”

“I wasn’t sure if you were real any more,” you admit reluctantly and his eyes alight at your delayed admission.

“Shall I remind you how real I am?” There is a voice in your mind somewhere telling you to say no, but with every other part of you screaming a resounding yes it is easy to tune out - though you still can’t quite bring yourself to say it. So you nod and he wastes no more time. His dexterous fingers make quick work of your trousers and your underwear, pulling them off you in one swift motion and then he is on you. His strong hand grasps your ankle, pulling you even closer so he can press his lips to your bare skin. 

He starts at the sole of your foot, lavishing you with open mouthed kisses and grazes of his dangerous teeth. He seeks out parts of your body you had never even known were sensitive before, whether it was his plush mouth sucking at them or tracing them with his tongue. The curve of your calf, the dip behind your knee and the crease of your inner thigh. His cool breath raises goosebumps across your skin and he chases them with his mouth, only pausing to suck on the beads of blood that bloom where he allows his fangs to nick your skin. The contrasts make you needy for more of his touch, the warm and the cold, the pleasure and the pain. When he eventually reaches your core he ceases all his teasing and devours you, his groans of pleasure vibrating through you as he laps at your entrance and sucks on your clit. 

“Every part of you tastes exquisite,” he moans again at your skin as he pulls at the hem of your shirt, allowing himself access to even more of your skin. Your bra is pulled roughly aside so he can latch onto your nipples one after the other. Losing himself in his lust, he pinches them roughly as his teeth make deliberate shallow slices in your cleavage. He suckles at them harshly, milking all the blood he can from such a surface cut. 

Eventually he reaches your neck pressing a deceptively gentle kiss to your scar from your last encounter before seeking out the fresher puncture wounds from earlier in the evening. He probes them harshly with his tongue disturbing the newly formed clots enabling him to drink freely from you until he is positively drunk on you. 

“You are so warm agnellino,” he moans, reluctantly pulling away from you only to tear off his loose shirt and rip off his trousers. He fits himself back on top of you, desperate to be as close as possible and ruts his aching length against your hip, his mouth latching back onto your neck. He rears back giving you the opportunity to see him for the hunger ridden monster he is, but it only makes you want him more. His face paint is smudged across his face, the once precise lines blurring and blending with what remains of your blood and your juices, and his eyes sparkle with something dangerous that you can't resist. With a snarl he forces your legs wide so he can see all of you, his fingers digging a bruising grip into your soft thighs.

“After tonight you will never again doubt my existence,” he growls as he fucks into you in one long, hard stroke. There is no waiting for you to grow accustomed to him filling you; he just takes you hard, pushing the air from your lungs every time he fills you. He is rough and demanding and you crave every part of this more animalistic side to him. Your blood loss and his body worship have pushed you outside your own body, the pleasure and the pain meeting and blending and pushing you into a euphoria you had never experienced before. 

Even as his control was slipping even further away, his cock aimed perfectly, fucking into you in exactly the right place over and over while the drag of him inside your tight heat forced sobs and gasps from both of you. In the state he had you, you knew you would do anything and everything he wanted and if you hadn’t been so light headed, you might have realised that that was exactly what he wanted. He grunts as he pulls you closer, angling your hips just so that he can fuck into you even deeper, your moans of satisfaction harmonising as somehow your pleasure grows stronger than you ever thought possible. 

“Has anyone fucked you like this since me, little lamb?” He is panting, hardly able to get his words out, somehow seeming more human even in the midst of his monstrous lust. 

“No,” you whine. There is no use denying it, because who could possibly compare to him?

“Bene,” he snarls, a possessive sneer crossing his face. “No one will ever, ever fuck you like me.’ You sob in agreement as the burn in your core grows, bringing you so close. Babbled nonsense falls from your lips. You can only hope he understands how little you need to push you over the edge. 

Thankfully something you said must have made sense, because in the next moment his thumb is stroking your clit in time with his ever more frantic thrusts and the wave of your climax begins to crash, sweeping you along in its powerful tide. Your vision greys at the edges and vaguely, somewhere amidst the buzz, you feel him reach his peak just behind you as his thrusts stutter before stilling as he fills you.

Inelegantly he pulls away, landing beside you on the bed. He pulls you to him stroking your hair and dotting your forehead with sweet kisses. Contentment surges through you as you rest against his chest, his lack of heartbeat barely registering. 

“You are so very sleepy, little lamb,” he breathes into your hair, and you can only spare a thought to agree as you succumb to the overwhelming pull of sleep. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The cold and stale morning air lures you from your sleep this time, a much less pleasant awakening than your last. Your whole body aches as you shift and try to take in your surroundings. You are alone. The dawn light spilling through the drapes allows you to see, and the bedroom appears dusty and abandoned, not the cosy boudoir you had experienced last night. 

The dusty sheets cling to your clothes as you try to stand but every movement reveals a new bite mark or bruise until you are on your feet. The worst pain though, is the ache in your heart. This should have been expected and yet the fact that he isn't here hurts. Rather than satisfying you, this second encounter only made you yearn more for this terrible, mysterious man. Your only consolation was that now at least, you will have plenty more to write about. 

You don't try to call out to him, already knowing how futile that would be, so you look once more around the room, trying hard to commit it all to memory when the night stand catches your attention. A single white rose sits atop a folded piece of paper. You pick them both up, carefully making sure to avoid the sharp thorns and unfold the paper to see that unmistakable handwriting. 

We’re standing here by the abyss

And the world is in flames

Two star-crossed lovers reaching out

To the beast with many names 

He is

He’s the shining and the light without whom I cannot see

-iii

His words were cryptic as ever but you let it fill you with uncertain hope. Maybe you were the star-crossed lovers? Or maybe not. All you knew for now at least, was that you felt you were still at the very beginning of this story…

…and you couldn't wait to see where it would take you. 

[writingquestionsanswered]

Anonymous asked:

[ask edited for length and content]

Egodeath/Jealous Anon. Thank you. I feel better after your response. I wanted to clarify two things, just if you want more context: With the similarities, I think I'm afraid that if I do get published, my books will be instantly rejected because people think it's just another copycat. I've seen people instantly reject a book just because it was similar to one that's already popular. I put so much effort into making sure my ideas are my own, it would really hurt if readers thought the work was copied and not my own.

You are deeply overthinking things here.

If you want to be a published writer, you need to reconcile yourself with the fact that everyone isn't going to love your books. And that's fine, because no one has EVER written a book that was universally loved 100% across the board. No one. Ever. In history. Every single book ever written has its critics. Every single author whose ever put pen to paper has people who don't like them. This is just a reality.

If some people don't like your books because they're similar to another book they read, that has nothing to do with you. That's their prerogative. Other people might dislike your books because they're not similar enough to another book they read. It's pointless to worry about it because you will never please everyone. Why people don't like your book is none of your concern.

I guess with ACOTAR it was just too many specific things. The character design and role of Rhysand. The telepathy between the love interests. There was a whole lot more but I put it down so long ago I've forgotten most now - but at some point it just felt like reading my own notes when I opened one of those books. The worst was when a fictional name I made up was used in that book - and given it's popularity I 'd probably have copyright issues if I tried to keep it in my work anyway. I think that was just the last straw to make me quit the series.

It happens, and it's honestly not as big a deal as it feels like it is now. Again, ideas don't come from nowhere. As much as you strive to make sure your ideas are your own, our "creative wells" are all filled from the same places, and human experience is only so varied, so the odds of multiple people coming up with the same things over and over are actually pretty likely. You're holding yourself up to impossible standards by expecting yourself to create stories that are wholly original and share no similarities with any other story.

Let me share a few times when this has happened to me in hopes it will help you see it's not that big a deal...

A few years after I wrote my first novella (which was not yet published at that time), I saw a commercial for a new TV show. The background concept, setting, and many surface details were pretty identical to my novella, but what KILLED me is one of the main characters had the same name and nickname as my protagonist... and they weren't even that common a name/nickname for that time period. I was sick... absolutely sick. It completely derailed my plans to flesh the story out into a full novel and publish it. Now, YEARS later, I just laugh when I think about it because the things that felt like glaring similarities now are nothing. The plot and conflict of the TV show are completely different from my novella. In the intervening years, I've come across countless other stories with the same background concept, same setting, same surface details, similar characters... and all of those shows, movies, stories, books, video games, comics, graphic novels, plays--whatever--have people who adore them and DGAF about any similarities to some random TV show.

Less than two years after my debut novel was published, I was reading a newly released book and was absolutely floored by the number of similarities. Two less common names, two unusual titles used in a similar way, and three unusual descriptive words used in the same way. Plus, 24 bigger similarities like setting similarities, plot point similarities, situational similarities... Were it not highly unlikely that the author had read my book, and had it not been for the short amount of time between my book and their book, it would have been tempting to think they'd intentionally copied me, because the similarities were just that glaring. But the reality is, we're just two writers who think alike, and in the years since, I've found a few other writers with whom I constantly have these kinds of similarities. They happen, and they feel world-ending at the time, but I promise you they're not as big a deal as your brain is making them into.

So, seriously, stop worrying about it. Similarities are going to happen, and they're going to be glaring sometimes, and there's nothing you can do about it. There's absolutely no way you can write a book that has not a single similarity with an existing story, and even if you could, that's not going to mean you'll write a book that will be universally loved 100% by everyone. People are going to dislike your book no matter what you do, and some of those people may see similarities between apples and oranges. There's nothing you can do about it. You're not writing for them anyway. You're writing for the people who are going to LOVE your book, and that will be the majority, similarities or not. ♥

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[thecurioustale]

Did you actually publish mate of song? I wanted to check out the adventures of afiach since i was intrigued by the idea of a female bard but i cant find it on your main website

No, it's not published. It's not even finished, yet! 😭

I wrote what felt like two-thirds to three-quarters of it between 2012 and 2014, during my days on the Mountain whence all such moods of life sprang. I solved the "main problem" of the story—that is, drawing it together into a complete narrative whole with all the critical bits figured out—in the years that followed, mostly on the Mountain.

It's that remaining third or so where so much of the magic and pain of birthing a story happens. The easy scenes are a pied piper's deceit, I think, because they come easily and we are (naturally) quite passionate about them, and yet if they were enough in and of themselves they could simply be a collection of vignettes. The essence of the larger story is not fully contained within them.

This is exactly what I've been struggling with in my work on the Galaxy Federal Inaugural Novel, for almost eight years now! In early 2017 I wrote, in the span of just a few weeks, what was, at the time, "about two-thirds to three-quarters" of the story. All the core ingredients of the story are there. But the story wasn't there. And I have spent such time since then trying to find it, or rather, to make it. (Though I think each of those verbs has something important to offer.)

When I "finished" the Mate of Song story—when I figured out the intricate tapestry of it, the plot and the reasons for things and the ways that the main themes are expressed and the larger relevancy to The Curious Tale, of which Mate of Song is merely an Interlude to After The Hero—that "two-thirds to three-quarters" completion estimate shrank. Mate of Song had originally been on track to be a little bit longer than the length of the Prelude, maybe 70 to 90 thousand words. Now I suspect it's going to be bigger, more like 80 to 130 thousand words. Not nearly as big as the Galaxy Federal Inaugural Novel, for reference, but my point is that I'm still less than halfway there in terms of scenes that I've actually written down. And since so many of those scenes are going to need serious revisions, the entire writing process for Mate of Song is even less farther along than that!

😵😱🤬😭🤠

I could, if I so chose, be putting my resources into that work instead. I've considered it in the past. But what I kept coming up with is that it would be weird to work so hard on a work that is intended to be situated at a very specific point in ATH, which ATH itself hasn't reached yet. Hell, even Chapter 1 (the book) isn't done yet!

Now, my logical decision has paid unintended consequences, as I worry that I will never again be at a place in my life where I can truly recapture the essence of those days on the Mountain, from which Mate of Song sprang like none of my other fictional works has ever sprung. No other work of mine is so deeply tied to a place and an era of my life like that. And I do worry that what I put onto the page will fail to convey what I really mean. That is always a major worry of mine with my fiction, and it became the major fault line of the glorious and strange mental breakdown I had during the Troubles (perhaps I'll write another post to explain what I'm talking about), and so it is a prominent theme in the Galaxy Federal Inaugural Novel, this idea of "not conveying what I really mean."

I've mentioned on occasion that I consider Mate of Song to be my personal favorite of my works so far. Unfortunately, only a very modest portion of what I truly love about it has actually made it onto the physical page so far, I think. Superficially, this is just a story about Afiach Bard going places and singing, with an extremely dark plotline for its backbone. And my challenge is twofold: Not only must I do justice to the face-value aspect of "Afiach Bard going places and singing," which is glorious writing when successful but very hard to succeed at, and I have only a few written scenes to my name in that whole book as yet which I feel definitively capture what I am trying to say, but I must also "write down" somehow the story, which is inclusive of the former but fundamentally larger than it. The story is what connects it all together, gives it is meaning.

Ironically, if I could somehow draw on the secret technique of Sourros like Galavar did and conate with other people, to convey to them my meaning with Mate of Song, I would merely end up having erred on the other side of the mark. If the imperfection of physical text deviates in one direction away from the truth, then, on the other side of the truth, the deviation lies in the comprehension of the reader, and this simple fact conceals a delightful and terrifying secret: To be "understood" requires someone who does not understand you. Conation, the "mindwashing" of Galavar, transforms others from "others" into beings who are fundamentally more like Galavar. They gain comprehension of his meaning, but only at the expense of becoming less themselves and more like Galavar. This is the je ne sais quoi that Silence couldn't quite put her finger on in articulating her objection to the mass mindwashing Galavar proposed in the Prelude. To be understood requires aliens, people who are Other. Otherwise we are merely talking about a reflection, and not true communication, true coexistence, true convergence onto the same point of view.

All of which is to say, there isn't even a magical shortcut to the work that lies ahead of me. Putting Mate of Song onto the page is one of the things I am going to try to do really hard in my lifetime. That goal is still highly viable, barring me stroking out or getting hit by a meteor or something. I have become quite pessimistic in recent years that I will live to finish After The Hero in its entirety—which is also one of the reasons why I have been putting so much energy into the Galaxy Federal Inaugural Novel in the last year. It, too, like Mate of Song, is "highly viable" still, because it is so much smaller.

So I guess the good news / bad news is one and the same: "Hang in there; it's coming; but you're going to have to wait awhile."

Hey! Incidentally, I started reading The Day of the Deer last night (if you can count 2 o'clock in the afternoon as "last night," but it was the end of my day, after all), the first book of the Liliana Bodoc trilogy you had recommend me in response to my efforts to learn more about the stories and folklore surrounding Incan and pre-Incan cultures in the Andes. Very interesting so far. I'm still finding my taste for it, or rather still trying to process its flavor. Still trying to "understand" it, I guess you might say (har har). But it's very readable, and, blessedly, it isn't derivative and degenerate like so much fantasy is. The last book I read was nostalgebraist's, and this is so different from that, yet they are akin in that they both have have a distinct individuality to them that makes them fundamentally non-generic.

I've been meaning to get started on reading it for months now. You know how I am! I actually bought it shortly after you recommend it, as only the first book of the trilogy has been translated into English and I will decide after reading it whether I want to undertake the exciting but daunting prospect of trying to muddle my way through the following two books in Spanish.) But now seemed like the right time to start, because in recent weeks I've been having some seismic slipslide in my efforts to "find the story" of the Galaxy Federal Inaugural Novel, and a significant component of that effort entails the "Andean-inspired stuff," which is such a blasé phrase to write, almost to the point that it sounds insulting, yet I can't think of anything better; the mythology of the peoples of the Andes has captivated me almost my whole life, since I was very small, and this is the book where I am finally going to get to pay an homage to it, and I am genuinely excited); and, also, this has been a good time to start reading The Days of the Deer because you have been in my mind acutely, because I am "horse in the gate" ready to get started reading one of your written works, but have been holding off while all the excitement of Jennyffer Episode 10 plays out. (The triumph of the one would interfere with the triumph of the other, I think, and this way there's something to look forward to after Episode 10 is out in the wild and audience reactions have run their first round.)

What an obnoxiously long answer!! 🤣😅

The short answer to your question is no.

[according2thelore]

Could we get a 8, 38 and 39 if you haven't answered them yet?

(Hope you both are having the best day btw!!!)

hi, anon!

(from this ask game from last week)--i have actually answered none of these!

8. How slow is a slow burn?

i think a slow burn is however long you want it to be! however, the longest i'm usually down to go is ~80k. i don't tend to read fics up to ~100k plus, unless the plot really pulls me in. i've been burned in the past, lol. my ideal slow burn is ~30-50k, but that's just a personal preference. i've found that a slow-burn fic is longer, it can become a little repetitive or drawn out. i can find it a little frustrating. but of course, there are many a long slow-burn i've liked!

i tend to draw the line though if it's a series, and the tension keeps going and going and going.

two of my favourite longer slowburns are "a modern manservant" (112k)(merlin, and a fandom staple, ugly betty AU) and specifically for wincest "on your guard" (97k) (fantastic in every way, also a fandom staple, AU)

38. "This never happened" fix-it fics or "this happened but" fix-it fics?

it's like asking me to choose between my children--i couldn't possibly! that being said, "this happened but" fics. i think. i love a good hurt/comfort, so if you can take what happened in canon and make the characters stronger for it and happy again, i'll take 800 please. for example, voicemail fix it fics and heaven fics are some good ass soup.

39. Wildest AU scenario you've written?

ooh this is a good one! published? i think "house song" is pretty wild. i also did a normal-life!AU in which sam&dean fuck in cheerleader/football uniforms. non-published? i have a samdean regency fic started that'll never see the light of day 😔

i hope you are also having a fabulous day!! i have passed on your good wishes to charlotte, and she is grateful!! she says she is patting you on the head. thank you so much for the ask!! <3

-lizzy

[radfemmovierecs]

Little Women (2019) Review

This review was meant for Christmas Day (I even rewatched the film on the plane ride home in preparation) but one month late isn’t too bad right? (Right…?). If anything, maybe watching (or rewatching) this movie will cure your January Blues a little bit. Here’s hoping. 

This movie is fundamentally a Christmas movie to me. I know there isn’t *that* much Christmas in the actual movie, but there’s something about the snow, and the old New England aesthetic, and the love, and the family that just makes it a Christmas movie to me. It also happens to be made by one of my personal favorite directors, Greta Gerwig, so that probably doesn’t hurt when it comes to my opinion of this movie. This is another film adapted from a book that I unfortunately have not yet read. (I know, I know, I’m a bad bookworm, but it’s on my list, I swear!). I’ve also never watched the 1994 version, so I can’t compare the two, but when reviewing this one, I don’t think I want to compare them anyway. 

I saw people make two main complaints of this film when it first came out. One of them was that the timeline was confusing and/or difficult to follow, but I wholeheartedly disagree. I thought it was very easy to tell which timeline the film was in, there was a very specific color grading for each one, and the costumes were also very specific to each timeline. The locations and plot lines were also different in the two different timelines, so especially after it switches at least once I think it was very easy to keep up with. Another common complaint similar to this one I saw was people complaining that they had the same actress playing Amy in both timelines, and since she’s supposed to be 13 and 20 some people didn’t think it worked. I disagree with this complaint too. I get where people were coming from because Florence Pugh did not look 13, but she did act 13 very well, and I also have to throw in suspension of disbelief. None of the other actresses appearances changed in a way that it would’ve felt natural having an entirely different actress appear randomly. I thought it worked, and having the same actress never was jarring enough to take me out of the story. Also, I love Florence Pugh, I think she’s incredibly talented, so I was happy to see her in the entire film. Nothing else in particular stood out to me about the technical aspects of this film, in a good or a bad way. The camera work and editing was fine, the set and costume designs were fine, etc, etc. Everything was done well, but the story and the characters are the main selling point of this film, rather than fancy technology or new-age techniques. 

In terms of radical feminism, there really isn’t much to discuss in this film. While the film does reportedly slightly modernize the main character (most notably with her “women” monologue), none of the themes throughout the story are very strongly radical feminist. There is a constant theme of marriage throughout the story, and the film does emphasize the difficulty (re: impossibility) for women to support themselves in this time period, but most of the feminism and misogyny in this film is pretty run of the mill. When Jo sells her first story, the publisher explicitly tells her he will pay her less than they typically pay for that sort of story, when he agrees to publish her novel at the end, he insists she change her ending so that her main female character is married, Jo’s sister Amy purposefully marries rich to support her family, etc. Don’t get me wrong, these are very important themes to discuss, especially in feminism, but nothing ground breaking was said that had never been said before. Great Gerwig seems to run into that problem often in her films actually, she will have a very easy to digest feminist message, that becomes revered by those who have not had more than one thought about feminism in their lives. Despite not having incredibly hard-hitting messages about feminism, this film, and this story overall, does the one thing that I think is more feminist than any theme or message. And that is simply: be a story about women. Louisa May Alcott had three sisters, and she decided to write about herself and her sisters and their lives, and there is a reason that tale has survived this long. Women are compelling all on their own, a feminist story is just an added bonus. 

Overall, I would highly recommend this film. Rewatchability is a major factor for me on the quality of a film, and this one certainly checks that box. I keep returning to it over and over again. I counted 11 out of 16 women in the credits, and it was written and directed by a woman, and an added bonus is that the source material was also written by a woman. The film is currently available for rent, or purchase on DVD. Thanks for reading!